And Then, Suddenly, I was the Worst Mom in the World.

I was cleaning out Penny’s lunch box yesterday when I discovered the following:

A special lunch-box note from me to Penny . . . written by Penny.

Possibly the saddest thing ever.

I don’t know why I’m “Nancy” instead of mom. I picture all the little lunch eaters pulling out their notes from home – notes from their thoughtful, loving mothers; and then Penny eagerly pulling out her forged note, “Oh! Look! My mom loves me too!”

And then some kid saying, “Why doesn’t  your mom just write ‘Mom’”?

And Penny frantically thinking, “Oh no! I knew I didn’t get this right! I’m found out!”

Meanwhile, around the house, she has glued popsicle sticks, and colored pictures, and left (at every turn) things like this for me to discover:

I would resign as mother  immediately . . . only, the gypsies haven’t come through town lately, and I don’t really know who else to give my kids to.

I did leave lunch-box notes in all the kids lunches today. And, on Penny’s, I was liberal with my doodled flowers and  Magic Marker  use.

But. It’s probably too late.

Ah well. Anders and Jesse haven’t started school yet. I can just chalk these older kids up as a loss and start fresh with those two.

(Kidding! Kidding! Quit your crying.)

Meanwhile, down on the farm:

I spy: brother and sister arm wrestling; Pikachu; a little, light bathroom reading; little feet of someone who thinks they have a grand Hide-and-Seek spot; the shoes of someone who has more important things to worry about than insignificant details such as “right shoe on right foot”; and . . . a cookie given to someone who was told they couldn’t have it, but then kept crying for it  -- which really doesn’t bother me at all now that we’ve established what kind of mother I am (see blog post title).

And, to be totally fair here, when I said lunch notes for everyone, I didn’t technically mean everyone. This morning Abe told me how funny it would be if some kid (NOT himself) got a note from his mom in his lunch box that was one of those cards that talk when you open them. He explained how, for the unfortunate student, having everyone hear the nice things his/her mother had to say would be much like getting a Harry Potter “Howler”.

I see.

No lunch-box love for that little stinker today.

I’m waiting ‘til I can find one of those cards . . .