Well, my my. I birthed myself a blog and then failed to nurture said blog. According to my delightful and witty (he takes after his mother) teenager, I am a lackadaisical mom. Now my argument against this point is that I can't be that bad -- he can use the word "lackadaisical" in a sentence, and properly, I might add. (He can also probably count the times I've made homemade chocolate chip cookies on one hand, but the trips to the library and bookstore -- countless).
Oh, sure, there was the Christmas that almost wasn't. It's not that I let December 25 creep up on me and I was left buying jerky and car fresheners at a convenience store. No, I was completely prepared. The Christmas shopping was done in November. Mid-November, as a matter of fact. I had scored the kid a Wii well before the holiday shopping onslaught. I had all the games he wanted. Everything. Wrapped and ready before the Thanksgiving turkey went into the oven (and, no, it wasn't placed in the oven by me -- I like to give our local firefighters one day off a year). Could B.O.B.* and I tell him we were through shopping? No, because then he would be tearing the house apart even though the presents were being held at a secured location. Instead, we had ourselves 25 days of torturing, I mean telling Leo we were actually cutting back on shopping. We told him family was much more important/the economy was bad/etc. etc. etc. and had some very good laughs at his expense.
On Christmas Eve the presents were moved from the secured location and hidden away because B.O.B. insists that no present shall be opened before its time. Ever. So, the tradition is that we put the presents under the tree Christmas morning. This involves one of us getting up in the middle of the night and transforming our living room into Gift Central. But this particular year, I was in my kerchief and B.O.B. was in his cap dreaming of sugar plums ... when there was a knock on the bedroom door and it opened to Macaulay Culkin's famous expression from "Home Alone." Except it wasn't Macaulay. It was Leo. AND. WE. HAD. SLEPT. THROUGH. CHRISTMAS. MORNING. There were no gifts under the tree. Just one horrified teen (who normally has the sleeping habits of a vampire except, I guess, when it comes to Christmas) thinking we actually had cut back. Really cut back. Oh, it was a joyous occasion in the end and we can't wait for him to tell his children about his deadbeat parents who couldn't even get up to put his presents under the tree. Unless, of course, we scarred him to the point where he will be telling a therapist about the Christmas that almost wasn't.
And there was that one time when Leo started complaining about his throat being sore. I told him it was because the furnace was on and his throat was probably dry. "Drink some water. It will be all better." How was I supposed to know it was strep? It's not like they give moms at-home strep throat kits. He didn't appear to be sick. Gone were the flaming red cheeks that are a give-a-way to a fever. Nothing. Just the complaints, I mean, his reporting to me as to the symptoms he was experiencing.
But I will say where my baby blog is concerned, I have left it languishing in the incubator. Unlike my own child, it won't come up with big words properly used in sentence form to describe my lack of nurturing skills ... or cooking skills ... or organizational skills. So I'm not Martha Stewart or Dr. Oz or June Cleaver. I am a mom who can string together words and make people laugh. And that's what I hope to accomplish with my little blog. You will just need to bring your own chocolate chip cookies.
*When I said I was going to start writing a blog, my husband said, "Oh, great. I'm sure I'm going to be the 'butt of Bloginess.'" Hence, he will be referred to as B.O.B. He hasn't learned yet that he needs to be careful about what he says because he will end up in my blog!