“I ate my son’s lunch” and more Bad Mom Confessions

“I ate my son’s lunch” and more Bad Mom Confessions

Aug 23

Welcome to the weekly Bad Mom Confessions column.

Every Monday I post two anonymous confessions received at the Bad Mom Confession Booth along with some Words of Wisdom and Forgiveness (meaning I’ll do my darnedest to make you feel better about yourself.)

Do you want your confession to be featured here? Would you like some words of forgiveness? Do you just need to let off steam? The Confession Booth is available 24/7.

Forgiveness guaranteed.

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Philomena writes:

This evening I made a rather tasty (if I do say so myself) sausage, cannellini bean, chorizo and various veg stew – also known as the ‘camping dish’ in our house. I set aside a small portion for the littlest man in my life, Royal, to have tomorrow for lunch; and one big one for the old man who is still building that bloomin’ Olympic stadium as we speak.

I guzzled a normal middle-aged female portion.

It wasn’t enough. I just ate little Royal’s portion.

Dear Philomena,

There is nothing to forgive here (besides the fact that you didn’t save any of that delicious stew for me.) In fact, I must commend your excellent sense of priorities.

Thanks to the Zack Snyder film, many know Aristotle’s quip: “Who watches the Watchmen?” Unfortunately, very few have heard Aristotle’s mother’s version: “Who takes cares of the caretaker?”

I once ranted about the importance of putting your own oxygen mask on first, and yours is a perfect example of that principle in action. Well done for thinking of yourself and for taking care of your own needs! There is absolutely no shame in that. I am sure that extra helping of camping stew gave you lots of energy and zest to concoct a lovely lunch for little Royal on the next day.

So please, help yourself to some more stew. You are forgiven.

Can I come over for dinner sometime?

M

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Honora writes:

I lost any chance of becoming  ’Mother of the Year’ when my son was about 12.  He was a bit of a hypochondriac (this is anonymous isn’t it?) and he would often come limping up the driveway when it was time for dinner.  My husband and I would take bets on whether he could remember which leg he was originally limping on by the time dinner was over.

We had many conversations about “the little boy who cried wolf,” often while standing in line at the pharmacy for another finger splint or ace bandage.

Yet he continued to play the game.

One day he came in SCREAMING at the top of his lungs: “Gideon fell on me and I can’t lift my arm!!!”  To which I replied, “Oh for crying out loud, of course you can!” while I lifted his elbow up to his ear.

After I peeled him off the ceiling (…) and we were driving back from the ER with his arm and shoulder in a brace due to a broken collar bone, I reminded him of the “crying wolf” stories we’d been warning him about. But inside I was dying!

Good news: he still talks to me!

Dear Honora,

this is indeed anonymous, don’t worry. Your identity is safe with me and the rest of the Internet.

I understand you feel guilty for causing your son so much pain (yow, I cannot imagine, poor kid.) However, all evidence was in your favour – if the previous 100 times he had been overacting like William Shatner, there was no way you could have known the 101st was for real. Moms have many superpowers, but X-Ray vision is not one of them.

This painful episode had a very positive outcome: I expect this finally taught him a crucial life lesson that he seemed very reluctant to learn regarding “crying wolf.” Better you teaching him than someone else.

At any rate, please don’t beat yourself up over this any longer. You are completely and totally forgiven, both by your son and by me.

M

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Small print:

Confessions may be edited for length (and grammar and spelling, because I’m a stickler.) All real names will be changed for Victorian-era pseudonyms, to make everyone sound classier.

While I do not encourage repeating any of the behaviours confessed, I will not blame anybody who sees them as “tips” rather than no-nos.

This column is called ‘Bad Mom Confessions’ for the sake of brevity and consistency, but I must stress that dads, grandparents and carers of all sorts are most welcome to use the Confession Booth.