Archive for the ‘motherhood’ Tag
March 20 2012
Nothing but horror stories begin in the bathroom.
This one is no exception.
It didn’t seem like it would end up that way. There was no way to tell. The day was beautiful, an ocean blue sky overhead. Who would have ever thought such a turn of events was about to occur. If I knew, I would have ran. Found somewhere else to be in that moment. Because it did, in ways unimaginable.
If this were a scary movie, now is when escalating music would begin playing in the background as hearts beat faster.
Buzz, he was just trying to play. He didn’t mean it. But to the bathroom he brought a toy in his delighted voice, showing off its many features. Darth Maul, from Star Wars. One of the bad guys, quite fitting. That was the action figure he held out for me to see as he finished what you do in the bathroom. I thought he had a hold of it. I’m sure he did, too.
When suddenly, the room shifted dark. I never saw it coming.
Darth Maul tumbled out of his fingers.
Into the toilet water that hadn’t yet been flushed.
Such a horrible sight. I am not a hero, but there was nothing else I could do. So I reached in. Darth Maul may have been easy to wash off, erasing the evidence like nothing happened. I wish I could say the same for my hand. It may never return to normal again. It’s now seen too much. We all have.
February 29 2012
We make an excellent first impression.
After school and the kids were playing outside. As usual, they’re ramped up and ready to go. Like wild animals let loose from a cage. Darting back and forth, tackling one another. Laughter always quickly turns to tears, then vice versa.
I tell Abby for the umpteenth time not to climb up the slide. You’ll fall and hurt yourself, I warn. She never listens. Meanwhile, Buzz reckons 40 degrees is perfectly warm enough to take off his coat, unzipping it to the grass. I disagree. Except he’s still akin to a lion on the loose, thus making him very difficult to catch.
He tries to make a quick roar past me, which is when I reach out my arm to grab him.
It’s also when the neighbor who just moved in directly next to us emerges from her door.
“My son says he saw our neighbors out here playing and he wanted to come out, too”, she said nicely enough looking around at the devastation in front of her. A scene that included a savage Buzz dangling from my arms with all his monstrous might, his feet defiantly kicking in mid-air. The weight of him almost knocking me over, his screeches blaring loud.
Then, my daughter, who I told not to climb up the slide, tried to do just that. Falling head first off the ledge, tears immediately streaming down her cheeks.
“I… uh… told him not today”, she concluded while hurriedly retreating back to the safety of her house as I tried my best to politely smile through gritted teeth and wave through chaos. “But maybe some other time.”
Some other time, yes. Don’t worry, I wanted to assure, I won’t hold you to that.
February 21 2012
She wants to know.
There has to be an answer.
Punctuated in every conversation, stirred even from silence.
It’s heard constantly in my house these days.
“Why?”
It’s a good question. One that I often ask myself. Though maybe not to such extremes. I admit I am not a patient teacher, and the why’s are winding. Yet she’s such a curious kind and it’s that age where the questions rein, her mind soaking in all the intricacies that surround her. There has to be a reason why things are like they are. A valid explanation. Except there are times when there’s not. It just is. She’ll learn such a lesson as she gets older, but for now, it’s hard to explain it to a 3 year old little girl who looks to you to guide the world.
Of course there are the easy questions to answer. Wonderments over favorite cartoon characters and why can’t she have another lollipop before dinner. Those that are close to the touch and are seen. Only there are other issues too large for me to even know where to begin. Except there is magic, just as there is quiet and darkness. This world that I’m trying to guide you through, it’s a pull of extremes and secrets. So keep asking those questions, though I try to shush. They are constant and insistent, but there’s no better way to learn. Then maybe one day, you’ll be the one to find an answer for all of us.
“Why?”
Because most of the time, I don’t know.
February 14 2012
Dear Dora and Boots,
On this Valentine’s Day, I thought I would do things a little differently. See, my kids have each adored you at various points in their young lives. You have been on our television for 8 years now to some degree, and it feels like you’re a part of my family.
Albeit, a very high-pitched part of my family that I would normally try my damnedest to avoid because like that’s really what I need. I mean, is it necessary to yell at us, Dora? We can hear you, tone it down.
Bossy demeanor aside, my daughter currently seems to find you, Dora, and your trusty sidekick Boots, appealing. Thus she can usually be found in front of the television in the early hours, watching intently as you ask the talking map for yet another reminder of directions. We won’t get into what this is really teaching my child, or how you should know your way home by now, or even how you’re a girl far too young to be trusted exploring alone with a monkey. These are all separate issues to address on a different day. Although I can’t help but wonder if your parents ever check on you. All I know is, my daughter looks up to you with love for a bit of time every morning so that I can accomplish what needs done.
Love comes in unexpected places, Dora.
For that, this Valentine’s Day card is for you.
However, there was one episode that recently aired where you instructed those watching to reach out their arms and catch your big, blue balls. Now, Valentine’s Day or not, that’s just taking things too far. What is that monkey teaching you?
February 10 2012
This is the true story – true story – of 1 former perfectionist-in-denial mother living in a house with 3 children, having these moments of their lives blogged, to find out what happens when people stop being polite, and tidy, and start getting real.
Because life is not perfect in the real world.
There is still this person in me striving for that picture perfect version. An absurd vision of clothes just so, house just so. She’s trying to hang on, but I think it’s pointless. Most days, I can barely remember to put my kids in pants, nevermind matching or running a comb through their hair.
I remembered everyone’s pants this time, though, and shirts and socks remarkably, when I turned around to pack my cell phone in my purse. What I forgot to set out were shoes, and Buzz took the opportunity to slip out of every article of clothing he could before I took notice.
“Put your shirt back on, and your socks, please”, pointing in exasperation to the pile he accumulated on the floor. He did as told, taking consideration with each. Except the socks were pulled on noticeably inside out. Normally, I would feel the need to fix this, if nothing else than to ease my mind. Inside out socks are the first sign of impending hoodlums, after all. Today and now, however, I simply praised the effort.
I helped slide his shoes on, they can get stuck in the back, and we left the house. Still with his socks obviously inside out, but only proud of both myself and him. Because maybe this is now perfectly imperfect. As long as he’s wearing pants. True story.
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...
