Archive for the ‘life’ Tag
June 24 2010
We all have an area we excel in more than another. This pertains to every area of life, parenthood is not an exception. Some enjoy getting their hands dirty while others would much rather sit on the sidelines taking pictures than burn our bums on a slide that’s been sitting in the scorching sun all day.
J is fun. He likes to play. He’s good at it when he’s on his game. Kids that he’s never met before gravitate to him, because I guess he just radiates a sense of a good time. When we go to a playground, he’s the one climbing amongst the little ones, like a kid himself. For the most part, however, he sets them free.
I, on the other hand, would rather sit on a bench, away from the brunt of the action. I take pictures as a coping mechanism. I enjoy the breeze. I try not to hover over my kids as they play because I worry too much. I’m trapped in my head, the what if’s make me flustered and jittery. My brain and the possibilities of what could happen never turn off. I’m more focused on the mess and chaos and making sure every foot lands safely. I have to force myself to play instead of fret.
It’s been a long road towards accepting our natural roles. I would like to say we make a good team, J and I. That we balance each other out. That I’ve spared my kids a knock or two by watching so intently, anyway. In the end, though, I simply feel like a party pooper. I’m like the old lady, shaking her cane, screeching at the young’uns to keep it down in there.
June 22 2010
A few months back, J took Jedi on his first real movie theater outing to watch Avatar in 3D. I was expecting the worst, but was pleasantly surprised when they came back smiling, saying they had a great time. J thought he’d brave the same experience with Buzz yesterday evening, for Toy Story 3.
It didn’t go as well.
In fact, they left the movie early. Not too early, but before the end. Apparently, my sensitive, tender son began to scream when he thought his favorite cowboy toy was getting hurt. I think it was Woody. Could have been Lightyear. All I know is, my Buzz didn’t appreciate it. Or so I’ve been told. J would get him calmed down, stuff his maw with Reese’s Pieces, just to have him start screaming again a short time later.
“Oh, well, his concern is kind of cute”, I said in response.
J, giving me a dirty look, “No, it wasn’t.”
Buzz then came home to have an hour-long fit of magnificent proportions.
Good times!
It’s safe to say this will be his one and only theater experience for awhile longer. Obviously, he’s just not ready. I’m sure he’ll love the movie if given a chance, we’ll just have to wait until it comes out on DVD. That way, he can scream as loudly as he wants in the privacy of his own home like normal.
June 18 2010
The night before last, after I had been with Buzz putting him to bed, I came out to find a band-aid on Abby’s finger. It seems she had her first papercut, inflicted as she was ripping pages out of a book.
“Mommy! Boo-boo!”, she exclaimed as we made our way in to bed. I looked at it, immediately deeming the band-aid unnecessary, and thought of taking it off. She seemed content with it there, however, so I decided instead to wait until morning.
When we awoke the next morning, I pulled the small bandage from her skin. There was a sliver of a slice in the crease of her small index finger. It clearly didn’t bother her anymore, as she trotted off to play and didn’t make another mention of it for the rest of the day.
That is, until J came home from work later.
As soon as she saw him walk through the door, her first reaction was to hold out her hand and sensationally announce, “Daddy! Boo-boo! Finfer!”. Little Miss Drama Queen brought this suddenly reawakened nick to his attention a few other times throughout the night as well. Then, as I came out again after putting Buzz to bed, I noticed another band-aid on the same finger. Covering the same papercut. “What? She wanted it”, he told me in his defense.
Now a band-aid, next a pony. He can try to deny it all he wants, and he does, but someone has him wrapped around her little bandaged finger. “It doesn’t work on me”, he’s been known to say with a tough exterior. Obviously, though, it very much does.
June 14 2010
Saturday afternoon, J suggested the bright idea of taking the kids to Chuck E. Cheese, a place we usually try to avoid as much as possible. Except this time, I said sure, sounds fun. Sounds fun? Clearly, neither of us were in our right minds.
I came home with a few alternate takes on their “where a kid can be a kid” slogan:
- Where a mom can lose a kid, and her last nerve.
- Where your 4yo can score higher than you at skeeball.
- Where a kid can be truly indecisive.
- Where a kid can be terrified of a pigtailed robotic chicken.
- Where it’s impossible to look cool drinking from a cup shaped like a crown.
- Where you eat your already non-appetizing pizza while staring at a giant mouse.
- Where you wish you brought hand sanitizer.
- Where you realize how cute your own kids are compared to everybody else’s.
- Where they play music from KidzBop. Need I say more?
- Where random kids will follow you around, begging for tokens.
- Where your entire self-worth is based on how many tickets you can accumulate.
- Where a kid can be a kid, but the parents feel really, really old.
- Where a kid might, possibly, pee his pants.
- Where a kid can be a screaming wild animal let loose out of it’s cage.
- Where it might be a good idea to keep a kid on a leash.
- Where they should really serve alcohol.
- Where a kid can spend 4 hours playing and racking up tickets to win some foam rocket piece of crap that was destroyed within 5 minutes of being home.
The things we, as parents, go through with a smile on our face. The kids had a good time, though, which is what counts. That’s what I’m supposed to say, right?
June 11 2010
There was a group of kids riding their bikes past our driveway. Their ages ranged and sizes varied, but they had pedals in common. Handlebars glistening with the sun. It’s a scene that never seems to change. Two wheels and a child who believes they can fly like the wind. No matter the era, there’s just something about a kid and his bike.
Jedi has a bike that was handed down from his nephew. He won’t go anywhere near it. Last year, J made a few feeble attempts to teach him how to ride. He was wobbly and petrified and practically drowning the evil in holy water and garlic.
I was glancing out the window watching this group of kids as they passed with Jedi by my side, relishing in a brief interlude of childhood nostalgia.
“You see those kids? That should be you”, I said to Jedi.
“Nuh-uh, not me!”, he declined.
“Riding a bike is fun. You really need to give it a try”, I tried to enforce.
“No it’s not! Not for me!” He wasn’t giving up.
“Yes, for you, too.”
“No, not for me. I’ll fall down and get run over by a car!”
On the other hand, maybe bicycles just aren’t his thing. I suppose I shouldn’t hold my breath on skateboarding, either.
I'm Crystal. A 30-something mom to 3 young kids living in the Midwest USA. When I'm not chasing my children, I'm a freelance writer and web designer. I like to tell stories from our days and share what we enjoy...
