So while I'm sweeping through the house with arms full of toys, socks, shoes, kleenex, and the like ... Henry's in the shower, Amanda's kickin' back on the couch watching TV, and Megan's working on a curly ribbon "craft". Megan: Mom, can you help me curl this ribbon?
Me: Not right now, no.
Megan: Just real quick. Can you show me how to curl the ribbon?
Me: NO. Can't you see that I'm trying to put away all this STUFF (read "crap") before the sitter gets here? Oh sure, I'd like to fix my hair before it's time to leave, but nooooo I'm doing THIS instead.
Megan (clearly not understanding her role in this guilt trip I was trying to take her on): Well, any mom who cared would help her daughter curl ribbon.
Me: Ugh. Gimmie the scissors.
I stopped what I was doing and curled some ribbon. Why? I wish I could give you a noble reason, but the truth is ... the thought came to me: If I died in a car accident tonight (because I'm optimistic like that), do I want her last memory to be that of me refusing to curl her ribbon, so I could continue running around the house like the Tasmanian Devil? Uh, no.
The lamest part about all this? It took me all of 15 seconds to curl her ribbon. Mmm hmmm. All that huffing and puffing because I didn't think I could stop to help my daughter with something that took a measly 15 seconds!
Pathetic.
Oh, I can totally relate. I mean, to the 15 seconds part, obviously, since I don't have kids. I always catch myself trying to make a point, especially on the plane. Like, I'm trying to get drinks RIGHT NOW and if you could just give me a few minutes... And then I do what they wanted me to do and it took a matter of seconds. And I realize that I could have come out looking so much more graceful. And yet, somehow, I never seem to choose the graceful option.
ReplyDeleteHaley was bugging me about curling ribbon just the other day - what's the deal. She wants to curl up all the new ribbon I just bought at Costco for wrapping Christmas presents. It is all neat and tidy in a handy dandy container and she wants to curl it all up! Then where would it go - on the kitchen table until I swept it up into an un-detangelable pile in the closet. ugh. But what would it matter?
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