A Moment to Remember

“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.

What Goes Around Comes Around

When I was younger, a kid if you will, I was stupid. There, I said it. I didn’t do many of the huge stupid things kids do; I didn’t do drugs, I didn’t drink, I didn’t sleep with the football team. In that regard I was pretty tame and boring. My stupidity was more subtle, like a poke in the face instead of a punch.

In my later high school years, I tried to be goth-ish. I listened to Marilyn Manson. I wore dark eyeliner and pouted a lot. I painted all my bedroom furniture black. Any article of clothing I owned with color was discarded. Even in the scorching days of summer, I was that person you’d see sulking about like a head to toe shadow. It was a sweltering existence. My parents let me be whatever I wanted to be, although I’m sure there was an eyeroll or a thousand passed along. Because kids are stupid.

It didn’t take long to snap me out of it.

Recently, when we were driving back from running errands during the peak part of a million degree day, I witnessed the me that I used to be 14 years prior. Even in the middle of a heat warning, this kid was a summer sun sponge in heavy black. If I was uncomfortable in the regulation mom attire I was wearing, this kid had to be on fire.

“Stupid kids”, I found myself thinking with an eyeroll.

To which I then gave myself an eyeroll, because oh heavenly crackers, my age is showing. But at least I’m not (as) stupid.

Good Night

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.

Putting on Her Shiny Shoes

My parents gifted Abby clothes for her birthday. From the outside, this would seem like a boring present for a 2 year old. However, my daughter loves expanding her wardrobe, possibly more than toys. She received many new items to play with, too, but I do believe the clothes were the biggest hit.

Along with 2 new outfits, one of which containing a skort which confounded J, and socks, they bought her a pair of shoes. All of this I knew ahead of time, since they asked for the correct size. What I failed to anticipate was my mother’s conflicting sense of style.

I’m not a flashy person. I don’t like metallics or sparkles or animal prints or too much show. I like to dress my kids the same. Of course, my mother would have her own opinions. I wasn’t prepared for what we received instead.

They were gold canvas and so very shiny. Without exaggeration, the very first thing that came to mind was Ben Stiller as White Goodman in Dodgeball, “There’s no resisting when White Goodman puts on his shiny shoes”. I couldn’t help but laugh. A lot.

“If you don’t like them, I have the receipt”, my mother offered with a hint of offense when I couldn’t stop laughing.

“No, they’re fine. It just took me by surprise”, I finally managed to sputter.

Which is true. Once Abby had them on, they didn’t appear that brazen. Probably because I happen to find the girl so cute that she can pull off anything. But now I’m afraid I’m going to think of Ben Stiller every time she wears them.

Two Much

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