“Mom, would you be mad if I dumped mud, wood chips, grass and leaves into the bathroom sink?”
Mad is not how I would describe my feelings about this. I would say I feel…Confused (WHAT WAS SHE THINKING?!) and dread? HOW WILL I CLEAN THIS?!)
But mad, um, not really?
Except, maybe a liiiiiiiiiittle?
Kids!
Category Archives: Parenthood
In Her Heart
This afternoon I picked up my daughter from the bus stop like I do every day. As we walked up the driveway, she twirled around and giggled.
“Do you think it’s funny when I do that, Mommy?” She asked as she spun her tiny body around in circles.
“I think it’s silly.” I replied.
“Your girl is SO silly, isn’t she mommy?” She asked.
I was distracted, my mind consumed with all of the work that I had yet to do. I didn’t respond right away.
“Mommy? Did you hear me? Isn’t your girl silly?”
“Oh, she’s so silly!” I said.
We approached the front door and just as I was about to open it she stopped and gasped.
“OH! Mommy! I almost forgot! I brought you something!”
She reached into her backpack and started to dig around. I could see the panic sweep over her face because she couldn’t find what she was looking for. She dug around the inside of her backpack.
I became impatient because I had so much work waiting for me once we got inside the house.
“Let’s go inside and you can keep looking in there.”
“No, Mommy! I want to give it to you right now!”
I wanted to get inside so I could get back to work. But I took a deep breath, sighed loudly and waited while she frantically searched for whatever it was she wanted to give me.
“Oh, here it is!” She shouted, joyfully.
She held out her hand. Laying there in her tiny little palm was a small, shiny, metallic heart.
“I found this on the ground at school.” she explained “It made me think of you because I love you in my heart. So, I picked it up and saved it to give it to you.”
I knelt down beside her and looked carefully at the heart. I told her it was beautiful. I told her how much I loved it. She smiled and placed it in my hand.
“Don’t lose it.” She hollered as she skipped into the house.
That little heart is now taped to my computer monitor, so I can be reminded every day that no matter how much work there is to do, I should always make time for those who love me in their hearts.
Sick Day
Not a Single Thing
Last night I was driving The Teenager to church for worship practice. On the way there, we passed a condo we used to live in when he was only a year old.
I slowed down a bit, pointed it out to my son and said “There’s our old house!”
We both looked as we drove by. All of the precious memories came rushing back to me. I remember my son playing with the water hose in the backyard. I remember cheetos scattered on the kitchen floor. I remembered father and son playing guitar on the living room floor. I remember my chunky little son squeezing through the bars on the gate. I remember walks to the swimming pool. I remember sleepless nights, taking turn holding our sick baby. I remember letting our baby “cry it out” as we transitioned him from our bed into his own crib. I remembered playing hide and seek and my son almost always hiding in the bathroom. I remembered my son getting into my mascara and getting it all over the bathroom cabinets, the carpet and his face. I remember crying when our landlord decided to sell it. I remember our last night there, the three of us laying on a mattress on the floor.
It was just the three of us living there in that condo, having the best times of our lives.
I looked over at my son.
“Do you remember living there?”
“Nope.”
Punch to my gut.
“Nothing? You don’t remember anything?”
“Not a single thing, Mom.”
I don’t know why it came as such a shock to me– I don’t remember anything about my childhood before the age of 4, but hearing him say that he doesn’t remember “a single thing” about living there knocked the wind out of me.
Some of my most treasured moments with my son are moments he has no recollection of.
The Blog Remembers When…
Yesterday, I was in the kitchen working on a writing assignment.
My husband was making G a sandwich.
G was in her room getting ready to go miniature golfing with her cousin.
As I typed away on the keyboard, my daughter walked into the kitchen with two empty wrapping paper rolls, one in each hand. She was limping as she walked.
“Look, Mom.” She said as she limped towards me. “I made my very own crunches.”
“Crunches?” I asked.
