What kind of Mom am I!

This week I had the insane desire to be a TV mom from the 50s.

I’m OK with giving up the whole women’s rights thing at the moment-- if only I could have that set of pearls, a teensy tiny waist, pointy bra and high “practical” heeled house shoes.
And one thing more. My hair must be set in foam rollers so it lies just like June Cleaver’s short neat curls.

Perhaps that dream is a little unrealistic. No one has that much patience and talent for making pot roast.

Plus, my kids aren’t exactly the Beaver and Wally. They are more like sweet rain in the middle of a wind storm-- loud, destructive at times yet sweet-tasting and good for the plants. Plus, they wear better clothes and tell better stories.

For instance, the other day Abby, my middle child, got a Barbie for her birthday. It wasn’t just any Barbie (they never are). It came complete with a dog that “really” poops.

“I can’t make him poop,” Abby said.
“Push on his tale,” Maggie the eldest said. “Look at all that poop. It comes out in little pellets.
Hey Nikki stop eating the poop. Maaaawm! Nikki is eating all the poop. Give me that poop back.”
“Noooooo! It’s my poop,” Nikki the youngest said.
“Nikki get off the poop,” Abby said. “Mom Nikki is sitting on the poop and I want to put it in his mouth.”

And so, I’ll take my wish back because as June I’d have to confiscate the poop dog and these are the conversations I live for. So instead I want to be the Robitussin mom, AKA. Dr. Mom.

I’m alright with wearing mom jeans and a white button down top.

Year ago, when Maggie was a baby, I was under the impression that all sick kids acted like Dr. Mom’s.

Of course the first time Maggie got the flu I realized Dr. Mom’s life has been edited for TV.

Dr. Mom’s kids never threw up on the sofa, howled incessantly or dare I say had a case of Roto virus that caused large quantity of fluids to pour from both orifices at the same time.

Dr. Mom never did laundry. And she never sat in the waiting room at a pediatrician’s office and held a bucket or wondered why the Tylenol had to kick in now because her kids were running a marathon in the lobby.

Dr. Mom’s kids never went to the doctor.

All she had to do was walk around, carrying a spoon and saying things like “It’ll be all better.”

Her kids lay still in bed with rosy cheeks one minute and were sitting up reading a book or drinking juice the next because Dr. Mom’s tonic cured them.

I wonder if Dr. Mom really had Robitussin in her bottle-- or is it something else?

Well I could have used some this week.

This week was Flu Week In the Sitter household. The temperature never got out of the 100s and the kids never got off the couch.
But I discovered two things. If my kids have a fever, they sleep, so fevers are not entirely bad.
However, if I give them a dose of Tylenol, I’m taking my sanity into my own hands because Tylenol is the elixir of life. It can make a sickly flu stricken child ready for “That’s so Raven” and “Hanna Montana--” hours of it. Disney music, Disney teens will croon through my TV and drive me to the brink of insanity if I hand over the elixir.

And so, I decided to hold onto it unless the kids were really whining or in pain.

I guess I’m not exactly Dr. Mom because Dr. Mom is never worried.

I find myself checking out my daughters’ eyes to see if green stuff is coming out of them. I find myself looking for rashes and kissing foreheads every 10 minutes.

And my girls are never banished to the bedroom. They all piled on my lap and ate gallons of homemade chicken noodle soup (all but Nikki. All Nikki would eat were suckers and I handed them over because she doesn’t have any love handles to give up).

And so, I guess I wouldn’t make a very good Dr. Mom.

Maybe I’d be a better reality TV Mom, but I can tell you for sure I never want to be one of those girls because they are just plain weird.

This week in the TV mom chronicles, moms fought over their daughter’s dead bodies, some mothers became germ aphobs and others banished their families to an all raw diet and embraced their local bacteria.

I think I’ll stick with being me-- Disney tormented, tired (really tired from all that kidly coughing) and ready for a long nap with the kiddies.

*Previously published inthe Paradise Post 2-24-07 (I'm sick so I'm digging through the archives of my column-- sorry)