Should Have Known Better...

I had a rough day on Friday. My accident anniversary reared its ugly head and knocked me for a loop. I tried to avoid over-reflecting on the past and spent the afternoon playing with Robby and baking cookies.

I should have known better than to bake cookies when I'm sad. Friday night, when the house was quiet, I sought solace through the self-medication of homemade cookies. Robby woke up on Saturday and asked for a cookie. I lied and told him that Daddy ate them.

Saturday I resolved to have a better day. The sun was shining and I actually heard some birds singing. I managed to put the guilt of my cookie gorge, and making Scott the scapegoat, behind me as Robby and I headed outside to play.

He began frantically to plead his case to go down and "fish" in the stream. He even found his Froggy boots which I thought had been lost in the abyss of his closet. Incidentally, we also found the remnants of three cupcakes- minus the icing of course.

He doesn't have a fishing pole or bait, which really doesn't matter because we don't have any fish in the stream. At this age he doesn't seem to be concerned with details. We put on his Froggy boots, I grabbed my cell phone and we headed off to fish.

I sat on a fallen tree trunk and was contemplating the week that lies ahead. Robby was "fishing," a term defined as sticking a long stick into the water to dislodge and throw rotting leaves and mud from the stream bed. He caught a "super big one" and asked me to come see. He stood so proud with his prize collection of muddy leaves that were protruding off the edge of his stick. I got closer to admire his "catch."

I should have known better. He flung the large wad of rotting muck over his shoulder. I got a mouthful of stream gunk and slime.

After removing the wet funky debris from my nose, cheeks, hair and mouth and accepting Robby's hug of apology, we walked to another area of the stream. He wanted to visit Robby Island (a small piece of land on the other side of the stream) and he had a plan. He asked if he could scoot across the log.

I should have known better. He fell into the stream. Froggy boots don't provide a lot of protection from the water when submerged up to the hip.

With both of us covered with cold rotting leaves and mud, we ended our fishing adventure. Robby was stripped naked outside and immediately put into a bath. I washed my face and brushed the remaining leaf stems from my hair.
Still feeling some lingering guilt about eating all of his cookies, I asked Robby what he wanted for dinner. He asked me if he could pick. I said yes, and he jumped up and gave me kiss.

I should have known better than to let him choose dinner. He picked mashed potatoes and ice cream.

By the end of the weekend I felt like a parental failure. I had eaten his cookies and then lied and blamed it on his Daddy. I received a face full of mud. I watched Robby fall into a cold stream. I then fed him an unbalanced dinner of mashed potatoes and vanilla ice cream. I certainly wasn't going to get "mother of the year."

However, putting him into bed, Robby told me that he had the "bestest weekend of his whole life, and that is four years." He recounted his adventures, telling me that he loved baking cookies and we get to make more since Daddy thought they were so yummy. He felt bad for covering me with his "ginormous and messy fish," but that he really caught a big one because he's a good fisherman. He got to visit Robby Island and then he went swimming with the water bugs. He finished by telling me that I made him a delicious dinner that was "super duper yummy."

The same experiences, from two completely different perspectives. Looking back, I like Robby's version better! Maybe I will win Mother of the Year... after all, it depends on who is allowed to vote.