I realized today that this is it. This is how I'm going to die. I'm going to be a mother until I expire from this world and pass on to that great big playground in the sky. Hopefully I won't always be trying to make dinner with someone's arms wrapped around my legs while their face screams into my rear end in desperation for a cookie. I'm praying that someday they figure out how to transform their own transformers, there-by freeing up years of my life. But I know that one day I'll look back while they are rolling their eyes and sighing at having me speak to them in public and I'll miss the simplicity of hearing them say "Mom. Mom. Mom..." continuously for 15 minutes straight. No matter what stage of life we enter, I will always be mothering them. Forever.
Days like today, I start to think about the consequences of my actions. Things I do today will forever alter the future of dozens of people. What if I'm too lenient and I end up with sons who are lazy, shiftless hobo's? Or worse yet, what if I'm too strict with the result of pushing them away until they rebel against all reason and wind up in prison? It keeps me up at night, trying to figure the balance required in raising well adjusted humans fit for society. There are some behaviors that I'm not sure I can ever alter in our boys, no matter the degrees of discipline or leniency. For instance; I wonder if Jack will always chant what he wants until he beats down the very spirit of the person opposing him. Someday I'll probably get a phone call from the future Mrs. Jack Everett that begins with "I'm going to kill him if he doesn't stop saying 'chocolate cake and a trip to Maui' ". It takes a high level of patience and a good imagination to withstand 45 minutes of hearing nothing but "dead dog and chips, dead dog and chips, dead dog..." (dead dog means hot dog in Jack-ese, in case you hadn't guessed. We do not eat dead dogs at our house. Just hot ones.) and I spend a lot of time on a deserted island in my head when he goes into one of his rants.
And then there's Mitch. Oh, Mitch. Will he always think boxing is a form of endearment? Will we be required to wear protective gear at his wedding? I picture his bride as a solid girl who can take a hit, and whose father is a dentist willing to do on the spot repair work. One of the Everett catch phrases is: "Hit him back!", but no one ever does. People are squeamish about hitting a baby for some reason. They wouldn't be if they lived with a two foot Sugar Ray.
When I think of my children as adults, I realize that even when they are over 6 ft. tall and have children of their own, I will still be worrying about them, praying for them and loving them day and night. I will probably find myself laying in bed at 4 am, wondering if Jack has made his yearly appointment for a physical, or if Mitch has found his wallet yet. I will be doing what I'm doing now until the moment I die, which will be a lot sooner than the 90 years I had envisioned if Mitch doesn't stop riding his tricycle down the porch stairs. That kid is going to give me a heart attack.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
What did you just say to me?
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Oddly enough, I had titled this blog BEFORE Jack decided to tell his side of the story. I chose to keep it because it was just too good of a coincidence. When I came back to my computer to continue blogging, he pointed and exclaimed proudly "Look Mommy! Nine horses!". It's a good thing he told me what it was about, because there was no way I was going to guess the story he had written was equine in nature.
Two weeks ago a candle fell off the mantle suspiciously. I say suspiciously because when asked, all the children who had been present at the time said that "no one" had broke it. Jack had not been in the room when the candle was broken by no one, but the sound of glass shattering had his little feet pounding the floorboards to get to the scene as quickly as possible. He came screeching around the corner yelling "What happen?" and I threw my hand in the air like a traffic cop, causing him to stop mid-stride. His expression said that he fully expected me to place blame for no one's crimes on his tiny shoulders, and he took a step towards me as if to seek reassurance that I wasn't mad at him for today's mayhem. I gave him a kind, but stern look and told him to "Stay where you are, pumpkin." until I could get the glass cleaned up. The incident was quickly forgotten, at least by me. It must have stuck with my little guy however, because a few days ago I was folding laundry in the back of the house and heard an odd crashing sound coming from the front room. On a destruction scale, it didn't sound massive- more like slight, so I yelled "Jack! What are you doing?" and got the instant reply: "Stay where you are, pumpkin!". Nothing else would have been so successful in making me run the length of the house faster, but when I got to him I saw that he had only dropped a tote bag full of hot wheel cars. As I drew in a shaky breath and moved forward to help him, he stopped me in my tracks with the hand in the air, traffic cop style and I full on belly laughed. Apparently this was not a mess that I needed to get involved in, and I left my little mime to it.
