Archive for the ‘motherhood’ Tag
November 08 2010
This weekend it was clearly obvious my kids had contracted some sort of stomach bug. Abby hadn’t been able to keep solid food down for a few days, but appeared on the mend when Jedi was hit with the rumblings of it Friday night. It was exiting from his other end, however, and since he’s fully capable of using the bathroom by himself, my exposure to his ordeal was thankfully limited.
Until I was jostled awake around 1 a.m. by the sound of his stomach expulsing all over his bed. And then again.
As the sole doting parent available, I went about my duty of comforting and cleaning his mess as he laid on the couch and complained about how he wanted to go back to sleep. It took everything I had not to fling the rag I had been scrubbing with at him. Except I soon had bigger problems. Namely, the bathroom sink drain that became clogged.
A moment of panic set in while staring at my predicament. And maybe some crying.
When I finally came to, I got out the plunger and went about an attempt at dislodging the drain as quietly as possible, since the last thing I needed was to wake the other two. In a sink filled with the nastiest, putrid water concoction. It splashed everywhere, a splatter film of the previous night’s half-digested dinner. With a stench to match.
Then, just when I thought this substance might be stuck festering in my sink until J returns home in 3 days, it miraculously unclogged. I heaved the biggest sigh of relief I could without breathing in before finishing his room the best I could at that time. Feeling dirty, smelly, and battle-worn, I was at last able to usher us all back to bed a traumatizing 45 minutes from when it all began.
November 02 2010
Halloween night, our family of 5 broke off into two groups. The boys were a team, while Abby and I strolled together. Considering she’s a younger sprite with littler legs and insisted on walking everywhere, we fell behind often. Still, we tried our best to keep up and managed trailed the same houses soon after her brothers.
At one stop, after the boys had received their treats, the man, who had been sitting in a chair outside, dashed inside to grab a new bag of candy. He left the bowl behind with a few bare selections left. A grab and go felt awkward, though, when I knew he was coming back. There was no harm in waiting a few seconds to say thank you, at least.
Quickly, however, a swarm of junior high kids encircled us, cutting in front where we were obviously waiting. Without an excuse me, or pardon me, or are you in line? It was as if we were invisible. Maybe it’s the nature of the game, I should have grabbed a mini-bag of the remaining Skittles like it was owed to me, but I was more appalled by that point and afraid my bite-sized ladybug was going to get squashed.
Instead, I decidedly turned and while gripped tightly onto my 2 year old daughter’s hand we walked away, but not before remarking as loudly as I could without yelling, “Those kids were rude. When you grow up, you’re not going to be rude.” Though I’m fairly certain the intended party of pre-teeners didn’t hear a word I said.
Growing up, I exhibited a general set of manners. I said please, I said thank you, and I always waited my turn. I refuse to believe that common decency might be a lost cause.
October 15 2010
I’m teaching my kids great manners.
It started the other night, as I was fixing my daughter her fanciful dinner of peanut butter and jelly. She had pulled the chair alongside the kitchen counter to watch as I smeared the amicable pair across a slice of bread. The enticing jar of creamy JIF found itself in close proximity to Abby, tempting her with it’s deliciousness. Her finger then covertly dived in to the rich substance, pulling out a heap on the tip, to be quickly licked away.
“Abby, what are you doing? I have your sandwich right here”, I initially protested, twisting the cap tightly back on it’s container and returning the jar to it’s rightful place within the cabinet.
She snuck her finger in the vat again the next day, coming away with a messy fist of peanut butter. “Abby, we don’t lick out of the peanut butter jar”, I did my motherly best to explain. The lid was twisted back on and put away.
Then yesterday for lunch, as I was readying the plates and bread with Abby kneeling in the chair next to me, she asked for the peanut butter. The further lecture was contemplated. No, I could have reiterated. It’s not polite nor hygienic for your finger to dip in its contents. Instead, I untwisted the cap, handed her a napkin, and said go for it. Because some lessons are just greater than others. I may have even joined her. You only live once, right?
She wanted to do the same with the jelly, though, and that’s where I drew the line. We’re not savages after all.
October 12 2010
The past few months have been crazy. I’ve said it before, if it’s not one thing, it’s another. Because of it, our normal has shifted ever so slightly. Most summers, we make our way to a park at least every other weekend. This year, though, we’ve barely been at all. In fact, our last family trip to a playground was before summer officially started. When Abby was still content to sit and watch.
We finally found our way again on Sunday, though. Where my once baby girl wanted to be guided through every obstacle, she was now ready to tackle it alone.
It started the moment we arrived, when she didn’t want to be carried anymore. No, she had legs and she preferred to use them. Across the park we strolled, hand in hand.
She tried each of the slides and swings by herself. She held on to the teeter-totter, spun around the merry go round. When she got scared halfway across the bouncy bridge, I had to help. For the most part, though, she vowed to remain completely independent. She’s no longer an extension of me, as her mother’s daughter. She has her own opinions, her own actions, her own way.
I know she’s growing up. I know she isn’t my baby anymore, my last baby. But sometimes, it still takes me by surprise.
Sunday at the park, strolling hand in hand with my baby girl who wants to dress herself and feed herself and talks in short sentences and knows to slide the dining chairs over to the kitchen counter in order to reach the treats she shouldn’t and now plays like a kid. No longer a baby, but a kid. A kid, just like every other kid, at the playground. The transformation appears all of a sudden.
October 11 2010
J brought home a hand-me-down skateboard this past weekend, more for Jedi than anyone else. And with it I realized just how much things have changed.
When I was younger, high school years, I really liked skater boys. I’d watch them flip their boards around, not really paying much attention to the tricks they could do. I do remember never thinking they’d fall and get hurt, or maybe that was part of the attraction. Not once did the phrase “be careful” cross my mind.
As Jedi took his first wobbly attempt at balance on his skateboard, that was ALL I could think about.
Since it was already dark outside by the time J got home, they practiced on the hardwood floors of our hallway. It was a short and unsteady spin around our house. For my oldest son, the cautious one, who still won’t ride his bike for fear of falling, it was enough to feel like Tony Hawk. I, on the other hand, envisioned crushed bones and busted heads or broken windows.
“Shouldn’t he wear a helmet?”, I implored my husband, certain that I never contemplated helmets as a teenager.
“We’re inside,” he said in turn.
“I know you’re inside, that didn’t answer my question.”
Then, when all that was left was the simple task of stepping off, that’s when the skateboard got out from under Jedi’s feet and he fell with a chaotic thud. Thankfully, he got right back up and wanted to go again, but my nerves were already shot. Has anyone invented that bodysuit of bubble wrap yet?
