As you may know, I was NOT chosen as my son’s hero. This was a wrong choice on his part but, children have to make their own mistakes and fall down sometimes. He chose his dad. This was the first post pretty much setting the mood and how I contemplated waking my son up for a review (similar to work ones) and ask him what my strengths are as well as my “opportunities” so that I may become his hero for 2017.
So it’s the next day after finding out I would not be receiving this award (Monday).
I had a war going on inside my body. Part of me wanted to be the mature parent and invite the grandparents to this night of screw ups….ahem….heros. I wanted to help my son, however I could for this “wonderful”, “glorious” presentation. Mature mom was prepared to suck it up and become somewhat of a hybrid of a Stepford wife and Eddie Murphy’s bride in Coming to America:
“I want whatever you want sire,” bow head in gold lamay costume.
Full disclosure
The other part of me wanted to be a crazy psycho bitch, screaming at my son, scream at my husband, scream at everyone, scream at the mailman and again address the question why am I not your hero? Psycho bitch in me planned on saying, “Really? You need my help? Huff. Why don’t you go ask your stupid hero. WHAT-EVER (cue Cher from Clueless)”
I began to think of ways I could get back at him,
“Oh you wanted to go on vacation? Sorry I signed you up for summer school.”
“Our friend’s daughter, Big Bertha needs a date to the middle school dance. She’ll pick you up at 4 as long as she can find a ride back from juve.”
Alas, I chose the mature parent even though the psycho bitch parent was sitting inside me as I text my in-laws and ask them if they wanted to come up for a special surprise and apologize for the short notice.
No son, I don’t have enough daggers in my back. Could you add 2 more then turn them?
That night my son asked me to come into his room and to close the door. I asked him what this was about and he announced it was for his presentation and then with absolutely no guilt or frustration out of his decision, he announced what this sharing really was about and that he chose his dad. I took it like a little bitch.
The only bright spot and I’m a terrible person for admitting this but he admitted he was going to pick his grandfather but “doesn’t know enough about his grandfather” to make one of these up for him. So my husband wasn’t even the first pick. Which although feeling spiteful, it quickly lost it’s taste when I came to the realization that I wasn’t even his second pick! Psycho mom was rattling the chains inside me screaming “let me at’em coach! lemme at’em!”
P needed help with downloading pictures for his montage that would accompany his essay. I climbed up his bunk and got situated. The screen that was up showed several docs including his good friend’s hero document which prominently displayed “My Hero Is My Mom.” Yep, that’s about right.
I thought a little more about seeing this first document for a mom and I began to sweat a little and had a panic attack about what this meant. I had this vision of every mother being taken up to the front of the room while their loving son or daughter regaled us with why they are their hero.
So I helped him download pictures and even listened to the song he had chosen for this montage. Right when I convinced him to use an image because I looked really good in it AND there was actually an image of me in this whole situation, I suddenly had a funny idea that I quickly pushed to the back of my head but did consider it honestly for a moment.
What if in the middle of the night I sabotaged his power point and tweaked it just a little to where I was his new hero? I would put pictures of us standing together at Easter time and me holding him as a baby and all sorts of things. It really would garner an A+. Thoughts? Comments? Concerns of this developing idea?
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