These young people are always watching, aren't they? It makes me feel... amazed, scared, pressured and more than a little creeped out that my every move is under scrutiny and could be repeated at any time. Probably at church. I thought I had been doing a really good job of watching what I say, but I guess not. Yesterday, Mitch kept bringing items to me that had been on top of the fridge. At first I didn't realize what he was doing, and I would take an object while muttering to myself "I thought this was on the fridge? Hmmm." I was sufficiently distracted in that it took me three times before I caught on to him, but in my defense he was being more covert than any two year old has a right to be. He was moving the barstool back along the wall before he would bring me his prize. Sneaky, right? I thought so too. Once I caught on, I belatedly started trying to assert myself with discipline. Do I have to tell you that it didn't work? Probably not. He would give me his vacant stare with a charming half smile and a big eye blink, then run away to play and bide his time. Some time would pass to find us in the same positions once again, with the same results. On one occasion I caught him in the act and exclaimed "Damn it, Mitch! I told you NO!". I didn't even realize what I had said until an hour later when Jack came running to find me, yelling "MOM! Damn it, Mitch!". Sigh. Now when Mitch starts doing anything that might be deemed inappropriate, Jack tattles by saying those three little words. Mitch is going to start thinking that's his full name soon. Other children get middle named when in trouble, not my kid.
Oddly enough, I had titled this blog BEFORE Jack decided to tell his side of the story. I chose to keep it because it was just too good of a coincidence. When I came back to my computer to continue blogging, he pointed and exclaimed proudly "Look Mommy! Nine horses!". It's a good thing he told me what it was about, because there was no way I was going to guess the story he had written was equine in nature.
Two weeks ago a candle fell off the mantle suspiciously. I say suspiciously because when asked, all the children who had been present at the time said that "no one" had broke it. Jack had not been in the room when the candle was broken by no one, but the sound of glass shattering had his little feet pounding the floorboards to get to the scene as quickly as possible. He came screeching around the corner yelling "What happen?" and I threw my hand in the air like a traffic cop, causing him to stop mid-stride. His expression said that he fully expected me to place blame for no one's crimes on his tiny shoulders, and he took a step towards me as if to seek reassurance that I wasn't mad at him for today's mayhem. I gave him a kind, but stern look and told him to "Stay where you are, pumpkin." until I could get the glass cleaned up. The incident was quickly forgotten, at least by me. It must have stuck with my little guy however, because a few days ago I was folding laundry in the back of the house and heard an odd crashing sound coming from the front room. On a destruction scale, it didn't sound massive- more like slight, so I yelled "Jack! What are you doing?" and got the instant reply: "Stay where you are, pumpkin!". Nothing else would have been so successful in making me run the length of the house faster, but when I got to him I saw that he had only dropped a tote bag full of hot wheel cars. As I drew in a shaky breath and moved forward to help him, he stopped me in my tracks with the hand in the air, traffic cop style and I full on belly laughed. Apparently this was not a mess that I needed to get involved in, and I left my little mime to it.
