You're not at all alarmed to hear the words, "Sarah, stop eating your feet!" from the backseat of your car.
When you set your daughter up at the table for breakfast at school and another little girl steals a piece of pancake off her plate, she gives one of the dirtiest looks you've ever seen given. Both the dirty look and her territorial nature over the food make you say out loud, "That's my girl!"
You don't think much of it when your monkey-of-a-daughter climbs in and out of shopping carts unassisted, but you can see the nervous fear in the other customer's eyes so you feel the need to chime in with a patronizing, "Don't hurt yourself!"
As much as you despise packing lunches for your first grader, you love getting to put cute little love notes inside, especially while he still likes that you do it.
You envy your three year old's zeal for life, when at the dinner table/in the middle of her bath/at bedtime when she's supposed to be winding down, she spontaneously bursts out in song - with vibrato even. (See for yourself...if you so desire.)
You can't be sure if you were the only one because you didn't look around to notice (out of sheer embarrassment), but when one of the first grade teachers read this poem out loud at your son's open house, you totally teared up. Because being a mom means you cry all the time. At things like this:
And for a fleeting moment you considered sharing that "little confection" of two delectable chocolate chip cookies with your first grader, but darn it, you're the one who went to the PTO meeting and open house. You consider it a perk of being the mom. (And they were delicious!)
Sometimes you try to be Super Mom and bring an after-school snack with you for your apparently-famished children to enjoy on the ride home. Most of the time, however, you forget. And every once in a while, the hunger prompts requests like "Are we going straight home to make dinner? I don't care what we have as long as there is meat..." from your apparently-carnivorous son.
You almost cry (again, I know big surprise, right?) when you notice that your sweet little three year old has learned to write her name without any prompts or assistance, apparently signing each of her masterpieces when she finishes.
You now know that given a hefty supply of pipe cleaners, a couple strings of Mardi Gras beads, a dumb Twilight Burger King "toy" bracelet, and a few moments to play alone in his room, your six year old will end up creating this - (I'm told it's a trip wire, which, by the way, makes putting laundry away pretty darn difficult.)
Linking up to lots of other "Mom Things" here...