Look, I know saying no can be real hard (trust me!) and anyone who’s had to explain to a 2 year-old that, no, “real live” ponies do not sleep in big girl beds, would probably agree.
[cringe]
Then, my kids started getting older and, well, I seemed to have forgotten what it was like…making them happy, I mean.
“But, So-and-So goes to Disney every summer!”
From something as simple as buying clothes and video games, to being invited to elaborate birthday parties and watching our neighbors take out small loans, just so that their kids can have that dream wedding…er…I mean, sweet sixteen?
In my experience, walking that fine line between cheap and frugal, for quite a few years now, overindulgence isn’t the problem.
“You NEVER let me do…go…get…anything I want!!!”
It’s the guilt that beats down my parenting mojo, every time!
I looked out the window and, yeah, more snow (blech!) but, I noticed something else; something I missed, while shutting off the lights and waiting for my husband to come to bed, at 4:30 this morning.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
Actually, this time, my son kicked me in the head, the dog rolled over my legs and, well, I couldn’t really blame my husband for falling asleep on the couch, again.
“Oh, look, Mr. Cardinal has gone food shopping with Mrs. Cardinal.”
My husband, Garth [not his real name] and I could totally relate. In fact, shopping for groceries, or running to the corner for the paper and our weekly runs to Home Depot are the few times that we get to spend together, alone (sort of) except, maybe, the shower (you’re welcome!) so, yeah, we do a lot of our shopping, together.
“I picked up some seed and filled up your bird feeder, last night.”
We stood there, in silence and each smiled, as Mrs. Cardinal scratched and pecked, while Mr. Cardinal stood by and watched.
Can you judge a mother by her shopping cart…in MY case, ABSOLUTELY…go right ahead…I triple-dog dare you!
If you were to ask me, years ago — before blocking the MTV channel and searching for un-holey jeans at Hot Topic ruled my world — what I disliked most about being a mom, I would have answered, without hesitation:
“Answering to other moms!”
Although, having to explain myself…to anyone…is STILL really hard — especially, without relying on cocktails, or the use of visual aids — living a fishbowl existence and swimming along with the same old school of thought, day after day, is even harder.
“Oh, just LOOK at how SHE is dressed…I would NEVER let my little Muffy wear black, EVUH!”
No flaming. I understand. Maybe even have told Buffy (you know, Muffy’s mom) that we went through something similar. However, today, I would totally see Buffy’s point and perhaps raise her an opinion…
“Oh, she’s just expressing herself.”
…or, two.
“But, absolutely NO belly button piercings until at least 17!”
Point being (I really do have one, I think) I find myself relying A LOT more on, you know, what OTHER moms are saying.
“Hi Liz, just wanted to let you know that, you know, cookie orders are due.”
Yeah, it’s girl scout cookie order time (AGAIN!) and I knew, that my youngest girl’s leader knew, that I was supposed to hand those in, like, a week ago.
“I hate being THAT mom!”
[silence]
Because, my father-in-law drops Hope off and I don’t even see, talk, or hear anything from any of the girl scout families, anymore, since picking up the afternoon/evening shift at work.
“You know, the one who forgets EVERYTHING!?!?”
[very awkward silence]
“I’ll drop it off, during pick ups, today.”
Even though, I don’t really know whether I’m dropping off, or picking up, unless another mom, you know, texts me.
“Hey, isn’t that my girl scout leader’s car?”
Why, yes, yes it was AND she’s stopping to talk to me…uh-oh…right here…in the middle…of traffic!
[rolls down driver's side window]
“Heh, good timing, did you stop by my house, yet?”
Then, I realized something (besides the fact that my oldest must have put the cookie order into my tote, I mean) after 16 years of raising kids (and killer dust bunnies) it doesn’t matter.
[passes cookie order through window]
“Here ya’ go!”
I still have NOT learned to, you know, get over myself!
“Well, that worked out well, didn’t it?”
At the end of the day, no matter how crazy it gets, or how absolutely awful I feel, somehow, it really does NOT matter.
“I’ll be seeing you.”
At least, my being able to admit that…YES!…I am THAT mom….hopefully, helps other moms see that, no matter, we ALL come together, in the end.
“Hopefully, sometime soon!”
Aaaand, if not, don’t worry, I’m on YOUR side AND I’m pretty sure, with my help, other folks will understand, too – especially, if you ARE a mother!
[fast-forward to CVS, last night]
“Muffy is at her Valentine’s Day party at girl scouts, tonight!”
