Best. Parents. Ever!

You know what I'm really glad about? I'm really glad, when I arrived home with N today 45 minutes after Em's gymnastics class had ended and said, "Where's Em?" and Baroy and I realized that he thought I was getting her and I KNEW he was supposed to get her (having only told him three times earlier in the afternoon that if I was picking up N, then he had to pick up Em), I'm really glad that we sprang into action like a well-oiled machine, working together, a true TEAM, rather than spending the next few minutes screaming at each other at the top of our lungs like a couple of lunatics and trying to decide who was to blame. (Did I mention it was HIS fault? Because it totally was.) After all, that would have been just stupid and dysfunctional. Yep, I'm really glad that's not the way we handled it, because, phew, I wouldn't want to be in that other blaming-and-yelling kind of relationship, would you?

And Em handled the whole thing really well for an 8-year-old, if you ignore the first half hour after she got home when she collapsed sobbing into my arms, and the hour after that that she spent blaming herself for not thinking to just call her dad's cell phone or call home once she realized he was more than just a little late. Poor baby. But she bounces back quickly, my girl. She's already loaded this little gem of a parenting moment into her arsenal of incidents with which to teasingly torture her father. (He deserves it; he's the one who's trained her in the fine art of torture by teasing in the first place.)

As for me? Well, just name the time and place, and I'll be there, ready to accept my Mother of the Year award. As long as it doesn't conflict with the Best Relationship of the Year award ceremony. It's hard to keep up with all the accolades, you know, when you're just this good.