Even though Teen Spirit is just a few months shy of 18 and the Oh So Feisty One is just weeks away from her 12th birthday, Smartmom knows that she still has a lot to learn about being a mom.
Funny. You’d think she’d have mastered momdom by now. But just about every day she does something or other that makes her wonder if she knows anything at all.
During the winter break, Smartmom took OSFO and three girlfriends to the Grand Cascades at Crystal Springs in New Jersey, a hotel/spa with an incredible Biosphere pool.
Four girls and Smartmom sharing one hotel room.
Right there, Smartmom wondered if she was some kind of lunatic. She prayed that she’d be able to sleep comfortably; that all the girls would get along; and there would be no fights or wild behavior.
Scratch that last one.
Of course there would be fights and wild behavior: they’re tweens for Buddha’s sake.
Nonetheless, Smartmom prayed that no one would get hurt going down the three-story slide at the Biosphere pool; no one would hit her head on the ceiling while jumping on the bed; and that there’d be no food allergies.
On the second morning, one of OSFO’s friends woke up sick. Smartmom knew right away that something was up when this usually effusive and enthusiastic girl looked droopy and sad.
First, Smartmom wondered if the girl was homesick, then she realized that she could barely talk and had a fever.
Trouble was, Smartmom didn’t have her trusty ear thermometer or any Advil.
No problem, Smartmom thought: I’ll just run out to the Met Food (oops, that’s on Seventh Avenue back in Park Slope).
In a panic, Smartmom went down to the lobby, but the hotel shop was closed and the woman at the front desk said she didn’t have any Advil. Within seconds, Smartmom spotted an attractive young mother checking in.
“Do you have any chewable Motrin or Tylenol with you?”
“Yes, I do,” the nice woman replied.
Relieved, Smartmom felt like kissing her. She figured it might take a while for this attractive, and obviously capable, woman with the fancy luggage and ski gear to track down the pills, but within seconds, she had a plastic bag in her hands with grape-flavored chewable Motrin, Benadryl and Tylenol Cold Medicine.
It was right on top in her suitcase.
“And here’s some for later,” she said handing Smartmom three more pills.
Boy, was Smartmom impressed. Now that’s a real organized, smart mom (Dumb Editor note: I wonder if she can write on deadline).
Needless to say, Smartmom also felt embarrassed and a little ashamed. Why didn’t she think to bring a first-aid kit? She was, after all, in charge of the health and well-being of four 11-year-old-girls and anything can happen.
Walking back to the room cradling six purple Motrin in her hand, Smartmom vowed to create a really cool first aid kit when she got back to Brooklyn.
This was going to be the first aid kid to end all first aid kits. Smartmom would buy bandages, gauze roll, tape, knee and elbow bandages, anti-itch ointments and Bacitracin, hand gels, wipes, eye wash, a first aid guide, an instant cold pack, tweezers. She’d even throw in a package of Ricola cough drops and a can of Progresso chicken noodle soup.
Smartmom, like that perky, super-well-equipped and cheerful smart(er) mom, would be set for any and every eventuality. Just like that smart mom in the lobby.
Later that afternoon — after hours swimming in the Biosphere pool — OSFO came up to the room limping. The Oh-So-Limpy-One pointed to her big toe and walked slowly to the bed. Grimacing in pain, she rocked back and forth.
Smartmom tried to be very present and not let her anxiety take over (Omigod! When did she last get a Tetanus shot? Last year? Phew!).
Smartmom stared at OSFO’s toe. She asked all kinds of pertinent questions. Did you step on anything? Did it happen in the pool?
The Oh-So-Limpy-One continued to moan.
That’s when Smartmom knew that she had to go down to the lobby again and see if the gift shop was open.
Nope.
She looked around to see if there were any cool moms in the lobby.
Nope. The only other people down there were a young childless couple in ski gear and a pair of cute twentysomething guys.
Nervously, Smartmom approached the brown-suited hotel employee at the front desk
“Do you have any Band Aids and Bacitracin?” Smartmom ventured nervously.
“Yes, we do,” she said handing her a teeny, tiny United Healthcare/Oxford first aid kit with the world’s tiniest Band Aids and some cream.
“Yuck,” said OSFO when Smartmom rubbed the white cream on her toe wound.
“It’s not Bacitracin,” she said.
Smartmom refrained from getting impatient. She was sure that the super-well-equipped smarter-than-Smartmom mom would never do that.
Smartmom tried to channel that woman’s obvious grace as a mother.
She washed her daughter’s wound. Carefully. She rubbed a tiny bit of anti-bacteria cream on the Oh-So-Limpy-One’s wound. Carefully. She put the teeny, tiny Band Aid on. With care.
Yes, she had it in her to be the super mom she wanted to be. Just like the lady in the lobby.
It would just take a little practice, that’s all.
After 18 years.
