Ahhh Motherhood - It'll Get Ya When You Least Expect It

The countdown continues to the holidays of all holidays - Mother's Day.  Have you finished all of YOUR Mother's Day shopping yet for all of the women in YOUR life?  I haven't started yet.  So if you have any extra "You're a great Starbucks barista who is like a mother to me" cards, send it my way.  I love this post from Amy because I can totally and utterly relate.  Right in the middle of a moment when I think I know what's up, one of my kids turns the entire experience into a big heart lesson for mama.  Kid wisdom I call it.  Enjoy.

Written by Amy, a mom without a blog

He is a pleaser. He’s lovable. He’s kissable. And he has never had an enemy. 

This describes my youngest. I think I’ll even venture out there enough to say that he’s a good listener, does what he’s told, and overall is a model pre-school citizen.

So the week I had came as a big surprise to me when shortly after turning 5 years old, he started to test the waters. I was not used to this. Boy, was I not used to this. He decided he wanted to see how the other half lives. You know, what life would be like if he did NOT choose to listen and NOT do what he was told.

It was morning and we were just about to leave for pre-school. I sat down on the sofa to put my shoes on and he jumped up on my back unintentionally pulling my hair as he did so. I sternly asked him to get off my back. He continued to jump and continued to pull my hair. I was pissed. Not listening is one thing, but then hurting me at the same time, I lost it. I yelled. I mean, I really, really yelled. “Get your shoes on. Get in the car. You hurt Mommy … blah …blah … blah.”

Neither one of us said a word the entire way to school. I was royally pissed off and I think he was in shock that I got so upset.

The whole way to school, I fumed thinking “calm down. You’re gonna have to make up before you take him into class. Breathe deeply. Breathe deeply.”

We arrived at school. I put the car in park. I sat there, took a deep breath, turned around and saw his sweet, scared, little face in the backseat.

I said, “I am sorry that I yelled. When you were not listening to Mommy and jumping on my back, you hurt me and I got upset. I would like to kiss and make up so that we can leave each other feeling a little bit better about our morning.”

He popped his head up into the front seat and I kissed him on the cheek.

Then it happened.

A conversation I will never forget.

He: Mommy do you know where the kiss goes after you give it to me?

Me: Where?

He: Into my heart.

Me: Oh that’s wonderful. That way it will stay there and be with you forever.

He: No, it only stays there for a short time and then it goes into my SOUL and stays there forever.

I burst into tears.

I went from being stressed, angry, and bothered to a blubbering softened mother who had just been incredibly humbled by her incredibly lovable, incredibly kissable son.

I showered his soul with kisses for the rest of the day.

A Soccer Picture Shapshot of A Carefree Spirit

Written by Karen, a mom without a blog

(From Lee: Karen is BACK after too-long of a break and an unexpected

surgery with Penni.  Her return has made my day.)

Lame, clueless, stupid…well maybe not stupid (we don’t use this word in our house), but definitely on the dumb-ass side of motherhood am I.

Sorry for the harsh words, but that is exactly how I feel right now about a recent moment with one of my daughters.

I have to say that I truly pride myself (or at least I used to…) on my ability to “relate” to my kids. I consider myself lacking in many mommy skills, especially of the domestic/household nature, but always felt like I was easy to approach and talk to if my kids ever needed to vent about anything, even if they wanted to vent about me. I took this as a keen ability to “know” my kids and have a good sense of what makes them tick.

My 8-year-old daughter, we can call her “2nd” or “middle” or maybe something equally un-original like “half-pint” (my homage to Laura Ingalls – the middle-child icon from the prairie in the 70’s).   

Okay, my Half-Pint is probably the textbook underappreciated middle child, forever caught between her active, complicated, creatively talented and over-achieving teenage sister and her adorable, joyful, spirited, special needs pre-school sister. How’s a well-behaved, insightful, generally content, super-smart 8-year-old to compete????

As you can see, I’m good at labeling my kids – I’ve got their number, right?

Wrong, oh so painfully wrong…

We experienced soccer team pictures in a local Salt Lake City park a few days ago. Team picture locations are an interesting character study in themselves… it's where you can tell how caring the parents are by how brushed, washed and primped the players look before the shutter snaps.

Mine refused hair brushing, of course. The headband I wanted to use to hide the worst of the tangles “hurt” and kept falling out. The orange cracker crumbs in the corners of the lips and between the teeth stayed put. But best of all – my larger-sized 8 year old was wearing a shirt two sizes too small! 

