I’m a rescuer.  Always have been.

Need food?  I’ve got a lasagna with your name on it.

Need love?  I’ve got hugs galore.

Need a story read to you?  I’ve got a soft and squishy lap that was MADE for storytelling.

Need a bandage?  I’ve got every color and size for you, and I’ll throw a Motrin in for good measure.

Need help with math? I’ll call My Captain for you. (Hey, I know my limitations.)

Need a lift?  I’m on my way.

You get the picture.

So last night, when my daughter mentioned that she had a loose tooth that wouldn’t come out, my obvious first move was to reach my hand into her mouth and rip that puppy out.  The faster, the better, in my opinion.  Debating the pros and cons of letting it fall out on its own will only increase the anxiety about it.   So I step in and get it done.  That’s the way I roll.

Apparently, that is not the way she rolls.

So I’m standing there with her bloody baby tooth in my hand, and she is visibly, er, upset with me.

MOM!  That hurt!

Yeah, ok, but it’s out.

But MOM! I wasn’t ready!

Ok.  But it’s out.

Mom I can’t believe you did that!

Ok. But it’s out.

You can’t just go reaching your hand into people’s mouths like that!  It’s so wrong!

Ok. But it’s out.

Sheesh.

I said I was a rescuer, not a listener.

Varmint was up earlier than I was, ready to go, and full of energy this morning.  She was excited to get me to school for her “Muffins For Mom” special event the PTA puts on every year.   Every spring the mommies pile into the school cafeteria an hour before school starts to share muffins and coffee with their munchkins.  Today was that day.  And Varmint was psyched for it.

Critter, however, is not an early riser.

Mommy, however, is also not an early riser.

Critter and Mommy were snarking at each other from the word ‘GO’ today.  It wasn’t pretty.

“Time to get up Critter.”

“mmphhlf”

“Come on! It’s Muffins For Mom today!

“I’m too tired.”

“Don’t you want to go eat muffins with me?”

“mmmphlf”

NNNRRRRR….. He finally got up, and complained about every bloomin thing he could think of.  His shirt was too hot.  He wanted cereal, not muffins.  Yada Yada Yada.  Look, I’m not a morning person either, and I hadn’t had my coffee, and my capacity for bulls**t is pretty low first thing.

So it didn’t go well.  I was barking (or, as I like to call it, “Motivational Speaking”),  and he was whining, which caused more barking, which increased the whining.

And poor Varmint was in the background doing the ol’ Rodney King, “Can’t we all just get along?”

We got to the school, finally, and went in to eat our muffins, ingest copious amounts of coffee, and sit with the other mommies…none of whom looked as stressed-out-on-your-last-nerve as I did, irritatingly.

One of the mommies said, “Your son is SUCH an angel.  We love him!”

Critter heard it, and immediately put on his angelic face.  It’s powerful stuff.  I gave him the deadpan, “Seriously?” look, which made him giggle and shine with even more purity and innocence.

So I explained to the other mommies sitting there how the morning had gone thus far.  They swore they didn’t believe it.

And he beamed, the ratfink.

Oh, he’s good.  I’ll give him that.

My Varmint’s teacher asked for a photo of her from around kindergarten.  Apparently they are putting something with photos together for the graduating 5th graders.  Since I homeschooled my Varmint then, she didn’t have a school picture, so they asked me to send one in.

THAT was a huge mistake.

Once I started going down memory lane in the photo albums, I was a goner.  My big 10-year-old was once this adorable little munchkin:

She used to hang on my every word.  She used to giggle with me about Barney and The Wiggles and Baby Einstein.   She used to carry three binkies around at a time (one in her mouth and one in each hand) and switch them out whenever the moment felt right.

She was perfect.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, she still is.

But in a different way.

And I miss the little one.  I love the big one, and I miss the little one.

She just keeps growing and maturing and I wish to hell it would STOP!

I hate Memory Lane.

I jot notes down to myself when something comes my way that might be fun to write about here on Mama Boe.  Sometimes when I don’t have paper, I’ll just send myself an email via my phone, and jog my memory that way.  Then, when I have a moment to write, I open up my emails, and see what topics hit me throughout the day.  It’s a pretty good system.

Sometimes, though, I’ll send my self messages so cryptic, it’s like it wasn’t even me who sent them.

For instance, today I was going though my mailbox and came across one such email from a few weeks back.  I cannot figure out what subject matter I was suggesting I write about.  I’m hoping you can help me.  Here it is:

Fix the port side& fix the port side battery. Change places-chinese fire drill. Hold on, i gotta think for a minute.

Do you have any idea what this blog is supposed to be about?

‘Cause I sure don’t.

My mind is a scary place.

I don’t know what the heck got into me.

We had gotten the kids off to school, we were out and about getting errands done together, we were being productive.

And I couldn’t stop being a pain in the butt.  I was teasing, and annoying and bickering.  I rolled a shopping cart over his foot on purpose.  Twice.  I kept pulling things just out of his reach when he was trying to load them into the truck.

I was being a total butthead.  And it was funny.

And he just took it.  Rolled his eyes.  Smirked that handsome smirk a couple of times.  Let out a puff of frustration a time or two.  But he remained calm, and for the MOST part, unreactive.

He knows better than to feed my sense of humor when I’m in a mood like that.

And then, out of left field, he zings me.  Completely zings me.

We’re at the check out counter at Lowes and he grabs all of our purchases but a broom as he starts walking out towards the door.

I said, “Do you want me to get this?” and picked up the broom.

“Yeah,” he said as he walked away, “You can just ride that out to the truck.”

Wow.

The cashier started snickering.

So I locked him out of the Truck and made him stand there until I felt better.

A match made in heaven, yes sirree.