NOT Me! Monday

It's Monday! Time for MckMama's NOT Me! Monday...

After last week's admission that I sometimes pass gas and blame it on Noah because he can't pipe up and rat me out...

Well, I most certainly was NOT embarrassed that I blogged about it.

Nope. NOT me.

So I did NOT stand in my kitchen, did NOT stare out the window, and did NOT get the sudden thought of "Man, what am I going to do if he starts talking some day and sells me out?"

Nope. I did NOT think that.

I did NOT go white in the face wondering if his first words might be,

"I'm tired of you farting and blaming it on me."

Nope. That thought did NOT occur.

And I did NOT - NOT for even a split second - joke to myself, "I really should cut back on speech therapy in case he spills all my secrets someday."

Nope. I did NOT think that.

Because that would be bad.

Very Bad.

And I never, ever think joking thoughts.

Nope, NOT me!

And since Noah does NOT have sleep issues and is NOT frequently up at all hours of the night, I did NOT go into Noah's room the other night, sit on the side of his bed, and attempt a conversation that did NOT go like this...

"Noah Bear, you know Mama loves you more than anything in the world, right? And Mama wants you to speak more than anything in the world, right? Well, when you do start talking, you have to remember to keep Mama's back, okay?"

And he did not look me straight in the eyes and... SMIRK.

No he did NOT!

So the conversation most definitely did NOT then include several words like, "Disney World", "Lots and lots of ice cream", or"As many hot wheels as you want".

And most definitely, absolutely, positively, did NOT include the phrase "Your own room..."

No, I did NOT have a 15 minute one-sided bribing conversation with my child in order to preserve my dignity.

And, no, I do NOT recognize the irony in that statement.

Afterwards, I did NOT head to the bathroom, did NOT glance at the clock, and did NOT notice that it read 12 o'clock on the dot.

And flashbacks of 5th grade slumber parties did NOT come flooding back to me.

And I did NOT remember being ten years old and scaring myself silly by standing in the bathroom at the stroke of midnight saying "Bloody Mary" three times fast without peeing myself.

And since I'm now a mature 35 year old mother of three and NOT an immature 35 year old - umm, mother of three, I did NOT glance at the bathroom mirror...

I did NOT get the heebie-jeebies.

I did NOT throw open the bathroom door.

And I most definitely did NOT run out of there like a frightened school girl.

And since none of this happened, I also did NOT make a flying leap from the bathroom to my bed in an attempt to throw myself under the covers.

I did NOT halfway land on my husband and most certainly did NOT almost castrate him in the process.

So he did NOT wake up in fetal position moaning words that are NOT not printable here.

No. I did NOT almost trade the family jewels in exchange for a sketchy memory of grade school slumber parties.

And I did NOT feel like a fool.

Nope. NOT me!