We had to have the talk again this weekend. You know, the one about “what kind of person you want to be”? Here is a brief synopsis.

Life is full of choices.

Choose to behave and have a good attitude

Choose to do your work

Choose to be on time

Choose to tell the truth

No one can make these choices for you. I can do my best to point you in the right direction. I can help you understand the difference between right and wrong. But ultimately it is up to you to decide. I understand that you are a kid. You are going to struggle with staying focused, getting up in the morning, being prepared for school. I can help you, but I can’t do it for you. No one is perfect, we don’t expect you to be perfect. Everyone messes up. We understand that. We just want you to try your best.

SS: But you’re perfect.

ME: What? Uhm, thanks, but no. I am not perfect.

I found this incredibly funny. My kid thinks I am perfect. Hello! I love that kid. Good for the ego, but he is so wrong. I am not even close to being perfect.

It got me thinking, “What kind of people do our kids think we are? And where the hell do they get this from?”

I have a calendar on our fridge that denotes all the activities we have as a family. It helps keep us informed. (well, most of us anyway) I have devised a chore list that resides on our fridge and on the back of his door to help him know what chores he needs to do everyday. I have a note on the front of the door that says, LUNCH to remind him not to forget. Most mornings I wake everyone up in the house. I keep him focused in the morning with constant reminders of what chore his is on. At night, I usually make dinner while helping him with his homework. I also regulate his evening chores and get him to bed on time. It is kind of my purpose in life to keep this family on track and organized.

Is this what he defines as perfect?

I wonder where he got this from. On (many) more than one occasion I have been humbled by thinking the wrong thing, being too quick to accuse and oh so many wonderful motherly learning moments. Being a mom is oh so humbling. I have never had my foot in my mouth as often. I have never felt so stupid, so unprepared, so haphazard, so lost.

I am not sure if it is simply that I married in to a house where I don’t speak the language, know the code or if I really just never understood so many things. I hear my husband and stepson speak and yet I am completely purplexed as to what they are really saying. I repeat verbatim what they say and ask if I understand correctly.

No

Oh, let me try again.

Nope, wrong again.

Okay can you explain it to me another way?

No

Alrighty then. I am just stupid.

Stupid, but perfect. A complete conundrum.

I am also curious “Does he think his dad is perfect? Is biomom?” How does he define perfect?

I will have to ask him some day.

In the meantime, I am greatly pleased (and yet oh so horrified) to know my kid thinks I am perfect.