It’s like the mother of all barking chains, really.
“Wow, well, Hope has hers tomorrow, so I guess I’d better check my email, then, huh?”
“About every 25 seconds, an American will have a coronary event.”
Aaaaand, I asked my kids to wear red (if they had something clean, I mean) NOT just because I happen to like the color (A LOT) either.
“Doesn’t Uncle Bradi have heart disease?”
No, but my twin brother is ALSO fighting something just as deadly.
“You mean, Farah Fawcett type of cancer?”
Kids today, you know, they talk AND they have a very keen sense of perception – especially, standing in the check out lane at the grocery store.
“No, sweetie, but he’s fighting really hard, like your Papa, too.”
My children are well aware of the terrible effects of heart disease,
with a bird’s eye view from their stroller(s), while seeing my father
through one life-saving procedure after another.
Thanks to his doctors, surgeons and my mother’s valiant attempts at
maintaining a healthy lifestyle, by keeping his diabetes in check, as
well, my father has been beating back the effects of heart disease for
quite a few years, now.
This is part of a writing challenge at {W}rite-Of-Passage, a community of bloggers who are looking to get back to the writing part of blogging and brainchild of my friend, Mrs. Flinger. Today’s challenge was to write a post with a clear plot – the point in which you are trying to make (I know, good luck with that one, right?)
——————————————————————-
It’s Napalooza at Mama’s house (stupid camera!)
Yesterday, my husband Garth [not his real name] and I made plans to take the kids to visit with my parents, who are both dealing with difficult health issues at the moment, for a turkey dinner.
What? I clean. My mother cooks when she’s frustrated and, well, seeing as the kids haven’t had a decent meal since I started working, who am I to argue, right?
“I’ll bring the green bean casserole!”
Seeing as, I am NOT a total shitehead, either, I also offered to cook the turkey, too!
“No…nuh-uh…that’s okay.”
Apparently, the kids have been talking with my mother…about me…too.
“So, how are you guys…”
Aaaand, the flood gates opened.
“Your father probably needs a pacemaker and those 3 knee replacements I had, didn’t work!”
Apparently, my parents had 2 emergency medical visits, last week and, NO, they didn’t call me.
“We didn’t want to worry you!”
So, of course, by Sunday morning, I was VERY worried!
“I don’t care if you ARE still naked!”
Aaaand, annoyed — because, when taking showers, some kids have to be reminded to, you know, actually GET IN THE SHOWER!
“WE ARE LEAVING IN 5 MINUTES!!!”
Long story, short (you’re welcome!) as much as the kids ADORE my parents (me, too) and love visiting with them (sort of) it is never an easy trip.
“Move your seat up…I’m squished…move over…I…can’t…breathe!!!”
In fact, just getting in the car is enough to drive a sane person to, you know, walk the 44 miles.
“ENOUGH!!!”
When it comes to head-spinning, Linda Blair has got nothin’ on me!
“Next person who speaks, gets grounded for a week!”
Long story, short [don’t mention it] you coulda cut the tension with a spoon and, well, at this point, my husband and I weren’t speaking, to each other, either.
“What’s wrong?”
I don’t know what it is.
“C’mon, tell me.”
Ever since I was little, I could NEVER lie to my mother.
“Nothing, really!”
Until, at least, around dessert time.
“I don’t…[sniff]…know…[snort]…what to do!“
What? Some people go to therapy. Hungarians cry. Right into our desserts.
“I know, me either!”
So, we allowed the flood gates to open, once more — we sat, we talked, we cried, we hugged, got over the fact that, you know, sometimes life just has to happen and there was peace in the dining room, once more!
Until.
It was time to wake the kids.
“I don’t WANNA go home!”
Really, can you blame them?
“There’s always President’s weekend!”
Aaand, I bet that YOU don’t even have to guess real hard how my mother knew that the kids would be off…and willing to sleep over…that weekend…TOO.
Been working A LOT of hours, lately (SHOULD be feeling blessed, I know) younger kids are feeling ornery (no, I don't blame them) older kids been picking up the slack (thanks, you guys) and, well, let's just say I've pretty much blown any chance (as if, I were even close to being, you know, in the running) of winning "Mother of the Year," after both my 8 and 10 year-olds announced:
"Things are just not the same, since you went back to work!"
So, for your viewing pleasure, courtesy of a blast from my blogging past, I present to you Dancing Matt 2008!
