My ten-year-old son got glasses today. It was a monumental day. He approached it in true Jaxon fashion… picked out very cool (and expensive) frames and said, “Yeah, I can rock this look.” Meanwhile, I’m having a small meltdown with the realization that my precious and perfect child who inherited his father’s big, sparkling blue eyes did not inherit his father’s 20/20 vision. Bummer.
When we got home this afternoon, Jaxon’s comment to us, his loving parents, who just shelled out $200 on his little eyeballs; “I’ve been robbed!” Turns out, the glasses really work! They’ve opened up a whole new world to him. Who knew that things were not supposed to look fuzzy? He didn’t know what he had been missing… and blissfully unaware of his mother being a total bonehead.
During my meltdown, I am counting the years this child has been diligently working in school and making very good grades, while not being able to see the chalkboard clearly. Bad Mommy!
After I beat myself up for a while, I made a cup of tea and decided to share my shame with you. Don’t ask me why telling on myself makes me feel better, it just does.
So after my tea, and a handful of Cheetos, I picked myself up and forged ahead. I cooked dinner and reinforced my family’s misguided notion that I am the best cook in the world.
Just like my sweet boy’s eyes are not perfect, I am not a perfect Mom. We are not a perfect family. We don’t live in a perfect house, and we don’t have a dadgum picket fence. I do my best, and sometimes it’s not so great. But when my son wraps his arms around my waist and looks up at me through those trendy Nike frames, I feel like the best Mom in the world.