By Katie Mac Stevens of www.fromnorth2south.com
The votes had been counted, the name written on the card, and the envelope had been sealed and given to the announcer. The room went silent as he made his way to the stage to announce the night’s big winner for Worst Mom of the Year: a prestigious, career altering award that many dream to win.
His monologue lasted for-fucking-ever, while I inched closer to the edge of my seat. He ripped open the envelope and, in the sheer excitement of the moment, I fainted. The next thing I knew, I came to and everyone was staring at, clapping for, and congratulating me.
I graciously made my way to the stage, gathered the train of my beautiful designer dress, and walked up the steps, all the while praying that I wouldn’t trip. I took the award (a golden bucket of LEGOs, because we don’t fucking have enough of those), accepted hugs from strangers, and turned toward the mic for my acceptance speech:
“I’d like to thank my two wonderful sons for nominating me for this award by fault of their outlandish requests,” I muttered, as I fished around, finally finding the piece of paper with my speech and not one of the many tissues stuffed in my dress, providing the illusion of perky, not-deflated-from-years-of-providing-nutrients-for-my-children breasts.
I continued, “I would not be here today, in front of all you, accepting this prestigious award if it weren’t for the time my oldest asked for mac and cheese and we were out of mac and cheese and I wouldn’t go to the store to buy more of said mac and cheese. Or the time I said we couldn’t go to the park because it was 8pm and raining on a school night.
“But, I think what gave me the edge over the other great moms was that cold, gloomy morning a few weeks ago. My youngest woke up in some sort of mood, most likely from the bedtime that he self-adjusted to 9:30 the night before. He demanded that I pour him some milk and cereal for breakfast. As I approached the table with milk and cereal, he looked at me in disgust. That cup?! The fucking blue cup? Was I seriously trying to provide him exactly what he asked for in the wrong color cup? I seriously had some nerve, I know.
“So, thank you. I am so glad that I can constantly showcase to you my inability to meet your every request.” Kisses were blown to my adoring fans as I waved and made my way off stage.
In the green room, I was beaming like a two-year-old who just rubbed their own feces all over the bathroom wall. I showed my award to my boys, husband, and baby daughter, when it was instantly discovered that the LEGOs are glued to the bucket and cannot be played with.
Tantrums ensued. At least I am effortlessly in the running for next year’s award already.
About the Author
Katie is a mom to three humans and a dog, wife to a guy she met in high school, career woman, and blogger. You can often find Katie scrolling Pinterest during late night feeding sessions, filling her boards with beautiful projects she’ll do once her time, body and kitchen table are done being held hostage by the aforementioned humans she birthed, and cares for. You can find more from her on her blog www.fromnorth2south.com, Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.