Archive for the ‘The Kids’ Category
“Hi!”, I eagerly called to Buzz as he strolled in from playing with his toys.
“Hi!”, he happily offered in return before bending down to rest his head in my lap.
This is lovely, I thought. It’s not very often that I can think that with him. He’s always either on the go or into something and when he does sit with me, I end up with a concussion or bruised rib. Being his parent can be a full contact sport. But here we were, gazing contentedly into each other’s eyes.
He then took his hand and tenderly stroked the side of my face. How sweet of him, I continued to think. It’s moments like this that make all my hard work as a mother worth it. I’m definitely going to have to remember this for later. I could almost eat him up right now except, what’s that smell?
I look at his hand. The hand he seconds ago caressed my cheek with. Is that…?
It couldn’t be. But there’s a lot of it.
I’m sure it’s chocolate or crayon or dirt. I’ll be glad to go with dirt.
Maybe I should smell it? There’s no other way to know for sure.
KID, YOU WIPED MY FACE WITH POOP ON YOUR HANDS?!
All my hard work as a mother goes right back to this moment, indeed.
July 27 2010 ·
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The Kids · Tags:
good,
Jedi,
motherhood Every night of Jedi’s life where it’s been feasibly possible, save for when I was in the hospital giving birth to his siblings for example, I have given him a kiss as he’s headed off to bed. I dispense three, to be exact, along with the same declarations every time. I love you, good night, sweet dreams. No matter my mood the rest of the day, I also tell him he’s such a great kid. My night doesn’t feel complete unless this occurs.
The other night, our schedules didn’t align. J put Jedi down before I could get Abby settled. When I was able to peek in his door, it appeared he was already fast asleep. He didn’t wait for me, I thought. Sad at missing the first unwarranted case in memory, I closed the door and lingered somberly off to bed.
I know he’s growing older, about to enter the demanding world of 1st grade. This could be another stage passing by. It’s likely our routine means a lot more to me than it does to him. Our kisses goodnight aren’t going to matter forever. Still, I sighed myself to sleep feeling sullen and dejected.
The following morning at 6 a.m. I’m awakened by Jedi standing over my bed.
“You didn’t give me a kiss goodnight!”, he sleepily accused, upset.
“You were asleep!”, as I passed the blame in a direct whisper.
“Next time YOU WAKE ME UP!”, he demanded.
After thinking he might not care anymore, it’s nice to know my big kid is still my little boy and he missed it just the same. Though it might have been a bit nicer if he waited to chide me until a time later than 6 a.m.
Dear Abby,
You turn 2 tomorrow. I know that all parents say they can’t believe it, that it goes too fast, that one day their baby is a tiny infant and the next a full-fledged kid. But baby girl, it’s so true. I can’t believe you’re going to be 2.
I may not believe it, but I am loving this age. Sure, you have your rough moments. When you hit your brothers or refuse to do as told. You say “No!” more often than I’d like and you’re already getting to know time-out quite well. You are strong-willed and spunky and just as vocal and determined as ever. You think you’re one of the boys, and anything they can do, you like to believe you can do better.
But then there are the other moments. The tender moments. When you can’t make a move without holding my hand. When I hear you call for me if I’ve snuck out of sight. How you lean back in my lap to sing the ABC’s. The time before bed, when you’re waving everyone goodnight and then you give me a kiss as we enter the room.
You are still funny, hilarious even. You’ll exclaim “Hi!” with a wide eyed funny face and then proceed to point at your nose, every time. Packets of ketchup and mustard have become must-have’s for your hands. For some reason, you’ve taken to putting a piece of tape across your mouth. Sometimes, I’ll put one on mine as well and we’ll try to talk to one another with closed-shut lips. Maybe I should keep that tape on my mouth more often since you repeat everything we say, even if you shouldn’t. Then, of course, there’s the outfits you find yourself, consisting of everyone’s oversized clothes but your own.
It’s hard to keep my eyes off of you. You light up the room, sweetheart. I love you. Now and always.
Happy Birthday,
Your weepy Mommy
July 21 2010 ·
13 CommentsPosted in:
The Kids · Tags:
Abby,
life At first, she was like MacGuyver with a minimally damp wet wipe and a green crayon. It took me a few minutes to realize what exactly Abby was doing. Then I noticed her clumsy hands fumbling to wrap the cloth around the colorful stick. When that didn’t go as intended, she carried her items to me in earnest. “Baby!”, she shrieked.
All of the dolls sitting untouched and she’s babying a crayon.
I played along and swaddled it convincingly enough. She then held the crayola stick tenderly by her face. Until her “baby” fell out of it’s enclosure.
Maybe her father could do better, I’m sure she expected, so she tried to get him involved in the game next. She walked up to him and demanded, “Daddy! Baby!”.
Clearly not paying attention, he wondered, “What?”.
“She wants you to wrap the crayon up like a baby”, I told him flippantly.
“Why would I wrap a crayon up like a baby?”, he asked, bewildered.
Why is the sky blue? Why does ice cream taste so good? Why do the kids go batcrap insane an hour before bedtime? Why ask questions? It is what it is. “Because she wants you to.” He should’ve known that answer by now. What more of a reason do you need?
Though I don’t know what he was complaining about. I’m the one who was later forced to snuggle the “baby”. All he had to do was wrap it once in a wet wipe.
July 20 2010 ·
10 CommentsPosted in:
The Kids · Tags:
Buzz,
life,
motherhood Buzz has a tendency to run amok. He is high energy, that kid. I was hoping it was something that would miraculously fix itself at daybreak on his 4th birthday, but he’s still going strong. He finds any opportunity he can to dart away, out of arm’s length, and simply laughs when I try to call him back. He keeps me on my exhausted toes.
He has speech class on Thursday afternoons. We sit in the waiting room and while he can be antsy, he’s usually patient enough. This last time, though, he was everywhere. Trying to run out the door or weave between chairs. Or simply anywhere away from me. I’d get up to chase him when all other options failed and immediately felt as if I transformed into “that” parent. The one who doesn’t have a handle on anything. The one who should give a call to Nanny 911. It’s bad enough when he’s on his worst behavior at home, but it’s so much worse out in public.
I could have focused on this and been upset, with him and my inabilities. It wouldn’t have been unheard of. Instead, I’ve been making a more conscientious effort to say please and thank you. Positive reinforcement in lieu of negative admonishment. There in the waiting room, after holding him back yet again, I forced myself full of affirmation. Because God knows the alternative wasn’t working.
Thank you for turning around. Thank you for keeping me on my toes. Thank you for your energy. Thank you for your smile. Thank you for showing me a different way. Thank you for those brief moments to catch my breath. Thank you for being who you are. Thank you for being my son.
Now, PLEASE, sit down and stop it.
