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?”
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?)
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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.
See that really pretty girl, up there? Well, her name is Caitlin Crosby and she is a singer-songwriter in her twenties.
Yeah, I don’t remember what it was like…either.
However, raising 1 tween and 2 teenage girls (no, I haven’t forgotten about the boy) who fight with image issues, as early as the 2nd grade (yeah, I know!) aaaand then…every…blessed…day…for the rest of their lives…well, it IS slowly (and painfully) coming back to me.
“Oh great, another pop tart!”
Being a mom (or dad) is hard (understatement of the year) but, IMO, parenting teens and tweens, at an age when female performers are advertising “sexy” as the new “sixteen,” or “sexteen,” if you will, well, my life IS downright rock-like.
Then again, us parenting-types haz flawz…too…aaaand, I’m not just talking about sagging breasts, or laugh lines, that continue running down, right to my butt, either!
[allows time for a mental etch-a-sketch]
Caitlin created a home-made and moving video highlighting all people from all walks of life embracing (and loving) who they are.
Color me optimistic (or a little naive, even) but, I really like the message in Caitlin’s new video (not to mention, her bangin’ voice) and, well, maybe, juuuuust maybe, there IS hope for us parenting-types, too!
When I told my husband, Garth [not his real name] I was pregnant with our youngest, it didn’t come as much of a surprise, really; not like the first time, I mean, when he closed his eyes, fell back on the bed, grabbed his head (with both hands) and sort of just laid there, for a few minutes, moaning.
We had already signed the contract on this house (less full, at the time) and then came Valentine’s Day and, well, he WAS there when it ALL happened.
Three more (+) signs, later:
“Well, at least, no one will have to sit alone, on the rollercoaster.”
Then, all of a sudden, our lives turned into one big Dr. Seuss book:
One Kid, two kids,
Meh, what’s one more kid
Some have brown eyes, except their brother
Don’t ask me why
Go ask your mother.
Little did we know, all those days (and nights) ago, how prophetic my husband words would be.
GAH! Now, I’m speaking in rhyme? Hang on, this will be real quick.
[slams head on laptop]
There, that did the trick…I mean…where was I?
Rollercoasters? Feh, they’re for wussies. Raising tweens and teens? Best get your barf bags ready, now. Not only will they make you eat your words…
“I will never YELL at my kids, ever.”
They’ll make you chew on them a bit, first, before spitting them all over your sensible shoes, too!
“HANG UP YOUR WET TOWELS, DAMMIT!!!”
Wet towels. Tragic. I know.
[sound of puking]
I got sick, this week…NO, I’M NOT PREGNANT!
[knocking on wood until knuckles bleed]
I know, because I got my period at the same time (you’re welcome!) it’s how I roll and, well, best get your heating pads ready, now. Being a woman sucks. Being a woman of a certain age, sucks wet poodle.
“Go back to bed, Mah!”
It was already dark, the kids were ALL home from school (thank you, Carpooling Mom!) but, it was the quiet that woke me.
Aaaand, with a slightly confused and saddened heart, I turned toward the stairs, thinking that perhaps it was good that the kids were learning to take care of themselves (jinx) and slowly climbed closer to the realization that, one day, they won’t be needing me, at all.
“Sheesh…she’s like a kid, sometimes.”
Judging by the frequency of my bathroom stops, I imagine it will be real soon, too.
In the beginning…no, wait…let’s not go that far back (you’re welcome!) I’m entering my 7th year of blogging and was in the habit of embedding photos long before it was, you know, cool (shuttup!) as inspiration for that day’s (or, week’s) blog post.
A picture’s worth a thousand words (i.e. Worldess Wednesdays = a quick cure for writer’s block) right?
No, Santa didn’t bring her a camera (sheesh, I’m still waiting for mine!) however, this IS what happens, when your kids are home for the holidays and you, however…you know…are NOT (stupid work!) and one of them just happens to find the one and only camera in the house and, you know, it was just sitting there…on your desk.
It’s some sort of soup, I think.
GAAAAAAAAAH!!!!
Let there be peace…a lot!
You know, mom’s gonna kill you for using her camera, without asking, right?
No, she isn’t, ‘cawse she thinks I’m cute [insert 1st picture, here]
John Cena, I think!
You’re not mad, I mean, you like John Cena, right momma?
Morale of the Story: No, I’m not mad…yes, I like John Cena (RAWR!) but, I really wish Santa would just bring us another camera (or, Ashton Kutcher, RAWR!) because, the kid put the other one down and now I can’t find it, DAMMIT!
Today, you are fourteen and, well, like I told your sister Holly (in her birthday letter, last month) Holy Hannah Montana, the years are just flying by. No matter how hard I try to deny the fact that my two oldest girls are getting older (me too, DAMMIT!) time insists on slipping through my fingers, burrowing deeper into my chest and squeezing away a little piece of my heart, each year.
Remember yesterday, when everyone left us alone at the breakfast table and you and I talked about when you were little. How you cried a lot and never slept.
Me, too.
Except, you DID sleep in your car seat (a little) in our first minivan, you know, Daddy’s Windstar (may it rest in peace) while I drove around town, in the middle of the night, through tears of frustration…both yours and mine.
I know now that, right from the beginning, you were developing a keen sense of empathy and was just hypersensitive to the world around you.
“I’m sorry, Momma!”
Still are.
“For what?”
It’s like you know exactly how I’m feeling, or when to make daddy smile.
“Thinking about that makes me wanna cry.”
[blank stare]
See what I mean?
“Soooo, you wanna go for a drive?”
Although, most folks would probably consider outwitting your parents at the dinner table, on a daily basis, as borderline brilliant — especially, to your siblings — I really do miss your knock-knock jokes.
“Just you and me, okay?”
I know how hard it is to be the middle child…sort of…literally, wedged between two sisters, having to share one bedroom, which you end up cleaning, by yourself, mostly and giving up the corner of the couch, so your baby brother could better reach his sippy cup.
“So what, mom STILL makes me use one, when I’m sick, too.”
You were my little keeper of the peace; still are.
Aaaaand now, well, you ARE fourteen, one year post surgery and looking forward to joining your sis in high school, next year (DAMMIT!) not to mention, proving yourself to be the bravest and strongest kid I know, over and over again.
So, there’s nothing much more I can say (without crying, again) besides, what I used to say, you know, when you were little:
“I love you more than the moon and the stars!”
Aaaaand, Momma’s gonna sing (yeah, AGAIN!) ready?
[clears throat]
Happy Birthday, my Christmas Baby You’re fourteen, I can’t believe it’s true But, I’ve just one wish on this special day…
