Sometimes I have a moment with my kids where I feel like I really might know what I'm doing. I recognize this feeling because I have it at work quite a lot. But the difference between work and parenting is that work is somewhat more predictable in its behaviors and cycles than any kid I've ever met. Either way, I was feeling pretty good last night. My cases in point:
A) Lauren and the band-aid
Put a band-aid on Lauren and within 7 minutes she will pull it off. Like all kids, she loves band-aids, which means that as of today I am fresh out of them because she has used them all, and not necessarily for a legitimate injury.
Last night she fell in the driveway. Hard. Bloody knee, skinned elbow, doting big sister getting in the way of mama's comfort. At this point my band-aid inventory was already down to just 2. I cleaned and kissed the knee, convinced her that her elbow would be just fine, and asked Grace at least three times to PLEASE get out of the way while I am trying to wash this bloody knee in the kitchen sink while keeping Lauren's hands off the knife rack. Twenty minutes later Lauren was tucked into bed with her doggie and book and I was on the couch.
"Maaaameeee..... MAAAAMEEEE!"
I tried to ignore her, but I knew for a fact she had taken off her bandaid and was freaking out at her neosporin-greased and still semi-bloody knee. I also knew the band-aid would not stick again. And I only had one band-aid left in the entire freaking house. So instead of ignoring her, which is my usual MO post-bedtime, I got the band-aid and delivered it with a brief speech about how this was the last. one. in. the. house.
B) Grace and the....uh... bathroom
Right after the band-aid incident I was settling in for the thrilling conclusion of The Biggest Loser when I heard the other voice floating down the stairs, this one a little weepier, but not so freaked out.
"Mommmmm.... can you come heeeere?"
I looked at Chad. For reasons unknown to me, Grace is unable to poop by herself after 8 pm. Up I went again and sure enough, there she was on the potty. To give her a little break, she was having some tummy trouble. One children's chewable Pepto-Bismol (LOVE that stuff!) and a hug and kiss later she was back in bed, albeit a little puny looking.
Finally I made it back to the couch, feeling like a mother who really knows her children. Knows what they need and when. And how to deliver it.
At least I felt that way until this morning, when it occurred to me that maybe my children really are quite predictable. And I've just been really well trained.
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