C is for Crazy

My sons are so helpful, it's incredible. Right now, for example, Aldo is bringing me one panty liner at a time from the storage closet (which he has recently learned to open )and is carefully putting each one in a different place in the dining room. I know I should stop him, but it's keeping him quiet.

Okay, I draw the line at chewing on tampons. Why are these things so darn interesting? I've heard of one mom whose kid was super excited when he found the tampons because she paid for the brand that put them in shiny colored plastic wraps and he was sure they were POPSICLES!

I was reading about the 10 healthiest foods you're not eating and I'm pleased to say we have 7 in the house. Momdom is full of these little quizzes. Maybe because we're desperate to know that we're doing okay. Nobody gives you performance reviews unless you really mess up and then you talk to CPS (or so I'm told.) There are quizzes to tell you what kind of mom you are--are you a Helicopter parent? Are you a bitch? Is your child above or below average for milestones, height and weight, or is s/he gifted?

I don't really take quizzes because I know what kind of parent I am--not so much helicopter as shuttle bus driver and only bitchy if we run out of chocolate. And my kids are great, smaller than average, but charismatic climbers. But I do feel the need to try to get a report card from my husband. You know, subtle things like, "I cleaned the cabinet doors today. Look how clear they are. I used a cloth diaper. Those things make the best glass cleaner."

Greg plays along, "It looks like we have new cabinets," but I know he doesn't really care. Why should he?

The truth is I'll never win an award for housecleaning because I don't care enough, but I'll tell you what the current braggable prize is: Owen tells me at least once a day of his own volition, "Mommy, I soooooo love you."