I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
October 11, 2008
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After a summer of slacking, I resolved to be a better mother and plan more activities for my kids. And so far, I have to admit I’ve lived up to my resolution. I bought a kindergarten curriculum and have been doing lessons with Punky three to four days a week. We’ve been going places and learning things, from ballet and zoo classes to visits to the botanical gardens, story time at the library, and preschool events at the park. I’ve been reading to the kids- between three and four new books per day. And I’ve been cooking up dishes just for them, sneaking pureed cauliflower, carrots, sweet potatoes and broccoli into the recipes and praying they won’t notice.
So while I have many, many obnoxious flaws, I’ve been feeling pretty good about my mothering skills. I won’t always be quite so devoted to my children’s activities, but since this is Punky’s last year at home before kindergarten, I want to pack it with lots of wonderful memories.
And with all this said, that’s why I didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about declaring yesterday “Wild Indian Day.”
I had gone to the Presidential Debate the night before, you see, and not only was I exhausted, but I also had several debate-related writing deadlines to meet by the end of the day. Therefore the kids and I all stayed in our pajamas for most of the day. No one got a bath. I didn’t make a much-needed grocery run, so they were allowed to feast on frozen waffles, fruit snacks, Goldfish and cheese toast. The house quickly became a wreck, as they were allowed to do whatever the hell they wanted (within reason, I mean), while I supervised and wrote. By late afternoon, I looked at Punky and Bruiser running around in their underwear and diaper, Nutella smeared on their faces, and decided that Wild Indian Day had been a resounding success. For the first time, I didn’t feel bad about the state of things. I had been doing a good job, and we were all entitled to a Wild Indian Day every month or two.
And then the doorbell rang.
“Is this a good time?” the man outside asked. He was from Critter Control and he was here to fix the screen around our attic fan, which squirrels recently tried to gnaw to bits. He had promised to call before he showed up. But you guessed it.
He didn’t.
Aghast, I let him in. Surely he noted my dirty and half-naked children. The toys and pajamas strewn about the floor. The trash bag unceremoniously dumped in the dining room. The leaves littering the entryways where Punky had been coming in and out from the backyard.
After a moment, he went to get his ladder from his truck, and I raced up to my bedroom, where he’d have to go in order to get to our attic. Generally, I try to make the bed and straighten up each morning, but not on Wild Indian Day! The bed was a mess. Clean laundry waited to be sorted on the floor. Dirty clothes laid where I had dropped them the night before. Frantically, I cleaned up as best I could, noticing my underwear in front of the attic door and scooping them up at the very last minute. GAH.
All of my satisfaction with Wild Indian Day had gone right out the ceiling fan vent. I no longer felt like a good mom taking a day off.
I felt judged. By Critter Control. And that was not good.
I’ll have more Wild Indian Days, of course. Sometimes, they’re unavoidable. But I’ll have to remember to put up a sign on the front door that says, Stomach Virus. Do Not Enter.
That ought to work.
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.
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