An I.Q. of Zero

Newsflash! I am now officially the dumbest mommy in the world...or at least that's what my almost three-year-old would have me believe.

It's amazing that I've spent 30+ years without questioning my ability to function in the world, only to learn I've been wrong, wrong, wrong the entire time.

For starters, I have no idea what the weather is really like outside. It doesn't matter if I've consulted the local meteorologist's report or if I've merely watched with my own eyes the dark clouds barrel closer towards us. Whatever--I'm wrong.

If I say, "It's too cold to go outside," Wyatt says, "It not too cold outside!" If I say it's nice weather, he says, "No. It hot out here." If I hear thunder in the distance and say it's going to rain, he retorts, "It no rain." And even when the rain is pouring like a waterfall off our roof, he has to actually look out the window and see it before he believes me...and sometimes not even then.

Next, I don't know how to feed my child a decent meal. I'm not talking about his holding the party line with the phrase "I no love broccoli" each time I put broccoli on my plate. No. The food I put on his plate is always wrong. It's too hot, too cold, too yucky, too "slip-per-y" to stay his fork. But put tomatoes, croutons, pasta, carrot sticks or anything else on my plate, and even if the same exact thing is on his plate, too, it's suddenly better. My plate, my spoon, my fork, my glass--somehow, they make the meal palatable.

And finally, I don't know how to drive. I haven't had a wreck that was my fault since my first year of college, and yet with Wyatt in the backseat, I'm a car racing maniac ready to plow into someone around the next curve. With each bump in the pavement, he screams, "Be more careful, mommy!" If I hit the brake a little harder than usual, he frantically asks, "What happened? Are you ok, mommy?" With each curve taken over 5 mph, he yells, "You turnin' me over like a tow truck!" And even when I'm not driving the speed limit, he's yelling, "Woah! Slow down! You going to get a ticket!"

And these stories don't even mention my awful taste in music ("I no like that!"), my poor taste in clothes ("But I no need to wear pants!"), my radical views about nap-taking for mommy's sanity ("But I not sleepy!"), my dangerous views about invisible scratches not being a big deal ("I need a band-aid!") , or my ridiculous ideas about saying "I'm sorry" even if it was an accident (Silence).

Who knew I couldn't read a weather map, couldn't cook, couldn't commandeer a van with power steering...couldn't be a good mother?

Whatever happened to that bedtime story where young children idolize their parents and think their parents are perfect?

I'm not sure who made up that lie, but they never met my Wyatt.

Photo: Wyatt at the twins' 1st b-day, after eating ice cream and expressing his view that cutlery is just for table decoration.