Some days, it’s fun to be the bad mom

We had a very responsible day scheduled yesterday. Taking Old Kid, 12, to the doctor to get his physical, and dragging little kids, 4 and 2, along for flu shots. It was my first visit to the pediatrician since my accidentally fake heart attack, so I was a little nervous.

But not as nervous as the kids about the shots. E, 4, kept asking, “Will it hurt, mom?”
“Yep, a little bit.” I answer, because, you know, why lie? Luckily for me, she’s a pragmatist, because she shrugs and says, “Well, it’s to keep us from getting sick.”

That’s when the 12 year old chimes in and says, “AND we get Krispy Kreme.” Really, I think. When did this happen? The cool fake glasses the doctor gives you aren’t enough?

But I do love to eat the bejesus out of one or six donuts watch my kids at Krispy Kreme, enthralled by the donuts rolling off the line, wearing their little hats. Then transformed into wild sugar people, jumping on the booths. So I agreed.

Turns out when you take 3 kids to the doctor it takes considerably longer then when you take one. And the actual half hour that you wait in the little room feels more like three days, because the 2 year old keeps hitting the 4 year old in the head with a car while said 4 year old screams that IT’S HER TURN and I’m like “Oh my god YOU DON’T EVEN LIKE CARS!”

But eventually, it was our turn for the needles. E, the only girl and a tough cookie, flexes her little bicep and says, “I’m first!” The nurse is impressed. “Show those boys how it’s done!” So she did, with not even a flinch.

Baby W took it in the leg with a perplexed “Ouch!” that made us all laugh, but no tears. And J got three shots, flu, tetanus, and something I forget. He coyly declared, “You get as many donuts as you do shots!” Much to the immediate indignation of E, who has a strong Fair radar and said since she COULDN’T have more shots, it wasn’t FAIR that he got more donuts. Agreed. There would be as many donuts as all could hold. The mighty Mom has spoken.

But then I had to make a mom decision: it was now 5 o’clock, pretty close to when we eat dinner. Should we go and revel in the sugar, be decadent in our disregard for routine on a school night? Or should we be responsible, bring some donuts home from the KK drive thru, and have a square meal and then some sugar?

I opted for a little wildness. We got a dozen assorted donuts (after I vetoed as necessary: “No, that one has red dye- No, I think that one has yellow” I’ll give my kids a buttload of sugar, but god forbid they have Petroleum based dyes. They FREAK.:)

We sat on the little red stools, under the red glowing Hot and Fresh sign. They were silent for several minutes, earnestly and efficiently noshing away, with an occasional break for milk. Then, I saw the signs. They started twirling on their stools. Their laughter got a little bit louder. And I started to feel it in myself. There was a certain devil-may care sugar fueled aura to us. We felt GOOD.

I took the little ones to the bathroom to wash their hands, and when we entered, the music got much louder overhead. It was one of those bathrooms where there’s no stalls, just you. Blaring through the speakers was Jackson Browne’s “Somebody’s Baby”. Oh, I love that song so much, ever since I was a little girl. I loved it before I knew it was in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, because, you know, I was six. My mom wouldn’t even let me watch “The Facts of Life”, because “Those girls were sassy.” But that song just shot me right back.

Of course, I had to dance. Baby W went over to the tampon receptacle and began using the top as a drum, keeping perfect time. E, ever proper, rolled her eyes as she washed her hands, sleeves rolled up.
“Moooooom,” she said. “You don’t have to DANCE.”

I shimmied, singing into my rolled up paper towel microphone, as W eyed me earnestly, the rhythm section.

“Oh yes, I do, my friend,” I said. “Oh, yes I do.”

In the car, the littles fell asleep. And no one ate their supper. But when they’re 15? That’s the kind of day they’ll remember. Even as they roll their eyes.