This past week was a picture perfect, “Leave It Beaver” kind of week. Nothing bad happened — no diapers exploded — no crazy woodland creatures scared the bejeezus out of me. It was just another lazy, cotton-candy, sunshine, and cute puppy dog kind of week.
(Hey, surely the “name it and claim it” philosophy will work when blogging, right?)
If it HAD been a bad week, well — there would have been a lot of bad mommy moments. Thankfully, none of those happened.  You know . . . moments like these . . .
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(1) I did NOT raid my daughter’s piggy bank for “popcorn” money. No, I wouldn’t do that — especially for bad, stale, lifeless popcorn from Target. If I “had” (not sayin’ I did), I wouldn’t have used the promise of nasty popcorn as a bribe to get the Little Lady to cooperate on our shopping adventure; why would I? My daughter is always perfectly behaved.
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(2) I did not get soooooo caught up in building my new blog that I failed to do ANY laundry — and, I certainly did NOT make my son wear his sister’s clothes when all of his were dirty. No, Mr. Boy did not wear pink, purple, or scotty dog leggings this week.
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(3) When I saw the world’s largest, most scary and evil looking opossum on my back porch for the 2nd time, I kept my cool.
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(Thank you, Google, for this very real, very scary representation of “my” woodland creature)
I didn’t run upstairs, landing on each step with a reverberating “thud,” and interrupt my husband while he was trying to put the Little Lady to bed. Heavens, no — I would NEVER interrupt a bed time routine. And, while we’re on this topic, I didn’t nearly hyperventilate while trying to tell my husband about the mean opossum . . . and I didn’t insist he come downstairs and rescue me . . . and I didn’t shut the door behind him when he went out (alone with a flashlight and a pellet gun, a la Caddyshack’s Carl Spackler RAMBO) to investigate. No, if anything like that had occurred, I most definitely would have been a “stand by your man” kinda gal.   I’m not a scaredy-cat.
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To refresh myself from NOT being scared (terrified, prostrate with fear), I didn’t turn to Cool Whip, cherries, pineapples, and pudding. Heavens, no! I would never eat one two three bowls of the deliciousness known as “Punch Bowl Dessert,” and I would never admit the only reason I stopped at three was because my husband gave me “a look.”
I would also would refrain from admitting that I punched my husband for said look.
No — he’s bruise free this morning.
