How to Know You're a Mom...Wednesday Again!

The top of your refrigerator is not just for jumping off of (you decide if that's a joke or not), it is also where all of the confiscated toys that have been used inappropriately (mostly as weapons) are banished before mysteriously disappearing.

Your children have a propensity to spill an entire sandwich baggie full of shelled peanuts on the garage floor, break a beaded necklace on the tiled kitchen floor, or drop anything else that requires the use of the vacuum cleaner to prevent your one year old from feasting on tiny bits as you head out the door (a) when you're actually on time for once, and (b) when you're the latest you've ever been.

You feel a little bit guilty for not realizing sooner that all of the wooden pieces that were stacked precariously by your creative six year old on your work-in-progress playground project were actually nothing but hazardous projectiles sitting there waiting for the perfect opportunity to fall on said six year old's head.

 

You subsequently discovered that your son's hair is so thick that it is impossible to ice top-of-the-head goose eggs.  After twenty minutes of sitting in a recliner with a baggie of ice on his skull, his scalp was still hot underneath that mop of hair.  (I guess we can give all of his knit hats to his younger siblings, clearly the hair is doing a good enough job.)

Every once in a while your bird-of-an-eater daughter cleans her plate without objection.  And when this happens, you totally take her picture.  (And vow to make chicken tacos at least once a week.)

 

You don't actually hate Barney.  In fact, you greatly appreciate Barney for his part in your childrens' blossoming intelligence.  

Thanks to Publix and their free cookies for kids, you find that instead of complaining about having to go, they ask to go to the grocery store.  Not only that, but by saving the free cookie for the end of the trip, you have an excellent bargaining chip to hang over their heads the whole time.   (i.e. - "Stop touching each other or I'm going to eat your cookie.")  It's a can't-lose situation.  Thank you, Publix.  From the bottom of my heart.

Despite repeated attempts to convince your three year old they're called "servers", she still refers to all waiters and waitresses as "Kitchen Boy" and "Kitchen Girl".  

You are willing to bet that 100% of your one year old's accident reports at daycare involve her running as the reason she got injured.

You panic when you discover your three year old's bed empty in the middle of the night, only to find that she has been sneaking into your six year old's empty bed while he's off for a week at Grandaddy & Grammie's house.  In reality, you know she's probably doing it because he has flashlights and other cool things to play with in there, but you also like to think it's because she misses him.  And that's sweet.