Grandma Says..

Observations and views from a different set of eyes

Bad Mommy

on March 7, 2013


I was a pretty good mom, I tried my best.  But, sometimes, your kids can thrust you into the position of looking like a “Bad Mommy”, no matter how hard you try. My two oldest kids certainly achieved that goal on a day that will live in infamy (at least in our family lore).

At the time, my daughter Susan was six and my son Joe was five.  These two had been born exactly 13 months apart; it was like raising a set of twins.  They played well together and sibling rivalry had not yet reared it’s ugly head.  They treasured their one-year-old brother so, all in all, we were a tight little family unit.  I was divorced from their dad, so their upbringing was my sole responsibility and full-time job and I loved it.

I was in the living room, keeping their one-year-old brother occupied while my two oldest kids played in their rooms.  I could hear them giggling which always meant that I was in for some kind of treat.  These two were very inventive and loved to use their imaginations; creating little plays would occupy them for hours and dress up was one of their favorite past-times.  So, I waited for the grand entrance of my two little thespians, and was prepared to be entertained.

I was informed by two little excited voices, shouting down the hall, that the play would be presented in my daughter’s bedroom.  So, I scooped up the baby and walked down the hall towards the “theater”.  A small sign on the bedroom door announced that I would be viewing a presentation of one my kid’s personal favorites, “Jack and Jill.”

As I opened the door and looked in the room, I found a stage consisting of my two-step kitchen ladder propped against my daughter’s bed.  A small town circled around the ladder and consisted of  a Barbie’s townhouse, Cinderella’s castle, a large dollhouse and numerous military vehicles parked here and there.

My beautiful daughter was dressed in her brother’s “Sunday-Go-To-Meeting suit”, a pair of Buster Brown shoes, striped argyle socks and a yellow sand bucket in her hand.  Her hair was slicked back with Vaseline and combed with a part on the side.

My son, the diva, was wearing his sister’s best party dress, lace trimmed socks and black patent leather Mary Janes.  His shoulder length hair (hey, it was the 70’s!) had been parted and gathered into two braids, secured by a pink ribbon at each end.

A small red chair was positioned in the middle of a line of other avid theater buffs, who were sitting on the floor. I walked past Bert and Ernie, and Mr. Boo the Teddy Bear; I apologised to Barbie for stepping on her toes and took my seat.  I turned and nodded to G.I. Joe and Superman and waited for the opening curtain.

My two little munchkins bowed in tandem and started to recite their lines.  I watched with a careful eye as they walked up the hill (step-stool) to fetch their water from the well (an empty fish bowl..poor “Icky” had floated to the top last week!)  Mission accomplished, they turned carefully on the bed and “Jack” stepped down to the bottom of the hill and dramatically fell to the floor.  “Jill” was about to follow when I saw my son wobble and then plop down on the bed to avoid falling.

“Whew, that was close guys,” I said.  “Jill” then crawled off the bed and proceeded to drop safely to the floor to join “her” cohort in crime and properly end the scene.

After a resounding round of applause from the audience; I instructed the kids to dismantle the stage and put their props away.  After changing their clothes, they would be treated to an ice cream cone to honor their wonderful stage show, I told them.  I got half-way down the hall when I heard the thud and my daughter’s scream.

Running back to the bedroom, I hurried to my daughter.  She was lying on the floor with blood pouring from a gash in her head.  I sent “Jill” to the bathroom for a cloth and once I was able to clean some of the blood off; it was obvious that stitches were the order of the day.

With the baby in one arm and my daughter in the other, I raced to the phone and called my Mom to drive us all to the hospital.  She only lived one block away and arrived within minutes.  We bundled the kids in the car and headed for the emergency room; Mom asking what happened while I applied pressure to the wound on my daughter’s head.  My son explained how his sister had climbed back up on the bed to retrieve the fish bowl, lost her balance and fell, head first on top of Cinderella’s castle.

I had my mom stay in the waiting room with my son and the baby while my daughter and I were led into an examining room.  Two nurses bustled in.  One looked to be about 20 (Nurse Sunshine I’ll call her)  and the other nurse (Nurse Grouchy)  looked like she went to school with Florence Nightingale.

Nurse Grouchy started asking basic information such as name, address and have we got any type of insurance; while Nurse Sunshine started cleaning the blood from my daughter’s head.  Both nurses concurred that stitches were most likely required so it would be necessary to remove my daughter’s clothes to put a johnny on prior to the doctor’s arrival.

The two nurses watched as I removed my son’s suit from my daughter’s small body and I started to explain how she had fallen.  As I pulled down the pants, I heard Nurse Grouchy exclaim “Heavens!”

Looking down, I saw my daughter had donned a pair of her brother’s tighty whities and a little white tee shirt.  I turned to the nurses and mumbled  that my kids were method actors and wanted their costumes to be authentic!  Nurse Sunshine smiled; Nurse Grouchy shook her head and tut-tutted.  I was afraid that she was going to report me to Children Services for cross-dressing my kids!  I could only hope that Nurse Sunshine would take pity on me and talk her out of it.

I called out to my Mom and asked her to bring the other kids in.  When the my son made his entrance, dressed to the nines and ready to dance in his sister’s clothes, I watched Nurse Grouchy’s eyebrows raise up in shock. “Do they always dress like that?”  she asked.  I just shook my head and accepted the fact that this old battle-axe had labeled me as a “Bad Mommy” and nothing I could say would change that.

To make a long story short (too late), the doctor came in, stitches were completed, and we were released with only a smattering of giggling going on behind the nurse’s station.  I proudly marched my troupe out of the door of the hospital; then I leaned up against the outside wall and started laughing hysterically.

When my Mom asked what I thought was so funny, I replied, “If they think it was strange to have Susan wearing boy’s underwear, it’s a good thing they didn’t look under “Jill’s” dress;  Joe’s wearing lace covered panties!”  

8 responses to “Bad Mommy

  1. Maggie says:

    OMG can I relate to this!

  2. mewhoami says:

    That was hilarious, especially as I picture the nurses’ faces.

  3. Basharr says:

    Classic, to say the least I had a good chuckle. Once while doing a home play of three little pigs, I thought I could amplify my voice by plugging the microphone from my tape recorder into the electrical wall outlet. It brought a shocking end to my play.

  4. Maqui says:

    hahahahaha! I wish you had pictures to immortalize that day.
    I enjoyed reading your blog. Keep it up!

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