The Favorite

Of COURSE I don’t have a favorite child!

Now that that’s out of the way, I must say … come on! Of course i do !! But it changes. It changes from who is spitting that day, who isn’t talking back. Who is responding to directions. Who is letting me pee in peace. Who is helping get everyone out the door the quickest.. who is telling me i’m the best mom in the world, who goes to bed without popping back up or calling out for me repeatedly. yada yada yada.

I do catch myself favoring and treating my daughter a certain way. Some might see it as nicer or as a favorite, i say you’re right. But while you are busy paying attention to how nicely i’m speaking to her, are you hearing how my son is speaking to me or those around him?

Two year old girls are so much more pleasant than 7 year old boys.

There. I said it. If you disagree, fine. Come babysit for me and show me all the ways i’m doing it wrong.

There are times, however, that I give my son more of a break. When he’s listening. When he’s being kind and helpful. When he’s having a tough time with something new.

I love both of my kids ferociously. But there are days/hours/segments when one is just easier to deal with than the other. Any mother out there who disagrees is either lying, or a working mom. You can’t judge the parenting equally when you get to cram it into a 1 or 2 hour window. When you are in the trenches all day long, it’s just different. I’m positive i couldn’t do a better job at your office, and i’m certain that goes both ways. Unless you are deaf and can’t hear all the bickering and whining. That gives you a leg up, i think. And believe me, i’ve done my fair share of signing around my kids. I was smart enough not to teach them ASL so i can say whatever the hell i need to while they are looking right at me.

Same might go for the husband, too

Nothing beats that rare elusive moment when both kids have found one common game/toy that they can expand on and cooperate to actually last the length of a chapter or DVR show without intervention. From me or the paramedics. When they ‘click’ and have all had the perfect amount of sleep, rest, food, and whatever that other magical ingredient is that makes them get along for periods of time lasting longer than five minutes. You can even hear the choir of mother angels singing if you listen closely. The heavens open up, your heart swells with pride and wonder and you do anything not to make eye contact or comment on how much they are impressing you for fear of breaking the spell. I actually find myself holding my breath when i realize i’m in the midst of it.

A  blue face is well worth it.

I woke up yesterday telling myself that i would put in all my effort to be “Da MOM” and no matter what, i would not lose my patience or raise my voice at my kids ALL DAY. It was a conscious effort. I even had moments where i had to fake it. They didn’t know the difference.  In fact, i think it threw them off a little. I made it all the way until teeth brushing time.

In all fairness, i think i get a bonus because it was Expander Night. I had to tighten both of my son’s expanders. Something he and I both dread. It actually hurts his face when i do the top jaw. 😦  And it’s not something I take any pleasure in doing. I bought a water pick, so i was able to distract him from the pain his whole face was in after tightening the metal. The water pick was an amusement park for the bathroom. Both kids were squealing when the water sprayed all over the mirror and sink while he was practicing.

And as most over-exciteable moments do, this experience caused my son to get completely overwhelmed and then giddy and bouncy and unable to calm down and follow directions. So I was a model parent until I had both kids running in thirteen directions all around me, neither of them actually controlling themself and cooperating with me.

So it was a near-win which always feels like an epic loss after they are quietly in bed…. or, in my case, after further aggravation when he kept popping up out of his room and smiling and actually laughing at his own mischief.

No Mom of the Year medals for me. But that’s ok. Who wants to have to live up to that?!

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