I have never professed to be a perfect mother. No-one really is, we all just try our best. This morning was one of those less perfect moments. For some reason I have not got my oomph back since our trip so am playing catch up all the time. We were running late for school, I had only got to bed well after midnight trying to fix a washing machine that had clothing soaking and locked in it, the pest control people were coming in at 8.30 to do their annual spray thingy, I was trying to tidy up at least a bit, whilst brushing my teeth and Jem was waiting for me to do her hair and I was throwing on my clothes, knowing I still had heaps to do when Kate started calling Mom, mom, mo-o-o-o-mmm, mo-o-om. Mom! Ohh, fuck off, I said. It was what I felt so I said it. Just quietly and matter of factly. Enough. Jem was in earshot, caught my eye, she looked horrified and I looked sheepish. We burst out laughing. I did explain that I didn’t really mean it, I just meant it a little bit.  Because sometimes, just sometimes, just for a little bit, I do hate the word mom.