“You know, the things you use to walk when you break your legs! CRUNCHES!”
“Oh, of course, crunches!”
I looked over at my husband, who had the biggest smile.
I walked over to him as we watched her limp out of the room with her “crunches”. I wrapped my arms around his waist and said “these are the moments I never want to forget. I don’t ever want to forget that this happened.”
And so, I write it in my blog.
I’m Pretty Sure I’m Going To Need An Assembly Line of Shoulders To Cry on in Exactly Six Months From Today
Today is September 3rd.
Which means today my first born child is exactly 6 months away from his 18th birthday.
Which means in exactly 6 months I will be the mother of an adult human being.
An adult human being who can use the phrase “YOU CAN’T STOP ME! I’M 18!” if he wants to.
To which I could respond “well then, you can start paying for your own place and your own groceries, Mr. Adult Man!” if I wanted to.
I hope he never does and I hope I never do, because I’m dreading those kind of conversations with my LEGAL ADULT HUMAN BEING.
Other things I dread are more serious, like, my son apparently having made up his mind that he wants to attend a law enforcement academy this fall because he wants to be a cop. He’s been saying that for a while, but I’ve been hoping he’ll change his mind.
All indications are that he’s not going to change his mind. He’s talking about it more and more and telling me the classes he wants to take and criminal justice this and police academy that and oh my delicate heart can not take it because it is too overwhelmed with both pride and fear. At the same time. Because good for you for wanting to protect and serve, son. But also? You could get shot and killed so choose something else please, son.
I swear to Regis Philbin that just yesterday we were having conversations about Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles and how many tickets he had saved for that one prize he was trying to earn at Chuck E Cheeses. And today, we’re talking about graduation and THE POLICE ACADEMY. What? How is this possible?
I try to look at the bright side.
He’ll be earning his own money! He’ll be experiencing the world and all that it has to offer! He’ll be doing important things that will make a difference in this world!
I remember being that age. I remember how excited I was to be so close to graduating and living my life (and for me? “living my life” pretty much meant “marrying PigHunter so I could have all of the sex I wanted every single day!)
I am happy for my son and looking forward to watching him be the man that I’ve raised him to be. But at the same time… tears. So many tears. Because even though I know that in my heart he will always remain my sweet baby boy, the reality is that he is just six months away from being a legal adult.
Good for him. Bad for my heart.
Lady HaHa.
The kids already have their first day of school off. “Staff development day.” Normally, this would annoy me because seriously, teachers? School just started. But I was looking forward to their day off.. I didn’t get home from a work trip until 1am and I am wiped the hell out. I was looking forward to sleeping in.
But at 6am, I felt a little finger tapping on my arm.
“Mom?” She whispered.
“No. no! Go back to bed! It’s too early!”
She didn’t go back to bed. She went to the couch to try to watch TV, but the batteries on the remote were dead and I only know this because 30 seconds after I had fallen back to sleep, she was tapping on my arm again telling me that the batteries were dead.
I switched out the batteries and tried to fall back asleep. I tossed and turned but eventually fell back asleep.
Except 8 minutes later, my son was standing next to my bed.
“Mom. Gabby just said the funniest thing.”
“Tell me later! I’m so tired!”
“But mom, it’s hilarious.” He insisted that I needed to hear the story right this very minute.
“Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.” I said, all angrily while forcing my eyes open.
“She wanted to play with my itouch, but I told her no because I was in the middle of the game. So then she got so mad and said ‘you know what, Ethan? I’m going to do what Lady Gaga said. I’m going to Pa-pa-poke your face pa-pa-poke your face’.”
I know, I KNOW. So mean. So violent. So very worth being woken up for.
Picture Day!
Today was picture day at G’s school.
She wanted me to curl her hair. And even though I knew it would be flat before we made it to school, I got up extra early to curl her hair. Because I love her.
