Mother of the Year

Last week, a neighbor was watching my children across the street from my home.  They were all in the back yard playing in various forms of water when two-year-old Katie decides she wants to check up on Mom and Dad.  She pushes open the full-sized gate and lets herself out.  Just before my daughter steps out to cross the main road we live on, a nice lady pulled her car over to save the day.  (Thanks, guardian angel #8269.  She has been my most independent-thinking child, for better or worse.  And I certainly can't begrudge the neighbor because Katie's done this to me before, too.)  I know this happened because Jason and I were just about to pull into our driveway having returned from our outing at the time. 

I slowed the car and the lady asks, "Do you know where this little girl belongs?"  I say, "Yes!  She's mine.  Thank you for stopping to help."  And the lady goes on her way.  I then turn to Katie who I have in my arms and tell her soberly, "You don't go in the road alone.  That's scary.  That's a no no.  A car could hit you."  On her face there is confusion.  Instead of feeling terrified that my baby almost got hit by a car driving 45 mph, I'm annoyed because I can't teach her she did something wrong.  She doesn't understand how she could have done anything wrong when it got her exactly what she wanted in the first place.  Nope, not terrified or relieved like any good mother should be, I'm annoyed. 

And that's why I deserve the Mother-of-the-Year award.  Thank you for your nomination.