My Tiny Mama Packs a Punch

The Reasons I'm Still Sane

Tomorrow my dad reclaims his bride.

For the past three weeks, since Bean was born, my mom has been staying with us, keeping us well-fed, keeping the house in immaculate order, keeping Bug from going crazy with boredom and neglect, and keeping me relatively sane.

I’m still reeling from amazement that my mother can help with a newborn, make five-star quality meals, keep the house and Bug clean, and tend to her farm on Farmville. Or Tiki Resort, or whichever game she’s currently playing on Facebook. It’s true – my tiny mama packs a punch.

There is zero percent chance I would have been able to do this on my own. And by “this,” I mean adjust our busy Buttram lives to incorporate said newborn. Okay, okay, so maybe if I had to do this without her, we’d all still be alive by now (people can survive on peanut butter sandwiches alone, right?), but things wouldn’t look as pretty (the house might even have burned down), nor would it have been nearly as much fun.

My parents are the reason I have any modicum of confidence in my own ability to parent two children, and get everyone where they need to be on time, and with clean underwear on to boot. They are the prime example of family life, and with two role models like them, it’s a given that things should go smoothly, right?

Right?