I have at least one proof of my success in mothering. It happened tonight at dinner.
First, a little background. I am a crunchy type- you know, really into healthy eating: grain mill, Nourishing Traditions, raw milk and all that. I don't hug trees, I just believe in good stewardship of our health. My kids have never even eaten commercial baby food.
So, when on my last grocery trip I bought some "emergency meals" (read that packaged frozen junk food) to pinch hit on those last-trimester pregnancy nights when I just can't bear the thought of standing in front of the stove very long, my family stared in disbelief. They stuttered and mumbled something about the location of their "real" mother.
Tonight I broke out the corn dogs. Yes, I know, really, I know how cruddy these things are for you. Pork hotdogs with nitrates, white corn flour, hydrogenated oils heated to ungodly temperatures, etc. I know. But I was desperate.
On to the proof.
When I served a corndog on each child's plate, I received the exact response from each person: "What is this, Mom?" My kids had never seen a corndog. The five year old kept calling it a cattail.
So at least in this one area, I feel like a success.
Or maybe not.
Swordfighting with the corndog sticks makes me think we need to go back to Table Manners 101.