Bad Mommy

Ok, I've officially won the Bad Mommy of the Year Award.

I'd like to sit here and write some gracious acceptance speech and dress up in a fancy gown and thank God and my family for bestowing me with the talent and ability to perform such wonderous things, but I'm still a little freaked about the whole thing. And yes, I do suppose such things happen to everyone. As a matter of fact I've had that confirmed by several former Mom of the Years in the past few days.

Thursday morning, bleary eyed, uncaffienated, I did my usual across town commute to drop Jonas off at Abuelas before the sun ever bothered getting it's sorry ass out of bed.

When I got to their house, it was raining. One of those annoying windy cold blowing rains, so Abuela had me pull into the garage instead of unloading a sleepy J-man in the rain and running to the front door.

How kind.

So I turned my car back on and pulled the required five feet forward into the safety of the garage, turned the ignition back off, leaving the keys dangling, as always, from the steering column. You see, I have one of those fancy cars that has the impossible to lock yourself out safety features, so leaving the keys inside has sort of become a routine when dropping J off in the mornings. Just doesn't make sense to take them out, lose them in the house, and then have to spend 30 minutes looking for them.

You all see where this is going, don't you?

For those who don't, apparently my never lock yourself out safety feature is one of the many operations on my car that is on the fritz because in the time it took me to shut my door and turn around to open J's door, the dreaded click was heard, and like the gates of Fort Knox, all four locks came crashing down in unison.

Fucker!

So there's my baby, safely strapped into his carseat, and locked inside the car.

Of course, no mother can truly accept that their child is locked inside without actually trying each and every door twice. And by the third round, and lots of shaking and giggling of handles, I resigned myself to the fact that he truly was trapped.

Now, this doesn't sound like such a big deal until you know that we lost the spare set of keys well over two years ago and have never bothered replacing them.

Ok, so the old coat-hanger trick, right? No dice. Even if I knew what I was doing with a damn coat hanger wedged down inside the inner workings of my door, the new locks don't allow for such things. But dammit, I tried.

And just as I was putting cell phone to ear with the dreaded three numbers typed into the keypad, I remembered that Saturns come with what they snootily call a "valet key". I always thought that was a rather useless thing. I mean, how often does someone who drives a Saturn end up somewhere where there's a valet? And even if so, do you truly remember to give the valet the special "valet key" or do you just hand over your keychain?

Ok, so I call the sleeping husband, who then, in amazingly un-Wil-like fashion, not only finds the magic key, but makes it across town in the freezing rain in a car with no heater, in his underwear, in less than 15 minutes. Jeez, if only I could get the trash taken out with such speed and urgency!

So, after about 20 minutes of having to watch him scream and anguish about why I wasn't taking him out of the dark car, and why I was standing there making stupid monkey faces in the window, I was able to safely extract my son from the evil tupperware jaws of my defective car. And I held him as if I had just rescued him from a sinking ship rather than a top of the line carseat, and I never, ever wanted to set him down again. All before 7:00 am.

Ugh. And the week only got better from there.


In other news. I'm supposed to go to my friends baby shower tomorrow, but I think I'm going to call out. I've got this lingering cold/cough thing that I can't seem to shake. Had it all week. Jonas and Wil have it, too. My pregnant friend is in a high-risk situation with her baby, and the last thing I want to do is be responsible for getting her sick when her body is already being taxed to the limit. I know it's a pretty long-shot that I would actually infect her, especially if I didn't get too close, but I couldn't live with the guilt if she were to catch this crap. So I will graciously stay away and drop her gifts off at her job or something.

My office Christmas party is Sunday. I wonder if I can get away with the same excuse for that one? It's not that I don't like a party, it's just that, well, if I'm going to party, I'd rather do it somewhere other than my boss's house where all my stupid drunken loose-lipped comments won't reflect in my yearly review. That, and, well ok, I really don't like a party at all. I've made leaps and bounds in my social skills over the past few years, but I still don't like the forced casual chit-chat crap, and I always feel like a bit of an outsider, not belonging to any one group or the other.

So I think that, if I can get away with it and still maintain employment, I'll pass.
Besides, I've got a tree to drag out of the shed, and lights to string, and stockings to hang, not to mention grout to finish, laundry to wash, floors to sweep, and a vacuum to try and repair. Oh yeah, and I work in the morning. Ugh. Enough for one weekend.

In other news, I talked with my brother tonight. I seriously wish we lived closer together. There's something about him that always brings me back to center. Maybe it's just because he's so damn level-headed. Whatever it is, I miss it.

I explained to him the tension going on between Mom and I and Dad and the rest of the family, and the whole damn Christmas fiasco, and he reassured me that everything would work out. He helped me map out a plan to keep everyone happy, and we even laid out plans to maximize our time together. Etc. And that's why I love him so much. He's always so damn rational, even when I'm totally emotional. And he can be rational and sympathetic all in the same breath. God bless big brothers. He's looked out for me all my life.

What a huge weight off my chest.

So things are looking ok. Granny and Daddy Dave are helping me fund a better Christmas for my son, and the adults are at an agreement that we just AREN'T doing gifts this year. We're getting together, and dammit, that's enough. Besides, gifts are all about the kids, right?

All things work out in the end. So says the worst mommy in the world.