Mother of the Year

Today after running on the treadmill (or what I like to call "Attempting to burn what I will eat at the Great Cookie Swap of 2007"), I went upstairs to take a shower. I took my time getting beautiful (because it DOES take a long time for me) and made sure I looked my best (I didn't).

It was then time to turn my attentions to the Princess and take her breakfast syrup-soaked tangles and turn them into something lovely. I called and called, but she didn't come. Not even when I used my loud yelling voice or my angry impatient voice.

Assuming she was paralyzed by the hypnotic powers of Noggin (because it's like preschool on TV!), I took a trip downstairs to retrieve her. It was not until I had my hand on the basement door that I heard her screams.

Rushing down, I find her head pinned awkwardly between a collapsed metal folding chair -- her body twisted and tangled -- and unable to get out. She was hysterical and sobbing (understandably). I pulled her free and felt pangs of guilt as I saw the large bruise on the left side of her face. I have no idea how long she had been like this, but I suspect quite a while.

What added salt to this already painful wound (for me, not her) was when she said, "I thought you were in the other room and just wouldn't come get me."

Yes. My child was painfully pinned between two pieces of metal and she thought I would not help her.

I must be the best mother. Ev-er.

Stupid Mondays.