Archive for the ‘motherhood’ Tag
March 15 2011
My daughter likes to dress herself, and has ever since she could walk. I’ve even documented our disputes over her choice of wardrobe. She seems to have moved on from dressing like her brothers these days, finally preferring her own clothes. Except now, she wants to wear the same outfit every day of the week and has to have it just so. Including socks.
Abby’s socks must taste very good because the sock monster likes to eat them up. I’ve purchased countless styles and packs and I think we have about 5 matching pairs left. Though this is might be a good thing, considering my daughter is a fickled sort who can’t make up her mind.
As was the case the other day when she got herself dressed. Pants, shirt, another shirt (yes, she layers, sometimes multiple upon multiple), but lo! she was without socks. “Socks, mommy, socks!”, she demanded. Not wanting to deprive my daughter of warm feet, I dug through her unsightly mess of a drawer and came up with 2 pairs. One had blue stripes, the other red.
“We have blue stripes and we have red”, I said, dangling each pair in front of her. “Blue”, holding it with arm-outstretched. “Red”, pulling the blue pair back and doing the same. This continued on until I knew she understood.
“Blue?”, Abby asked pointing to the pair striped blue. “Red?”, doing the same with the red.
“Yes. Now, which one do you want to wear today?”
“Ummm….”, she mulled over her decision long and hard. “Yellow!”
March 08 2011
Did you know that? Because they do. They break stuff. And then they keep breaking the same stuff over and over again when you try to get it fixed. Which is why everything in my house is crap held together by duct tape and superglue. There are times, however, when even that doesn’t work.
We have one light in our living room. Or had. It’s a floor lamp, because I know better than to attempt a table lamp. For the same reason we have no decorative accessories adorning where reachable, those things would go flying through the air before the first day is done.
We had a floor lamp, which we managed to keep functioning for over a year with nary a touch by the kids. Then we switched the furniture around. And moved that floor lamp to a different location. All of a sudden, it was the funnest thing in the world to knock over. Soon, that lamp ceased to function, but it led a good, long life so aside from sitting in the dark for a few nights until a new source of illumination was purchased, I wasn’t terribly inconvenienced.
Then, I bought a brand new lamp. And I enjoyed it’s light for not even a week before the kids began their attack. Soon, that lamp was a broken, lopsided mess, too, but I refused to give up on it. I duct taped, I super glued, I even did my best MacGuyver and tried to adhere it together with string and a plastic cup. Don’t ask. Needless to say, my efforts were futile. My not even a month old lamp refuses to work and I am stuck once again sitting in the dark.
Because kids, they break stuff.
So if you were to ever come over to my house, pay no attention to the floppy broken lamp. I refuse to buy a new one until my children move out. Though it might be too dark in here to notice anyway.
February 08 2011
Whatever gets us through the day. That should be my battle cry.
I am not the perfect mother. And when I judge myself against other parents, those who seem to handle chaos with more grace, I have to remember that they’re not perfect, either. We all do whatever we can to get us through the day.
My children watch an absurd amount of television. In fact, we recently hooked up cable in the boys’ bedroom. Sometimes, like in the midst of tackling laundry on Sunday, there will be 3 TV’s on each with a different show to try to keep hold of short attention spans and out from under my feet for 10 minutes. Sometimes it works, usually it doesn’t. Whatever gets us through the day.
I tune out most of their cries. I know the difference between a really hurt wail and just a he-stole-my-toy fit, and there’s too many of those and only so much of me. They don’t listen to me, anyway. So I save my breath when I can. Whatever gets us through the day.
I don’t get on the floor to play with my kids enough. I raise my voice too often. I feel like I might explode if I hear the same story one more time. I don’t stress about what kind of food goes in my kids’ mouths, as long as some does. Pop Tarts are what’s for breakfast many mornings. As well, I love my kids, but there are times when I feel stuck, trapped. And on those days, in those moments, when it takes a second more to see the beauty in front of me, I try my best to remind myself of the bigger picture, to embrace their unique features a little bit tighter. Whatever gets us through the day.
February 01 2011
Jedi’s bus stop is almost a block away from our house. As a 7 year old kid, I don’t feel comfortable with him making the trek on his own. As such, I walk with him on a regular basis. Along with Abby in her stroller and Buzz running amok. Through rain, snow, or shine.
We’ve had a routine in place since the first day, though. Jedi and his brother play close by a tree. When the bus arrives, I give Jedi a quick kiss on the cheek and a hug and a high five. “Have a great day!”, I urge. I tell him I love him and he’ll say it back before he bounds for his yellow carriage, always the last to board. Without fail.
As with all routines, though, there comes a day when it gets thrown off course.
Instead, he immediately took his place at the edge of the road with the other kids waiting for their bus. When it arrived, he offered a polite wave before turning around to climb on. No I love you’s, no hugs, no high fives. I stood there, sad and sentimental for my little boy.
When he returned home that night, I brought it up. “Do you think you’re getting too big to give me a kiss goodbye?”, I wondered seriously. If he really thought so, while it’d be hard to refrain myself, I wouldn’t push the issue.
“No”, he answered in earnest, “I was just tired of always being the last on the bus.”
And with that, I breathed a sigh of relief. I know it’s not going to be too much longer before he feels embarrassed by me, but at least it’s not yet. Truth be told, I’d be tired of always being last, too.
January 05 2011
When it was just the 2 of us, before the noise of children, there were many times I felt stagnant. I’d come home from the bustle of work to a quiet house, a quiet night, interrupted only by the amount of conversation we allowed. It was easy to get swallowed up, like a tunnel getting trapped in.
Then along came my oldest son, and with him came the cries. As all babies do, he slept most of his first few months. But when he was awake, he was present, filling the house in a way it hadn’t been before. As he got older, his voice grew as well. The same for his siblings, one by one. In their own unique tone and energy, swelling in magnitude with each passing day. That once quiet house soon became a very loud home.
These days there are children running between legs and screeching through halls. They scream at one another at the top of their lungs. Toys crash into a stranded pile. Beeps and boops and sirens and repeated songs until batteries wear out. Constant talk and questions and requests. Hearty laughter that can quickly turn to cries. Steady motion. Even when the walls fall still, I’m waiting for chaos to begin again. It’s behind every corner.
“Shhhh…”
It seems I spend my days trying to revert back to that semblence of tranquility from a time before, when it threatened to swallow me whole. I hush and I seperate and I tune out. The main task of my job is about keeping peace, but there is only so little of me and so much of them.
“You need to whisper.”
On those exceptionally rare occasions when I do find a reticent moment, the goal I’ve sought after, I’m lost within myself again. That tunnel is long and steep, silence overwhelming, even moreso now that I’ve been on the other side. Until a voice helps me find my way out. That voice is usually followed by a scream and a demand and then some cries. And I’m back to shhhing, hushing in vain, searching again for that ubiquitous quiet to get trapped in.
