Archive for the ‘motherhood’ Tag
May 27 2011
When Buzz shattered the window last Friday, I assumed he kicked through it. He has a bad habit of kicking on the walls. I tell him to stop all the time, clearly without success. My first priority when it occurred was to make sure he wasn’t injured. I looked him over quickly without noticing even the tiniest of scratches, which then gave me the all clear to freak the hell out about the broken pane of glass.
“Oh good, I’m glad you’re OK because you’re going to need to be tip-top to WORK OFF HOW MUCH THAT WINDOW IS GOING TO COST, my GOD, kid.”
It wasn’t until later, when I had ceased hyperventilating, that he came up to me with blood on his finger. A small slice, but in need of attention. I cleaned it up, made sure there was no glass and put on an antibiotic, all the while assuring him that he would be OK. We would be OK. It’s OK. Things break. They get fixed. Breathe, it’s OK. I may have needed to hear it as much as he did.
Next and finally was the fix-all, a band-aid, which is the security blanket for any real or imaginary boo-boo. When my 5 year old Buzz looks to me, his finger securely wrapped, and says gratefully, “Thanks, Mom.”
I sent him on his way before it occurred to me what he had said. Mom? Where did that come from? When did he start calling me Mom?
Noticing my funny look, he repeated, “Thanks, Mom.”.
I exhaled in a small bout of laughter. Maybe I won’t have to sell him on Craigslist after all. This time. “You’re welcome, Buzz”, I said in turn. “But I still prefer Mommy.”
May 24 2011
Afternoons, when Jedi first arrives home from school, it’s hectic. A chaotic frenzy of hectic. It seems like that is the moment when all 3 kids want not just one thing, but everything from me. At the same time.
I’m making sure everyone has any rocks or sticks they collected on our walk out the door, then their shoes off and put up, which I always have to tell them to do at least twice. Jedi wants apple juice first thing and Abby wants milk along with Buzz. Then, they want a snack, but different snacks. I try to look through Jedi’s backpack and daily homework folder, while Abby’s grabbing quarters off the counter and Buzz is throwing toys in the fish tank. Abby then wants help putting on a shirt and Buzz wants help taking his off and then he runs off to the bathroom, the rest of his clothes tracking a path, where I have to follow or else he’ll play in the toilet water.
I haven’t even made it to Jedi’s homework folder yet.
Everyone is yelling at me. “Mommy help!”, implores Abby. “Mommy!”, Buzz screams from the bedroom, wanting a movie. “Mooommmy, get my homework!”, Jedi demands so he can get it over with and play on the computer. When I finally get around to handing him his sheet of math homework, “Mooommmy, help me with my homework!”. Inevitably, one kid ends up waiting.
“Jedi, you’re going to have to hold on a minute. There’s only 1 of me and 3 of you and I’m doing the best I can.”, I proclaim about at the end of my rope.
When he tells me, “You know what you need to do? You need to make 3 clones of you.”
That would solve a lot of our problems.
May 10 2011
Buzz is a handful. This I know. I’ve said it before and it bears repeating because it’s true. I would never consider him easy unless he’s sick, then he’s just cranky and I’m not sure if that’s better. That kid can push buttons I never even knew existed before. I’ve pulled out so much hair over him that I’m amazed I have any left. He doesn’t stop. Ever. Never. Does. Not. Stop.
All of this I’ve said before. Here and in venting to others, particularly my own mother. She’s had to babysit quite often recently and has been privy to his antics. I can hear the frustration in her voice when I return. She tries to offer advice. None of which I want to absorb. I don’t want to hear how bad my kid is from someone else, even and maybe especially Grandma.
It’s OK for me to say, because I’m his mom. I call him a little shit in the moment after a long day, but I also say it with love. I love that kid fluently, though he pushes and pulls. I know where his behavior stems and how his actions move like only his mom can. If anyone else says the same, it feels like an attack. Like we’re doing something wrong. Like somehow, if I’m not the only one who can notice, my kid must be bad.
You don’t talk about my kid, even if he’s related and maybe possibly deserves it. I don’t care. I will cut you. A really mean look, anyway. On the other side of the telephone. Where you can’t see. Because this is my mom, after all. For anyone else, though, I will cut you.
Mama bear. Rawr.
Yes, I know Buzz is a handful. He’s also an incredibly cheery, bright, and playful little boy, even if his version of playing may be a little rough. He is not a bad kid. He doesn’t set out to be mean or angry. I don’t believe he has a mean-spirited bone in his body. He’s 5 with moods just like every other and some days he really is just too much, but he’s trying. I know he is. We all are.
May 08 2011
When I was a young girl, I locked myself in my parents’ bathroom. There were many times in the future that this would have been done purposefully, but this instance was not. The lock malfunctioned when I happened to be inside, and I couldn’t get out.
I was frantic, my mom was frantic. Being a little kid full of drama, I began to cry, assuming I’d be trapped in the bathroom forever. After trying everything we could, my mom eventually had to call someone to set me free. And she was there, my mom, appearing relieved just as I was when I was able to emerge.
What goes around, comes around.
Yesterday, Jedi was complaining about his door. “It keeps creaking open”, he whined. So when I rose out of bed that morning, I dug around our miscellaneous items drawer when I came away with an unused lock latch. Feeling remarkably useful so early already, I screwed it in place. Then tried to close the door.
It was tight. Very tight. That should have been my first clue to abort mission. I wiggled and finagled the door closed, however, with Jedi still in bed watching Spongebob, though it took a lot of prodding. And it stayed securely closed. And wouldn’t open.
I had flashbacks from that bathroom at that very moment.
He wasn’t in that bedroom nearly as long as I had been trapped with a toilet, but it was still enough for me to panic. Eventually, I did my best roundhouse kick to the door and he was set free. And there I was, Jedi’s mom, seemingly more relieved than he was when he was able to emerge. Because he didn’t. The lazy lump stayed in bed like nothing had happened.
Still, it’s nice to know there are mothers to get their kids out of tricky situations. Even if those mothers may be the ones who get their kid in the tricky situation to begin with.
To all the moms out there, Happy Mother’s Day!
May 02 2011
Forgive me as I veer into one of those “back in my day” posts for a moment.
Back in my day, I was playing outdoors by myself when I was 5, in our large open yard. I’d sit in the grass, watch the clouds, or swing on my metal swingset while my parents went about their own thing. It wasn’t unusual to ride my bike around our village or walk some houses down to see my friend. Because we all knew it was safe. I’d get checked on sporadically, but they let me be for the most part, finally calling me in for dinner after a full day spent in the sun, my mother’s voice ringing for me through the neighborhood.
This was almost 30 years ago, though. Things were different. The area I grew up in was different. Country-like, woods, a lot of nature. It seemed close-knit and closed off from all the problems that come from living someplace larger and busier. Which, while it isn’t a large city we live in now, it’s still a city nonetheless with everything that comes with it.
My oldest son is 7 years old. I’m just beginning to feel comfortable letting him play by himself in the front section of our yard. Where I can award him the semblance of privacy while still keeping an ever watchful eye on him.
I do not want him out of my eyesight.
I trust him. It’s not him I don’t trust. My son knows right from wrong and what he should or should not do. He’s a good kid, a great kid, a safe kid. But there are bad people out there. This is not back in my day or the setting I grew up in. It’s a lot different when I’m on the other side.
So I’m asking you, at what age do you think it’s appropriate to allow a child outside alone? To ride his bike around the neighborhood, if my son rode a bike which is another story? Am I too restricting with my 7 year old? Or should I set him completely free and just buy him a bus pass and send him off with a good luck, kid?
