Last night my three year old came downstairs, boo-hooing about losing her favorite rock. That she sleeps with these days. And could I pwease, pwease come look for it for her?
I was in the middle of sorting through memorabilia to clean out the basement, and was under-inclined to go upstairs and embark on a futile search for a rock. So I suggested that I would look in our junk drawer (don't judge me - it gets worse!) to see if we had a rock in there.
And guess what? We did. A small, baby rock to her newly-named Momma rock upstairs, but a rock just the same.
And now I am that kind of woman, mother. The Mom Who is Likely To Have a Rock in her Kitchen Drawer (now is the optimal time to judge me).
I can't tell you why there was a rock in there, or why I thought it was plausible that there might be one! But nonetheless, a "sweet baby rock" was found, and daughter happily scampered back up to bed.
So I say, "Mommy for the win!"