Thursday, December 30, 2010


I'm not sure exactly how this goes...  Is there a specific ritual I need to follow?  I'm not Catholic but I feel an intense need to make a proper confession.  Should I make the sign of the Cross?  Maybe I'll just wing it.  That method seems to work fairly well for me in the rest of my life. 

Ok.  Well...  Ummmmm  Universe?  I've done something I'm ashamed of and I need someone to absolve me of my incredibly heavy guilt.
The kids are out of school on winter break and so a few days ago I worked from home.  I had a lot to catch up on, having been out the week before Christmas, and so I was up at the computer pounding away, thinning out my overflowing email account, editing documents that marketing needed "yesterday", etc..etc...etc.....  And I let the boys play Mario Kart while I was working. 

That doesn't sound so bad, right?

Well it IS bad, Universe.  Because...... 
I let them play for... (Gulp.........  Just say it Kafsky.  Go on.  Get it out there. No sense in pretending....)
Universe....... I let them play for (whispering) 8 and a half hours. 
9:30am until 6:00pm.
Until their eyes were frozen wide and mush was dripping from their ears.
Oh God, I wish I was exaggerating -- even the tiniest bit -- but I'm not.  Not at all. 
There was mush.  And difficulty blinking.
And as if that's not enough, there's more.
I didn't even bother to fix them lunch.  In fact, I didn't feed them AT ALL.  And while I can't be positive, I don't think they ever took a break to pee.  (Of course, along with that "not eating" thing, they weren't consuming any liquids either.  So who knows? Maybe their little bodies were too dehydrated to muster up the fluids needed to pee.) 

Universe, I usually do pretty well with the mommy-guilt thing.  I don't normally beat myself up or over-think my parenting tactics because the way I figure it, most everybody is doing the best they can with what they've got.  Lord knows I am.  But this one...?  This 8-and-a-half-hour Mario Kart marathon thing?  I'm struggling here and I need you to assuage my guilt.

Tell me it's ok.  Or - if not necessarily "OK" - that this one instance doesn't make me the number one contender for the World's Shittiest Working Mother.