One of those

I remember when I was young and knew everything about parenting.

Of course I mean before I had kids.

I would see THOSE MOMS in stores...dragging whining kids with messy hair, wearing mismatched clothes with food plastered all over, invariably sucking on something, with boogers crusted all over their noses.

I remember thinking, WHEN I AM A MOTHER, I WILL HAVE MORE PRIDE.

What a freaking IDIOT I was.

Yesterday we woke up with colds.  All four of us.  So Etienne and I are spending the last real weekend of the summer wiping noses and dealing with grumpiness.

So today when I bundled the girls into the car to go to dance class, I didn't get that excited about the fact that Adele's face wasn't spotlessly clean.  Or that her tiny little jeans are slightly short (she's between sizes).  Or that Eva's dance leotard (pink) and leggings (burgundy) didn't match her flouncy light blue skirt (she chose her own outfit this morning).  Or that both girls had runny noses that were already irritated and sore from wiping.  

I left Eva at dance class and walked with Adele to the nearby drugstore, to pick up some Puffs tissues with lotion.  They are the creme de la creme of tissues for cold sufferers, and I refuse to go through a cold with anything less.   Addie's nose is bright red and has a small open sore on the nostril, from 12 hours of wiping with cheaper stuff.

On the way, Addie tumbled on the sidewalk and bonked her head, leaving a big red scrape on her forehead.  She cried pretty hard, poor little troll.  I scooped her up, gave her some loving, and we continued on our way.  It was almost her snack time, so I gave her a piece of dried fruit bar to suck on while I jammed her in the cart to search for tissues in the cavernous drugstore.

I reached the cash register and the checkout girl - in her early twenties and beautiful - looked at my child and then at me.  Her distaste was tangible.

I looked at my child.

Addie had sticky, messy hair...a big scrape on her forehead...a big red sore on her bright red nose, which was lightly crusted with dried snot.  Fresh snot oozed down toward her lip, fighting for space with sticky red bits of dried fruit.  There was more red drooly gooeyness all over the front of her jacket and all over her hands.  Her eyes were red-rimmed and watery from her cold, and she was breathing through her mouth and whining slightly, desperate to be freed from the cart.

It suddenly struck me...I had turned into THAT MOTHER.  

With one of THOSE CHILDREN.

It's not the first time that I've realized my children aren't models of perfection.  I suppose no one's children are...although some certainly seem to be.

But this was the first time that I've ever looked at my child so critically...with the eye of the well-turned-out beautiful twenty-something who was staring at both of us. 

And let me tell you...without a second's hesitation...

I AM DAMNED PROUD.