“Mom, I need a bandaid,” Sam says as he walks towards me with a scraped and bleeding finger. It’s his third or fourth injury since we arrived at our campsite the day before.
“Oh buddy… you used our only bandaid yesterday on your knee when you fell,” I said to him. “Remember the one we found in the glove box in the van? That was our only one. I forgot to pack more.”
“Like how you forgot to pack tweezers?” He asks. When he fell yesterday and scraped his knee (when we used our only bandaid), he also got a splinter. He asked me to take it out, but…
“Yeah, like how I forgot to pack tweezers.”
So I guess I’m not that kind of mom: the kind of mom who packs bandaids or tweezers when we go camping. I’m not even the kind of mom who insists we pack up a camping trip early and head to the hospital when her kid breaks his arm (in my defence, it was more of a fracture than a full break, and no one else realized it was broken either).
And I’m not the kind of mom who makes homemade birthday cakes for her kids.
I’m also not the kind of mom who does fancy hairstyles on crazy hair day at school. Because of my early morning work hours, I’m not even the type of mom who sees my kids before they go to school.
I’m not the kind of mom who jumps off the high diving board with her kids. I’m not even the type of mom who takes her kids to the swimming pool. But I will relax in the hot tub with them.
I’m not even the kind of mom who does seasonal crafts with her kids. Or any crafts for that matter.
I’m not the kind of mom who bakes with her kids. Except at Christmas; once a year we bake and decorate Christmas cookies. (Could that count as a seasonal craft???)
So what kind of mom am I?
I asked Lucy and Sam. Who better to tell me what kind of mom I am, than the 7 year old twins who call me Mom?
Sam said “What do you mean?”
“If I’m not the kind of mom who brings bandaids on a camping trip, what kind of mom am I?”
While he was thinking about his answer, Lucy piped in with “You’re a talking and dancing kind of mom. And singing kind of mom.”
Then Sam said, “And a wrestling and tickling kind of mom.”
“And a stinky kind of mom.” Lucy’s contribution. (In her defence, I do ask her to give me a smell test after my runs.)
And then Sam added, with a thoughtful look on his face, “You’re a good mom kind of mom.”
I’ll take it. 😍
(I found after I told my husband Mark this story that he always brings a full first aid kit on all our camping trips. Bandaids for everyone!!)