Archive for the ‘motherhood’ Tag
October 06 2011
You know what I said the other day? Hold on, we’ll get to it.
While I know they love each other, my kids bicker. They’re siblings, after all, close in proximity, and they have the little tiffs that most do. This one took that toy. That one got more M&Ms. Why does he always get to go first? She’s in my spot. Life is a constant contest to them, always rigged in another’s favor. So unfair.
Abby and Jedi were sitting together at the computer while I fixed dinner. As most instances happen, they were nice at first. Then Abby didn’t want Jedi sitting next to her anymore. So she tried to kick him off. He screamed at her. She cried. And it escalated.
“Both of you stop it!”, I intervened when it was obvious this wasn’t going to resolve on its own.
“But she started it!”, Jedi countered with Abby still determined to push him off the chair with all her might.
And then, after a few more minutes of this back and forth, I said. Wait for it.
“I don’t care who started it, if you don’t stop it I’m the one who’s going to finish it!”
Yes, I did.
I’m pretty sure this goes up there with the wise yet reluctant sage gem, passed from generation to generation, because I said so. Which I’ve uttered before, too, and most likely will again. Because I’ve now realized that while children despise it, there actually is no better parental excuse. It’s alright, I’m rolling my eyes at myself. I don’t even know who I am anymore.
September 27 2011
We’ve all had those moments as parents when a certain situation strikes you upside the head with the enormity of what you’ve gotten yourself into. The damn, I’m such a mom moments. I used to be smacked with these flashes a lot when my kids were even littler and everything was new. Some were beginning milestones that were easy to explain. Like our first ride home from the hospital or staying up all night for the first time with a sick child. But then there are the smaller bits. The ones that are just enough to make you briefly pause and soak in what you’ve become.
But only briefly, because moms can’t pause for long.
I don’t get so swept away as often anymore. Mostly because I get it. I’m a mom. I have 3 kids who remind me of that constantly. If not by their actions, then definitely by the calling for my attention on an endless loop.
Every so often, however.
We had come in the door from running an errand when I heard my cell phone ring. It was in my bag. A bag that was packed. With 48 Toy Story 3 Memory game cards scattered on the bottom that Abby insisted on taking along, just-in-case diapers, stickers, suckers, crayons, souvenirs from our trip to the zoo a long time ago, and something sticky. I had to dig through it all just to get to the one item that was mine, the phone. When it struck me and I paused. I’ve already done the diaper bag, which I haven’t carried in ages. But now I have “the mom bag”.
It’s terribly harsh, but it’s true. I am such a mom.
September 16 2011
The first day I took the boys to the bus stop in the morning, some weeks ago, there was another man there waiting with his son when along emerged a carful of kids just as the bus approached. Included in the car was a little girl who was clearly having a very bad start to her day. She stormed from the backseat and took off in the opposite direction from the bus, stomping, crying, and furiously throwing objects in her path.
It was a scene.
After she left, and the bus rolled on with our kids on board, the man who had been waiting with his son, a man who lives just a few doors down from us, turned to me. “Did you see that little girl? No way. Nuh-uh!”, he exclaimed. “If I ever acted like that, my mama would have whacked me upside the head.”
I nodded, “Tell me about it. I would never hit my kids, but they know better than to act like that.”
This, right there. Do you see that? That’s where I eat my words.
Yesterday, my daughter and I took a stroll around the neighborhood. As we neared home, however, it dawned on her where she was and it was not where she wanted to be. Abby didn’t want to go inside like I explained we needed to do. Her voice raised in sheer defiance, the rocks she had been saving in her hand were lobbed like angry baseballs. It was a scene. Right in front of that man’s house.
Um, well, my daughter will know better. Eventually. After she gets done being 3.
September 15 2011
Hello, my name is Crystal and I’m addicted to the internet.
There is no sense in denying it. Me and my computer are BFFs. It’s in me, my lifeblood. I have cried before at the loss of an internet connection. I have resorted to drastic measure to keep in touch. It’s hard to step away, to put down, to focus elsewhere. The web has been a major part of who I am for almost 15 years now. There are times when I have even preferred it to real life.
And that is where it’s gone wrong.
Jedi is my child in every sense. He is me, in little boy form. And he takes after my serious interest in all things online. He’s fascinated with games and wikis and silly YouTube clips. It’s all he wants to do. I knew it was getting to be a problem, but it didn’t fully sink in until the other night. Every day I ask who he plays with at school, and every day he’s been saying nobody. But the other night, I dug further. After many followup questions, it’s because he’d rather be home. Playing on the computer.
He’s shy in real life. Like me. It’s easier on the computer. I get that. Do I ever get that. But I’m not doing him any favors letting this go on. It’s become an unhealthy crutch, for both of us.
Starting that night, his screen access has been limited. As he so poignantly noted, however, “Why do I have to get off the computer and you can be on all day?”. Fair question, and I can’t. Not anymore. Thus, I’ve set a limit on my own access, as well.
Because my son, my kids, are my real world. Where things aren’t always easy, but they can be beautiful and touching and fleeting. It is better, here. Not to say that it will be a smooth transition, I’ve been a bit twitchy already. We’ll suffer through our withdrawals, though, together.
September 08 2011
“Here, Jedi, look at me!”
It was meant as a fun offer, from a mother to a son. I huffed on the concave side of the stainless steel, forming a nonslip surface, and applied the cold utensil against the tip of my nose. There was excitement in my voice as the spoon obeyed just as intended.
“How am I balancing the spoon on my nose, Jedi? Is it magic?”
I thought he’d be impressed, maybe he’d try to do the trick himself. It’s these simple moments between a mother and son that are most remembered. Once the beginning step was perfected, we could then proceed to the next level of difficulty; hanging multiple spoons all over our faces. It could be like a game. We could be a traveling freak show family of dangling forehead kitchen utensils. The dreams, they were aplenty.
“Isn’t this cool?”, I asked heartily, the spoon still resting on the ledge of my nose.
Instead, he rolled his eyes and crushed my dreams.
“Stop it, Mom”, he urged, completely deadpan.
Says the kid who finds anything fart-related hilarious. Yes, it’s these simple moments between a son rolling his eyes at his mother who’s trying too hard with a cold spoon dangling from the tip of her nose that I’ll cherish for always. It really is magic, I say.
