An Actual Point

When I started collecting Worst Mama Points, hoping to win the coveted Worst Mother of the Year award, I was - believe it or not - kidding. I won't deny there is a certain perverse pleasure in moaning, "Oh, I'm just the WORST mother!" at the children whenever I make an unpopular decree but, all my collected points aside, I'd never really taken WMPs seriously.

This weekend, though, I sent my kids (and husband) from excited cheering - MAMA MADE A ZONE-CLEARING PASS TO HER OWN PLAYER! - to terrorized cries when I hit the wall (immediately after the fabulous pass, of course) and didn't get up. Despite the fact that mine is an injury more annoying than life-threatening, the kids, Ross especially, didn't take watching me go down very well. Even though they saw me back on the ice the very next morning, watching the championship game from the team bench and standing on the ice (supported by the coach) for the medals ceremony, I think the memory of my fall is still pretty fresh.

The boys have not been angels since my fall (except for Chris, who is clearly winning Best Husband this year) but they have each been noticeably more attentive and even Lars has clingy moments. He hasn't tried to wedge himself into my lap in months but he managed to balance all 55 pounds of himself on my one good leg this afternoon for a quick cuddle before running outside to aim pop-flies at his brother's head. I'm hoping my recovery will be fast and that the scary part will fade into a dim memory for them. I'm hoping they will one day be able to tease me for my thoughtlessness, getting injured mere minutes (game time) before the championship game. Really - who does that? I'm hoping this will, one day, earn me a facetious WMP. For now, though, I think it may be too real to count.