[Note: Includes really awesome music and feel free to go and grab a beverage — it is SO worth watching all the way through — oh, and I triple dog-dare you NOT to smile!]
Thanks for the dance, Buzz and (if you find yourself all, like, "Who the hell are you?") you just can call me, Matt!
Happy 11th Birthday to my ManChild and…NO!…I did NOT let your sisters color their hair…until they were in middle school, anyways and…YES!…I am well aware of the fact that you are now in the 5th grade!
[checks calendar]
So, you know, you can always try me again, next year.
I’ve carpooled with Carpooling Mom for several years, now — which, by having 4 kids, in 4 different schools and having said that, means I really can’t tell you exactly how long, since, you know, I don’t remember — this year, I am in charge of the morning/afternoon run(s) to my 10-year-old son’s school.
“Do I really have to sit with ALL those boys?”
Which means that my youngest daughter (she’s 8) suffers through at least 10 minutes of fart jokes and, well, whatever 9 and 10-year-old boys, you know, talk about.
[sound of crickets chirping]
Okay, so, just in case you do NOT know what 9 and 10-year-old boys talk about (yes, I see YOU, over there, hunching down in the back, surrounded by headless dolls and terribly pink lip gloss) let me tell you what they talked about, this week.
Picking-up girls!
Yes, all 3 of the boys were comparing their best pick-up lines:
1. You must be a library book, because I’m checking YOU out!
2. I must be a paperclip, because I’m attracted to you LIKE A MAGNET!
3. I must be dead, because you look like an angel!
The first one is my favorite and I know what you’re thinking (maybe) so, like, which one did my son come up with?
[drum roll]
“I don’t have one!”
Perhaps it’s because he’s got sisters. I doubt it. Since, one of the boys has got 3 sisters, too.
“Wait, wait, I’ve got one!!!!”
[see title of post]
“Holly says that will just get you slapped!”
He’s turning 11, tomorrow (the oldest kid on the carpool) so, between his sisters (and me) I’m hoping, you know, he can at least begin to set some sort of precedence, for other fledgling teenage boys in the neighborhood.
“Yeah, well, maybe that’s why she does NOT have a boyfriend!”
I’m an impulsive mover. I move things. From here, to there, or maybe it will look better in THAT corner.
If I had a dollar, for every time my husband, Garth [not his real name] came home to find the house looking a little, you know, different? Hmph. Well, the poor guy could use a pair of industrial strength shin guards!
“YOUCH, when DID THIS get in here!?!?”
I’d be doing dishes (yes, dishwasher is STILL broken) and I’ll be staring out the kitchen window, when, all of a sudden, it would hit me.
“Maybe the kitchen table would look better in the dining room?”
It’s a sickness, I know.
“We’ll be there, tomorrow, between 12 and 3.”
So, I, once again, ignored the growing pile of clean laundry (don’t try this at home, I AM A PROFESSIONAL!) and continued to deny the fact that the holidays have been over for, like the last two weeks (it’s gonna be a Valentine’s tree) and started, you know, moving stuff.
From here, to there, etc… (desk looks like a television hutch, because, you know, it was) to make room for a new couch!
[heart’s all a flutter]
I’ve been saving up for this baby (yes, with MY own money) and FINALLY bought one (yes, with REAL money) with the intention of cozey-ing-up our game-slash-laundry-slash-media-slash-mom’s hideout-slash-playroom.
“I’ll MAKE IT fit!”
Did I mention, the room is cozy, or that the doorway, to get in, is even, you know, a cozier fit?
“It ain’t gonna fit through that door, lady.”
Der. I know. That’s why I spent the rest of the morning, cleaning up after the dawg (two whole hanging baskets full of Doofus-dung, thank goodness it was frozen, you’re welcome!) so that the delivery dudes could bring Molly (we name our cars, too) through the back door.
“Mierda!”
Now, I don’t remember much of my high school Spanish (brain cells are at a premium, these days) how-evuh, I do speak several languages…of POOP!
Long story, short (you’re welcome) Miss Molly fit right in and it’s as if I designed the room around her, right?
Riiiiight. Color my decorating style as, “sheer dumb luck,” whatever, sometimes, change is good — I am THRILLED with the end result and, well, guess where I’m spending the rest of MY morning?
Go ahead, I’ll wait.
Aaaaaand, YES, I am totally ignoring the fact that I forgot to lock the cabinet and Doofus-Dawg got into the garbage, AGAIN!!!
