Archive for the ‘Favorites’ Category
June 27 2011
That saying isn’t true. I am here to tell you that you can forget how to ride a bike. I remember being a preteen, laughing at my mom as she wobbled unsteadily on my 10-speed in our rock-covered driveway, unsure how to balance herself anymore. Not even minutes earlier, she was wondering aloud, “How hard can it be? I used to ride a bike everywhere when I was a kid”.
Apparently pretty hard.
She gave it a good try and I appreciated the effort, and the laugh, but she never made it with both feet on the pedals. Defeated and embarrassed, she passed the handlebars back to me as I gathered myself assuredly on top of the gold-sparkled blue banana boat seat and took off. A kid sure to never forget how it feels to have my feet carry my body through the wind.
I think I remember how to ride a bike. But your mind, it plays tricks on you. There’s no way of knowing until you try.
Life is unexpected and I’ve been thrown off this past year. Everything that I had known previously isn’t what I thought. I’m unsure and unbalanced. It’s so easy to lose myself in everything I’ve lost, but I still have what’s important. And even though I’m trying my best to push through, I might need a bit of help, even if I’m a little defeated at first. I’m ready to feel the wind again.
Maybe this will be the year I get back up and ride. It should be. And if I don’t know how to steady myself anymore, I’ll learn again. It’s time to get both feet on the pedals. I think today is a good day to start.
May 12 2011
“Do you play basketball a lot at school?”, I asked Jedi.
“Yeah, but I have to use the funnel basket, because I’m not very good.”, he replied.
“I guess we won’t be signing you up for basketball any time soon then, huh?”
“No, but what about baseball? Wait, is that ball hard?”
“Yes, the ball is hard.”
“No baseball, then. Unless I can just be the batter and run around the bases. What about softball? Is that ball hard?”, he wondered hopefully.
“That ball is bigger, and still hard.”
“How about golf? Oh, no! I couldn’t do golf! That ball is hard, too. When I hit it I’d have to yell FOUR! then duck like this and run away.” Jedi said while demonstrating his best crouch.
“You’d probably like soccer. That’s mostly kicking.”
“I could be a goalie!”, he exclaimed. “What does the goalie do again?”
Sensing a pattern here, I cut to the chase. “He blocks the ball. Which means he might get hit with the ball.”
“Oh, hmmm…”, he thought, our options dwindling.
“Well, there’s always track. That’s running. You like to run.”
“Yeah, I’m really good at running!”
April 21 2011
Jedi is growing in leaps. If his rising stature didn’t make this blatantly obvious, it’s his attitude. He has picked up all sorts of new phrases since going to school. For every question I ask him anymore, I am sure to be met with a “duh!” or “you already know the answer, so I’m not telling you!” or he just ignores me. He grumbles. He’s defiant. He’s a 7 year old. I’m not thrilled with this change, but I understand there’s a need to assert some separation and independence.
But underneath that thicker exterior still lies bursts of my little boy.
When Jedi was smaller, and still an only child, I would lay with him until he fell asleep each night. Just the two of us in quiet. I could listen as he’d babble himself to sleep and bask in the wonder of my growing son. Some nights, he couldn’t shut his eyes without my arm tightly wrapped around him. He was such a beautiful little boy, full of light and love. Time and additions eventually took over and he began to not need me in the same capacity anymore.
Then the other night, I rested next to Jedi in bed. I put my arm around him as he untucked himself just enough to place his around me. It was like old times, except heavier. He is three times longer, his limbs ganglier and stronger, his babbles now real paragraphs. There are gaps of teeth that he’s lost and fingernails that hold proof of friends at play. Like flashes of 7 years worth of stars bursting right before my eyes.
I laid there with my oldest son, arms around each other and our foreheads touching. My beautiful little boy, who’s more likely to talk back these days than to listen. But there are still those bursts, full of light and love.
“I could stay like this forever”, he whispered.
“Me, too”, I said. Me, too.
December 02 2010
I’ve been a mother for over 7 years now. In all honesty, most days I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I have learned a few things, though.
- If you tidy up one room, the others just get messier
- Keeping your house clean for longer than 10 minutes is a lesson in futility
- Hearing “I love you” from your child never gets old
- Nothing ever goes as planned
- Car rides are no longer relaxing; they are stressful and possibly reek of vomit
- No toy is ever as fun as the box it came in
- Your kid will inevitably roll his eyes at the grand excursion you’re excited to take as a family
- Mothers do have superpowers, such as noise-tuner-outer and clairvoyance
- It’s amazing how fast siblings laughing together can turn to tears
- Your toes, they will be kept upon
- Accept help: whether from your kids, family, or friends
- It’s fun to splash in puddles, it’s even more fun to splash others
- There is bound to be someone out there who thinks you’re parenting wrong
- If your kids are quiet, check on them
- You may wish your kids to be older when they’re babies, only to wish they were babies again when they’re older
- What you used to find annoying in other people’s children, you may now find adorable in yours
- No two kids, even when related, are alike
- Potty-training sucks
- Kids like to be pantsless, especially when company’s coming over
- There are good days and there are bad days: the good days are pretty good, the bad days are really bad
- Contrary to what your younger self thought, “Because I said so” is, in fact, a suitable response
- Just when you think you have it all figured out, you realize you still have no clue
October 06 2010
4 o’clock in the afternoon, a good time for a snack. I look through our cabinets and refrigerator to settle on chips and salsa. I pop open the top of the jar and sigh heavenly at its chunky ingredients. When I hear Abby’s footsteps toddling in, the crinkle of the bag must have given me away. My first instinct was to hide, but there was nowhere to go. Because sharing does not always equal caring.
“Chacha chip”, she demands her request of a potato chip, while I barely have the first crumb in my mouth. Her pint-sized stature bossing from my knees.
I hand her a chip in hopes of taming the beast, but my plain offering is unsuccessful. “Dip! Dip!”, she bellows, wanting salsa.
Now, even though the salsa is mild, I know from past experience she won’t like it. I place my snack down anyway and wait for her to dip her chip herself, since heaven forbid I help. Finally acquiring sufficient substance on her chip, she takes one sloppy lick before she tries to stuff the spit-infested Tostito back in the bag.
“More chacha chip!”, she huffs.
“Can’t I get a bite here?”, I ask her rhetorically, because I already know the answer. No, the answer is no, I can’t.
I reluctantly share another chip, and attempt a return to my salsa. I again sigh, this time in exasperation, just as she barks in interruption, “More dip!”. The same dip that I know she’s not going to like. I should just give up, deeming the venture futile.
I never knew sharing could be such a hassle until I became a parent. All I wanted was a snack, is that too much to ask? Yes, the answer is yes, it is.
