Archive for the ‘motherhood’ Tag
January 30 2012
My hands are full. I suppose I could see how this simple statement that spectators like to offer might come across as offensive, but I never saw it as such. To me, it appeared as a way to notice that I was doing the best I could considering, but there’s just not enough of a single me to go around.
The thing is, I do have my hands full. They are spilling over, actually. This mothering gig doesn’t come easily. I’m not the only one.
Because aside from what you see, there is what you can’t. There truly is something to be said about not judging a book by its cover. If all I had to deal with was my daughter and all of her exaggerated 3 year old antics. This really is the hardest age. Except there’s more, as there always is. There’s the worry and stress that come with Jedi’s diabetes. It adds an additional question on top of everything. He’s your typical 8 year old in every other way, however, a barrel of contradiction and steadfast opinions. So even that doesn’t say it all.
There’s more, as there tends to be. Without knowing him, Buzz looks like a typical 5 year old boy. And when he acts out in public, you could assume that I just don’t have a grip on my son. But his autism manifests in many extremes. He is exuberant energy and emotions that range from the highest high to the lowest low with nary an in between. At his best, he is difficult to manage. His attention and focus are limited, tried and true discipline doesn’t work. He lashes out when he doesn’t know what else to do. Which is often. Even with every great quality, of which there are many, he could take up the only two hands I have by himself.
So yes, my hands are full. To those who say it out loud or just think it to yourself as you pass by. I completely agree with you.
January 12 2012
“Kids have it a lot easier than parents”, Jedi stated one recent afternoon. “Do you want me to tell you why?”
Of course I said I did, please list your reasons because I would love to hear this. His explanation was enlightening, though brief.
1. Kids don’t have to cook
2. We get to drink apple juice
3. We have more free time
All true and accurate. But the list could have went on. Here are just a small selection of mine to add on to his list of why kids have it easier than adults:
1. Kids do not have to brave the grocery store. In fact, it’s better if they stay home.
2. Kids get to sleep in. Not that they ever do, but they can. And if they did, maybe the parents could, too.
3. Kids ask their parent for answers on their homework, and then they take all the credit. If an adult did that at their job, it would be considered plagiarism.
4. Kids don’t have to do laundry. Or a long list of chores that keep the house running. At least not yet. Kids complain relentlessly when they are asked just to pick up their toys.
5. Kids do not have to remember and schedule a myriad of appointments. They go along with what we say, even when we inevitably arrive at the pediatrician on the wrong day.
6. When a kid barfs in the middle of the night, they are never the one who has to clean it up.
7. “Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy, why are you not listening to me? Mommy?” Need I say more?
December 12 2011
It was during dinner, which always seems to be a rambunctious time for my kids. I’ve retired the notion of ever achieving a relaxing family meal for now, we’ll work on that later, but I do prefer they sit somewhere and at the very least pick at their food. This time, however, Abby and Buzz were more interested in playing. Jumping on the chair, running around in circles, screaming songs, and pretending to bite each other. Their food sitting on the table untouched.
They were driving me crazy.
That entire meal was spent trying to separate the two deviants to no avail. Sit down and eat your food was my main subject of dinnertime banter, with each instance the words escalating louder and louder until I could envision the top of my bright red face coming off with steam blowing out.
I was already in this mood when, after I had enough and the plates were put away, Abby knocked a basket containing an assortment of pieces off a living room table. And I may have yelled, more at the situation and the day and myself than at her. But it was not one of my stellar parenting moments.
When, as if he knew exactly what I needed, Buzz picked up the handle of a play phone and dialed.
“Hello, Grandma…”, Buzz greeted.
Why yes, now would be a perfect time to call Grandma. And tell her to send reinforcements. Wine would work.
November 23 2011
It was raining as we ventured out, a light but steady ping of autumn sprinkles on the umbrella, the hood on our coats covering our heads for good measure. The entire day had been dark and gloomy, this bit of time was no exception. Though it was made a touch bit brighter by Abby’s new fall boots.
We walked in the rain until we found ourselves standing next to a small puddle under the bare branches of a tree turned by the season. Abby put her umbrella down, hood still up, and went in search of a stick to splash in the water with.
With the steady rain, however, all the sticks were dirty.
That wasn’t enough to deter my daughter at first. Singing and twirling in the rain, she found the perfect stick and splashed the water around in the puddle. Which stirred the gravel and debris from the bottom into a muddy muck that dripped, and initially delighted, my 3 year old who’s always more than happy to make a mess.
But then she noticed the dirt that got on her hands.
I scoured my pockets for tissues, with no luck. But she looked at me, as if I have all the answers. “I don’t have anything to wipe your hands with right now. You’re just going to have to hold on until we get home to wash them.”
Her face turned south for a scant few seconds. Until she wiped her dirty, mucky hands clean on my coat.
Or, you could do that. Because I suppose that’s what I’m here for. And I guess I didn’t really like that coat, anyway.
November 16 2011
I was lying in bed the other morning, long before the sun woke up. My wouldn’t rest enough to fall back to sleep, because I was thinking about a basket I have. Clearly this isn’t your ordinary basket. It’s big and made of sturdy metal, a piece picked up from the previous tenants of some place I’ve rented over the years. I’m sure it would need to be cleaned, and the junk it was already holding thrown away, but I was lying there wondering if it might solve the stuffed animal storage problem I seem to be experiencing.
That’s right, I lie in bed dreaming of stuffed animal storage.
Doesn’t everyone?
But it’s a good dream to have. Kind of like world peace, and almost as unatainable. All of the stuffed animals stored in a neat, yet aesthetically pleasing, container out of the way. Instead of spilling forth and taking over every square inch of space.
The thing is, it’s boggling how we accumulated so many stuffed animals. I haven’t purchased a single one. The grandparents, however, can’t seem to pass a crane game without playing. And then they multiply. So I was trying to determine if this basket was big enough to house the many we’ve been given. Except even if it were, that might only solve one of my problems. Because then I wouldn’t know where to put the damn basket .
At which point I realized. There is only one truly good stuffed animal storage solution. And it involves packing them all in a trash bag, to donate to some other unwitting family.
