On Cows and Milking

October 12 2011

Posted in: The Kids · Tags: conversation, Jedi, motherhood

Jedi called out to stop me as I walked past his room after putting him to bed. He was supposed to be fast asleep already, especially after complaining about how tired he was. There’s always a stall tactic, however.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yes”, I whispered, not wanting to wake his brother or sister.

“So let me get this straight. Cows just have milk in their body? Like, how do they make it?”, he wondered. I had to give him credit for the inquisitive question, though.

“Well”, I considered, not sure exactly how to phrase my response for an almost 8 year old boy. “Do you remember how I used to feed Abby, with milk from my body? Cows make milk like that, too.”

Thinking a string of thoughts along, he questioned next, “So the milk we drink is supposed to be for the baby cows?”.

With my limited knowledge on the nature of farm animals, I went with the safe, flippant approach. “Yes and no”, I mustered. Then I began to worry that this may cause him to feel sad for the cows, and thus refuse to drink any more milk. To thwart this, I suggested a story of how the farmers are really doing the cows a favor, because if they didn’t empty their abundant supply they’d get sore and full. Like engorgement. A tale taken from a combined total of 5 years personal breastfeeding experience on this farm I call my life.

After we said our goodnights again and as I was making my exit, he called out one last time. “Hey, Mom? I’m glad I’m not a cow.”

I’m glad I’m not a cow anymore, either. My milking days are done.

Like Haley Joel Osment, Only Not

October 11 2011

Posted in: Daily · Tags: Abby, of course

Kids have this sixth sense. They know the second someone opens a cupboard door. With the slightest rip of wrapper or crinkle in paper, an inner alarm rings. A child can hear chewing from a mile away. It’s as if the littlest set have a radar chip installed in their brain.

I’ll give that it’s a good sense to have. If there is candy or chocolate around, I’d want to know, too. Except when it’s my candy my children are zoning in on.

I may, possibly, hide a few candy bars. Way in the back of a cabinet where no one else can reach yet. I may, possibly, wait until my children are otherwise occupied to take advantage of these rare treats. Slowly and carefully opening it’s protective label with the quietest touch, all the while my ears perked for incoming footsteps. Maybe. Possibly.

My candy. Mine. I might have issues.

I may have possibly been hiding in the kitchen, enjoying an afternoon candy bar that I know I really didn’t need but wanted anyway, when I heard Abby, who had been occupied with watching Gnomeo and Juliet in the back room. She was racing up front to where I stood. With a piehole full of caramel and peanuts, I had no time to act. Instead, as she veered the corner, I threw the remainder back in the cabinet and simply halted chewing on the big bite that was already in my mouth. I filled her drink without saying a word to give me away and waited until she left again. Taking every precaution necessary, I thought I was in the clear. When her head peeks around the corner.

“I want candy, too!”

How in the world do they know?

Skipping Stones

October 10 2011

Posted in: The Kids · Tags: Abby, family, nostalgia

Abby has taken up quite a significant rock collection. Scouring for the perfect smoothed pebble has become her favorite past time whenever we venture outside. Her hands are happiest when they can take an unlimited amount of time sifting through dirt and debris, her small grasp never quite big enough to hold them all.

Not only does she have many stones gathered in different sections across our drive, we’ve brought the best of the bunch inside. My mom was over the other day and noticed the overflowing bowl we store them in, along with a few dusty stragglers scattered on the floor. “Did you wash all those rocks when you brought them in?”, she asked.

“No”, I replied. “Why would I wash off rocks when I’m just going to throw them back outside when she gets tired of them?”

“Well, I used to wash your rocks when you brought them in”, she remarked, haughtily.

“No, you didn’t”, I disputed.

My mother was adamant in her insistence, though. “Yes, I did.”

This wasn’t our first trip down alternate paths of memory lane. I would like to say it stopped here. But like a pebble in water, it had a ripple effect. We went back and forth a bit more before the subject was changed, neither of us willing to budge on our recollection of events. It’s just every day rocks, after all. The preferred kind you can skip onto any pond. I wonder, however, how even the smallest grain of reflection against the resulting folds of reminiscence can skew in such contrast for a mother and daughter who have spent most of their life living alongside. And how, exactly, does that bode for how my children will remember me.

It’s Important to Hear

October 07 2011

Posted in: The Kids · Tags: boys, Jedi, motherhood

The truth is, I’m not the best mother. It’s hard to stay in the moment. There are so many tasks on the to-do list. I don’t have nearly enough patience, nor time. My temper flares. My voice rises. My back hurts, my head hurts, I’m old. I don’t play well. I’m not the fun one. The thought of doing crafts is excruciating. Some mornings I wish for the day to end before it’s even begun.

But there is one thing I do well, and I do often.

I tell my kids I love them.

Always. It doesn’t matter when or why. For no reason. Enough to where I’m not surprised if they get tired of hearing it, but I still say it again. I don’t remember a day when I haven’t vocalized it to each of my kids at least once. Usually more. A lot more. The love in a family takes many forms, but it’s the articulation of affection that carries with you. It can lift you up when you need it, or erase any negative. It is the most invaluable form of validation. It’s important to hear.

It’s said before my boys get on the school bus each morning, just as it’s included in our ritual every evening. Like when I’m tucking Jedi into bed, I’ll wrap my arms around him for a lopsided hug as his head is lying on the pillow, kiss his cheek, and say as a cap for the night.

“I love you, kiddo.”

Then he’ll say in return, my first born son. “Mom…”, he begins as I prepare for a touching comeback, “I farted”.

Love’s many forms. Many, many forms.

Life is Unfair

October 06 2011

Posted in: The Kids · Tags: motherhood, sibling love

You know what I said the other day? Hold on, we’ll get to it.

While I know they love each other, my kids bicker. They’re siblings, after all, close in proximity, and they have the little tiffs that most do. This one took that toy. That one got more M&Ms. Why does he always get to go first? She’s in my spot. Life is a constant contest to them, always rigged in another’s favor. So unfair.

Abby and Jedi were sitting together at the computer while I fixed dinner. As most instances happen, they were nice at first. Then Abby didn’t want Jedi sitting next to her anymore. So she tried to kick him off. He screamed at her. She cried. And it escalated.

“Both of you stop it!”, I intervened when it was obvious this wasn’t going to resolve on its own.

“But she started it!”, Jedi countered with Abby still determined to push him off the chair with all her might.

And then, after a few more minutes of this back and forth, I said. Wait for it.

“I don’t care who started it, if you don’t stop it I’m the one who’s going to finish it!”

Yes, I did.

I’m pretty sure this goes up there with the wise yet reluctant sage gem, passed from generation to generation, because I said so. Which I’ve uttered before, too, and most likely will again. Because I’ve now realized that while children despise it, there actually is no better parental excuse. It’s alright, I’m rolling my eyes at myself. I don’t even know who I am anymore.