My dear sweet 7th grader took a little too much time primping this morning and ran out of time to pack herself a lunch. Being the loving mother that I am, I graciously packed one for her (with extra veggies and no dessert).
She gave me lots of attitude (more than normal) about all of the disgusting, inedible things that might be possibly awaiting her when the lunch bell rings and then she huffed and said that she was going to BUY her lunch instead (and when she says “buy” she means she is going to “put it on her tab” for her mom to get a letter sent home that she owes the lunch lady).
So then I threatened to walk into the school building this morning, find her and hand-deliver her lunch bag, give her a big smooch in front of her friends and say, “Here’s your lunch, sweetie!” To which she snarkily replied, “You wouldn’t do that, you don’t have any makeup on.” Touché.
When I woke up this morning, rolled out of bed in my sweats, put a doo-rag on to tame my Donald Trump bedhead, and slipped some flip flops on my feet, I had no intentions of getting out of the car (or being out in public for that matter). I was just going to drive the kids to school and let them get out at the drive-thru drop off and then be on my merry, disheveled way.
What I’ve learned through the years though about thoughtlessly spewing empty threats at my kids is that it makes the parenting game even harder. So when she called my bluff, I KNEW I had NO CHOICE but to follow through.
After I dropped the girls off in the loop I parked my van, swallowed my dignity, shuffled my unpresentable self into the office for a visitor badge and then proceeded down the row of lockers where all the pre-teens were congregating, “whipping and nay-naying” in the Axe-body-spray-fog-filled hallway.
I waited by her homeroom door holding that lunch box with all the helicopter mom-charm I could drum up and watched her in the distance sauntering down the hall with her arms full of books and a happy little grin on her face which quickly turned to horror the moment I caught her eye.
Running up to her with open hugging arms and smoochie lips, I planted a big one on her and said as promised, “Here’s your lunch, sweetie!”
How mortifying is that? Yes, she has a therapy fund.
As I walked back up the hallway, I got some smiles and thumbs ups from a few of the teachers that I had felt compelled to explain to them why I was wandering around the school hallway looking like I just rolled out of bed.
So I guess the moral of the story is never make a threat that you’re not fully prepared to act on and also, wear cuter outfits to bed in case you have to be seen in public before you get dressed for the day. Perhaps it’s time to order me some pajama jeans.