I came home to this sign:
Frances, who is really the family chronicler, wrote most of the messages, including this one: “Great job being a mother of five!” I’m not sure why, but she often feels the need to encourage me. Can she see right through my cocky facade? (I seem to recall that she did this with her kindergarten teacher, to whom she wrote the following: “You are the best teacher you can be!”, which is almost a compliment, right?)
I was greeted like a returning hero, even though M did all the heavy lifting. But I am so rarely gone from them that it felt good. This morning, in the chaos of getting five kids up and four of them out to school, along with their stocked lunchboxes (damn you, lunches), I may have raised my voice ever-so-slightly… and M says: “You know, we went a whole week without yelling.”
Thanks to winter break, you also went a whole week without having to get the kids to school. Lunches packed by you: zero. But I said nothing. I took it like a hero, until Bennett chimed in, “Yeah, no mummy = no yelling.”
This was just getting better and better.
“Well,” I said, “the yelling enjoyed her break, but has now returned. She does not plan on going anywhere anytime soon, so unless you want to hear more of her, please get your crap together in the morning.”
But nobody was paying any attention.
If I am a hero, mornings, and possibly even lunches, are my Achilles heel.