I fell asleep with the wee one in her bed last night, snuggling as we listened to a CD of "Barbie Movie" songs.  I woke up multiple times through the night, hacking up bits of lung, occasionally going into the kitchen to drink OJ straight from the carton, wincing as the acid burned my sore throat.

By 4 a.m., I was almost ready to give up the sleep attempts, then when the dogs asked to be let out at 5, and then when the wee one herself woke up at 6, I knew I’d chalk my night up to “crappy sleep night.”

What I didn’t expect was “Crappy Mother’s Day Eve,” with my daughter puking not once, but four times, once in the aisles of Target as we attempted to get her medicine for her aching head.

I didn’t expect that I’d break out in hives as I shopped for mothers day gifts, I didn’t expect that I’d run out of gas â€" in the mower and in the cans â€" midway through  mowing the lawn, nor did I expect that bastard gerbil would draw blood from sick kid’s finger as I mopped the kitchen floor.

By rights, I should have the loveliest time, ever, tonight at the Pacific Grill’s Taste, because dammit all, I deserve to.

But will I feel like a winner of the crappy mom award for leaving my sick kid with her grandma, while simultaneously winning the crappy daughter-in-law award for the same reason? â€" Jessica Corey-Butler