Report Cards

Motherhood is not for sissies. I've known this since that first night in my hospital room awkwardly attempting to nurse my new baby and seeing I had such a nervous clamp on that kid I had cut off circulation to his arm. Oh, the sleeplessness! The worry! The guilt! The pure overwhelming knowledge that it's pretty much up to you to:

a. keep this little human alive
b. and safe
c. teach correct principles
d. help them learn to become independent, productive, well-adjusted adults
e. and doing it without making them resent you...

Which brings me to f., the grade I recently received as my 12 year old evaluated my parenting abilities.

Before I elaborate, let it be known I have NEVER received a failing grade on anything. Ever. Once I got a hard earned C in a high school chemistry class, and one other C the last semester my senior year in college. I was on scholarship and had busted my hump to keep it. By then, I was d-o-n-e. I got an A+ on a political science midterm and did the math. Skipping the final exam would land me right at passing. So I stopped attending class and graduated with one C on my university record.

My transcripts for mothering aren't nearly as impressive. It is unlikely I'll graduate Magna Cum anything on this one. But I try. How I do try. On the day of my aforementioned parental evaluation, I was driving my son somewhere and realized my appearance was less than appealing. Here's how it went down:

Me: Geez! Why didn't you mention I look hideous?

Him: Whatever mom.

Me: My hair clipped back? My glasses on? No makeup? This should embarrass you.

Him: Whatever mom.

Me: What?! One of a parent's primary roles is to embarrass their children.

Him: It's not embarrassing me.

Me: I don't do things that embarrass you?

Him: Nope.

Me: So I have completely failed as a parent?

Him: Yep.

Me: Sigh...

Him: Keep failing mom.


The scholar in me wants to improve that grade, but the mother in me likes it plenty fine.