I wanted to cut her bangs, because they were annoying me. I didn’t want her bangs covering her beautiful eyes in her pictures. But she wants to let her bangs grow out because bangs “make her look like a little baby!”
I put the head band of her choice on her pretty little head when I was all done fixing her bangs. She looked at herself, smiled a huge smile and said “it looks beautiful, Mommy.”
I grabbed the camera and asked if I could take a few pictures outside before we left. She agreed.
I told her where to stand and she started to pose. I snapped away.
But then, I stopped. I stopped and I stared at the little beauty standing before me. Where did my baby go? Time stood still as I took her in. All traces of baby are gone. She’s a little lady now. A beautiful little lady who makes me laugh, who knows how to put an outfit together, who knows how to melt my heart. She’s everything I could have asked for in a daughter.
My baby girl, the last baby that I’ll ever have is growing and becoming her own little person, with her own wants and desires (no bangs!), hopes and dreams (she wants a pony!)
It’s both beautiful and heart wrenching to watch.
I Like To Think She Learned That From Me
My boys spend every Friday night at church hanging out with youth group. So, every Friday night it’s just me, my husband and our daughter, hanging out here at the house. Last night my husband had to go from his regular job to do a side job. I thought it was the perfect opportunity for a Girls Night Out with my daughter.
“Hey, would you like to go to dinner after we drop your brothers off at church?” I asked her, excitedly.
She responded with an enthusiastic “YES!”
Until I told her she would have to change out of her pajama’s back into the school clothes she had just taken off.
“But I want to stay in my pajamas!” She whined.
I explained to her that wearing pajamas to a restaurant was absolutely not acceptable and that if she wanted to go, she would have to change.
Long story short– she had a total meltdown that ended with her slamming her door while shouting “I THINK MY ANSWER IS NO! I DON’T WANT TO GO!”
I could feel the anger rise up within me. I wanted to fight back. To shout back at her something like “I DIDN’T REALLY WANT TO GO ANYWAY!”
I took a deep breath to compose my thoughts. I didn’t want to have another meltdown of my own.
l opened her door and found her on her bed, her arms crossed and the Meanest Mad Face I’ve ever seen.
“GO OUT, MOMMY!” She snarled.
“I just have one thing to say to you and I’ll leave.” I said, calmly. “I’ve missed you so much since you’ve started first grade and I was really looking forward to spending time with you. I’m sad that you’ve chosen to act this way instead of being excited to spend time with me. You just made my heart sad, GabbyGoo. I love you.”
I closed the door and walked out.
She didn’t say a word.
For 20 minutes there was complete silence.
I walked in her room again to check on her. She was sitting at her desk, writing.
“Mommy! Please don’t look! Close the door!”
I left her alone.
A few minutes later, she walked into my room with her head down and handed me a folded piece of paper. There was a little heart with a flower in the middle on the front. I opened it up.
The anger and disappointment that I had felt towards my daughter just seconds before instantly melted away. I pulled her close to me, hugged her tightly and kissed her over and over again on her soft little cheeks. I was so proud of that little girl in my arms.
“I love you and I forgive you.” I whispered in her ear.
She smiled, walked back into her room and walked out, dressed and ready to go out to dinner with her mama.
I Think We May Need to Start a Prayer Chain Now
I was in the bedroom, getting ready to take the kids to school when she called for me.
“Mommy!” She shouted from the other room. “Can I wear this outfit when I’m a teenager?”
“Which outfit?” I shouted back as I slipped on my shoes.
“Come here! I’ll show you!” She replied.
I hurried to tie my shoe so I could see what outfit she was talking about. Based on the last few “Can I do *fill in the blank* when I’m a teenager?” conversations we’ve had, I was a liiiiiittle nervous. (Last “fill in the blank” was “work at Hooters.”)
I walked into the family room. She pointed at the television, which she had paused.
“Can I wear that when I’m a teenager?”
I’m more scared than ever about the teenage years with my daughter, you guys.