Archive for the ‘motherhood’ Tag
July 27 2010
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.
July 20 2010
Buzz has a tendency to run amok. He is high energy, that kid. I was hoping it was something that would miraculously fix itself at daybreak on his 4th birthday, but he’s still going strong. He finds any opportunity he can to dart away, out of arm’s length, and simply laughs when I try to call him back. He keeps me on my exhausted toes.
He has speech class on Thursday afternoons. We sit in the waiting room and while he can be antsy, he’s usually patient enough. This last time, though, he was everywhere. Trying to run out the door or weave between chairs. Or simply anywhere away from me. I’d get up to chase him when all other options failed and immediately felt as if I transformed into “that” parent. The one who doesn’t have a handle on anything. The one who should give a call to Nanny 911. It’s bad enough when he’s on his worst behavior at home, but it’s so much worse out in public.
I could have focused on this and been upset, with him and my inabilities. It wouldn’t have been unheard of. Instead, I’ve been making a more conscientious effort to say please and thank you. Positive reinforcement in lieu of negative admonishment. There in the waiting room, after holding him back yet again, I forced myself full of affirmation. Because God knows the alternative wasn’t working.
Thank you for turning around. Thank you for keeping me on my toes. Thank you for your energy. Thank you for your smile. Thank you for showing me a different way. Thank you for those brief moments to catch my breath. Thank you for being who you are. Thank you for being my son.
Now, PLEASE, sit down and stop it.
July 19 2010
It starts first thing as the sun rises through the window blinds.
“Mommy!”, she whines upon waking.
I walk in to lift her up, good morning. “Mommy”, she whispers softly. Not long after, her brothers stumble in, too, crowding around me in the chair with bed head and sleepy eyes. Elbows and knees poking into sides. “Mommy, what day is it?”, Jedi asks, curious. “Mommy, how many days until the weekend? Mommy, I had a dream. Do you want to hear about my dream, Mommy?”
“Mommy, I’m hungry”, they demand in a rare form of unity. I fix waffles or pancakes or omelets. Some days, when it’s already too much, it’s merely Pop Tarts. I fill three cups with milk. It’s briefly still while their mouths are full and then it begins again.
“Mommy, he’s hitting me! Mommy, make him stop! Mommy, she scratched me!”
Mommy, help. Mommy, sit. Mommy, boo-boo. Look at this, Mommy. Buzz is a bear, Mommy. Mommy, come here. Can I play video games, Mommy? How long until Daddy comes home, Mommy? Mommy, what are we having for dinner? Can we watch Toy Story, Mommy? Come watch with us, Mommy. Mommy, what are you doing? Do you see my belly button, Mommy? Mommy, I’m thirsty again. Do you remember when we went to the zoo, Mommy? Mommy! Hey, Mommy! Even when they don’t say it in so many words, it’s there in intention, pulling in three different directions.
It doesn’t halt until they’re tucked in bed. When I have a few minutes left to just be me.
July 13 2010
I’m usually last to get ready when we go out. Our strategy has always been that I get the kids dressed first, then J takes over. He’ll squeeze 6 successively smaller feet into socks and shoes while I’m fretting over finding something suitable to wear without holes or stains. When his task is completed, I’m expected to be done as well. In other words, I don’t have a lot of time.
Since the window blinds in my bedroom are kept open during the day, I change in the bathroom. Before the first piece of clothing is slipped on, there’s a knock on the door. “Come on!”, Buzz calls.
I slide and button appropriate articles. Deodorant is applied hurriedly. I think about fixing the mop on top of my head. A few drawers are opened and scoured through in search of a hair clip before I catch the tiny patter of footsteps pacing down the hall.
“Are we going yet?”, I hear Jedi ask J.
“As soon as Mommy’s done”, I hear J sigh in return.
“How long until she’s done?”, he gripes impatiently.
“I’m almost done!”, I yell back.
Forget doing my hair, I just slip it back in the usual ponytail. I’ve given up on makeup. If I remember, I’ll swipe some chapstick on my lips in the car later. I barely have time to brush my teeth before Abby’s banging on the door again. “Come on, Mommy!”, Buzz repeats with more urgency. “I need to pee!”, Jedi whines. Fine, I’m done. 10 minutes, tops, from start to finish. It’s a good thing I’m not high maintenance.
July 02 2010
Parenthood has changed many things. Some blatant and in your face, others more slight and barely noticeable. For instance, I lost many items before I had kids. The remote control, chapstick, keys, important papers, socks. Where are those open-toed pumps that go with this dress? I’d spend the better part of a morning playing hide and seek with inanimate objects.
Things are still lost. In fact, I lose my mind on a daily basis. Except I’ve now got a better system for all the shoes we’ve acquired and am instead hunting decapitated doll heads. Specifically Toby, seen here atop Barbie’s body.
I spent an impractical amount of time searching for Toby’s head. Under the couch, under beds, under tables. I emptied all of their toys into a pile and madly rifled through it’s contents. I looked on the boys’ top bunk and in closets. I broke a sweat trying to find this head because Buzz wanted it. He puts Toby’s head on everything that will fit.
Toby’s head was finally found in the very last place I looked, per usual. Relaxing face up under a blanket in my bedroom. I was so pleased with the discovery when I handed it to Buzz.
30 seconds later, the head was forsaken and Buzz lumbered off to the next thing.
At least the shoes would get worn all day once found. If they’re super cute shoes, I might receive compliments. A task well worth it. Tracking down Toby’s head didn’t even award me a thank you. If I’m going to spend all that time and effort on the hunt, I’d enjoy some appreciation. A decapitated doll head can’t find itself, you know.
