Yesterday my oldest daughter threw me under the bus.
As a snack during Movie Time Monday, Emma asked if she could have some marshmellows. She brought me the bag, and I said, "Sure" and put a few in a bowl for her and for Macey to munch on during the movie.
A few hours later, Garry came home and saw said package of opened marshmellows.
Those were for my yams, he explained.
Well, no big loss. I'm not a fan of yams.
Who opened the marshmellows? he asked.
Well, the answer to that one is obvious unless Quincy the dog developed a working thumb. But still, my oldest daughter threw me under the bus. Without hesitation, she said, It was Momma.
Now, forget the fact that the marshmellows were opened per her request. Or that it was all her idea. Or that she munched on them happily, with little thought of her father's yams (she gets that from me), or that I was in full labor with her for 20 hours and THEN had to go through a c-section, or that the guy responsible for my epidural during her labor MISSED and had to put that huge needle in AGAIN -- yep, apparently none of this was fully appreciated.
Motherhood is tough.