These young people are always watching, aren't they? It makes me feel... amazed, scared, pressured and more than a little creeped out that my every move is under scrutiny and could be repeated at any time. Probably at church. I thought I had been doing a really good job of watching what I say, but I guess not. Yesterday, Mitch kept bringing items to me that had been on top of the fridge. At first I didn't realize what he was doing, and I would take an object while muttering to myself "I thought this was on the fridge? Hmmm." I was sufficiently distracted in that it took me three times before I caught on to him, but in my defense he was being more covert than any two year old has a right to be. He was moving the barstool back along the wall before he would bring me his prize. Sneaky, right? I thought so too. Once I caught on, I belatedly started trying to assert myself with discipline. Do I have to tell you that it didn't work? Probably not. He would give me his vacant stare with a charming half smile and a big eye blink, then run away to play and bide his time. Some time would pass to find us in the same positions once again, with the same results. On one occasion I caught him in the act and exclaimed "Damn it, Mitch! I told you NO!". I didn't even realize what I had said until an hour later when Jack came running to find me, yelling "MOM! Damn it, Mitch!". Sigh. Now when Mitch starts doing anything that might be deemed inappropriate, Jack tattles by saying those three little words. Mitch is going to start thinking that's his full name soon. Other children get middle named when in trouble, not my kid.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Phone Calls From The Edge
This morning I took a call from a dear friend who was so hungry for conversation with anyone who remembered her real name was not "Mommy-can-I?", that she was huddled in her frozen garage with the lights off in the hopes that the children wouldn't find her. When she whispered where she was I couldn't help but be a little jealous that I don't have a garage; it would be the perfect place to have a kid free phone call. Mothers everywhere know exactly what I'm taking about, sometimes you desperately need to talk to someone without having a little person stand in front of you crying, tattling, begging or babbling. My personal goal is to be able to call someone without having to also wipe someone's bum at the same time. I'm not sure what kind of radar Jack has, but if he hears me talking on the phone he runs to the bathroom and minutes later starts yelling for assistance. I guess I shouldn't complain about that because it's actually worse when he comes to me, turns around with a full moon, saying "Mommy, wipe." And no matter how casual I try to be, there's always an awkward pause from the person on the other end of the phone call when I murmur "bend over and stop wiggling." I HAVE to explain what I'm doing at this point and unless I'm on the phone with another mother, I sense a sad wave of pity rolling over the line. I know. I try not to think about it too much or I'll go mad.
So, this morning we spoke about everyday things; a mutual friend's health, grocery shopping, what to make for dinner, and where to get a dress altered for an upcoming wedding. But you would have thought we were passing along state secrets by the way we were acting. I say we because of course I was whispering back to her, have you ever tried to talk normally to someone who is hiding? It cannot be done. You may start out with the intention of remaining aloof, but eventually you will realize that you are speaking in hushed tones too. The simple fear of exposure is contagious and I couldn't help but hold my breath along with her when she hissed "SHH! They're getting close...".
When enough time had passed that she was confident of retaining her sanity if she returned to the fray, she emerged from the darkness of her cell, hand shielding her eyes from the sudden glare of a beautiful Saturday morning to find that her 2 year old had given himself full sleeves of permanent sharpie ink. Was this worth the 15 minutes of self imposed exile to speak with someone who understands how she just needed to hear a friendly voice in the midst of chaos? Absolutely. Besides, it was a lifesaving measure. The kid was eventually going to draw on himself anyway and by taking the time-out she was calm enough that she didn't kill him. I'm probably going to save my children's lives next week when I call my friend from the suffocating darkness of my closet to ask for her mother's russian tea cakes recipe.
So, this morning we spoke about everyday things; a mutual friend's health, grocery shopping, what to make for dinner, and where to get a dress altered for an upcoming wedding. But you would have thought we were passing along state secrets by the way we were acting. I say we because of course I was whispering back to her, have you ever tried to talk normally to someone who is hiding? It cannot be done. You may start out with the intention of remaining aloof, but eventually you will realize that you are speaking in hushed tones too. The simple fear of exposure is contagious and I couldn't help but hold my breath along with her when she hissed "SHH! They're getting close...".
When enough time had passed that she was confident of retaining her sanity if she returned to the fray, she emerged from the darkness of her cell, hand shielding her eyes from the sudden glare of a beautiful Saturday morning to find that her 2 year old had given himself full sleeves of permanent sharpie ink. Was this worth the 15 minutes of self imposed exile to speak with someone who understands how she just needed to hear a friendly voice in the midst of chaos? Absolutely. Besides, it was a lifesaving measure. The kid was eventually going to draw on himself anyway and by taking the time-out she was calm enough that she didn't kill him. I'm probably going to save my children's lives next week when I call my friend from the suffocating darkness of my closet to ask for her mother's russian tea cakes recipe.
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