She’s a late-comer to this soccer team and is still without the proper equipment or uniform. Her friend gave her a secondhand uniform shirt for pictures that shows her belly above her sister’s hand-me-down shorts. I suggested a t-shirt or tank under it, which she agreed would be a good idea (she didn’t want to have her belly showing in her picture). She decided wearing her sister’s old softball cleats and shin guards meant for a kindergartener were a must for the picture as well.

I was so sure that she was bummed about her too-small shirt and an off-color undershirt sticking out below it, that I rushed her by the local soccer store on the way to pictures to look at brand-new uniform tops. They looked so sharp and clean with a new style even! In my enthusiasm to help her feel good about herself, I grabbed a youth large, barely glanced at the price tag (!!) and said, “Wow, this really looks cool, what do you think?” 

She said, “No, mom, I’m okay with this one.” – meaning her obviously well-used top – a form-fitting youth small with an old-school style. 

Huh?

When we arrived at the park, I was completely convinced Half-Pint would be self-conscious of her interesting outfit, especially when kids started showing up in almost new-looking uniforms with everything matching, hair done perfectly, faces freshly-scrubbed. 

She only knew one girl on the team, but had no problem hanging out with the other girls, blending into her new team by watching the skateboarders in the skate park. They looked completely relaxed as they laughed and commented on the action as only 8-year-old kids that barely know each other can do.

I myself hung back from the team parents grouping together near the picture place. I didn’t know any of them and God-forbid I meet them in my wrinkled Capri pants pulled hastily from the bottom (summer-stuff) drawer, showing my un-shaven, winter white, super dry and scaly legs. If that isn’t gross enough, my poor sheltered feet were celebrating a wonderfully warm spring day by airing it out in my Birkenstocks – but alas, my toe-nails weren’t celebrating…they looked hideously long with ridiculously chipped polish. I was worried that any conversations I could potentially become engaged in would lead to an inadvertent head to toe inspection.

Bottom line....I’m not quite groomed enough for making small talk in warm weather yet.

After pictures were FINALLY taken and Half-Pint and I were headed back to the car hand-in-hand (avoiding contact with other team parents of course), she seemed to have an extra spring in her step. She looked up at me with a giant smile and those darn trust-filled eyes and said, “Mom, I just love how I look right now, I look SO COOL in this!” 

Wow.

I had been so SURE she was self-conscious. I was SURE she was embarrassed. I was projecting my own insecurities and assumptions on my little girl! She was FINE and CONFIDENT and even PROUD of how she looked. Shame on me for being embarrassed for her – I felt like a total heel. Lame. Lame. Lame. What does my unfounded paranoia say about me? Don’t tell me, I’m already feeling it…

I was the one who was embarrassed – for absolutely no reason it turns out. Who cares what we look like, right? We’re the ones we live with 24/7 – why not adopt my wise 8-year-old’s innocence about it all? Why can’t I get over myself for two seconds and stop worrying about the image we are projecting for others to scrutinize? Why can’t I just use those two seconds to appreciate the wonder of a carefree child spirit?

I’m incredibly humbled by my wonderful middle angel - my half-pint, who I don’t know as well as I thought I did. I have to stop spinning around like a top worried about my domestic failures and explore the thoughts and dreams that continually pour out of that little head of hers. Her confidence in herself dented my psyche like a ton of bricks never could. I’m so amazed by her and so ashamed of my lack of confidence in myself and my misdirected judgment of how my daughter works.

I clearly need to spend more time EVERYDAY in her world - especially while she still cares enough to share it with me.

Starting Over - AGAIN!

Hey peeps. 

I've got a serious case of all kinds of mood-dipping going on due to the fact that one, I'm feeling crappy.  I'm sick.  

And two, I'm battling a bit of the blog-blah-blues which I understand is going around.  I'm actually in the middle of a blog "rescue plan" (sound familiar?) so I may be calling on a few of you to step in and bail me out. And it won't even cost you billions of dollars.

So while I take a dip in my pool of moods, I decided to do my own part in my rescue plan - by calling up a post that graced my blog at only 10 days old.  No one read it so why not re-use it now.  And it fits.  It totally perfectly described what went on in my home Monday evening, so it's beyond relevant.

You know what I love about each and every morning? 

It's a chance to start over and erase all of the crap that went on the day before. Every dawn, as a mother, brings with it the possibility of a smooth-running, fun-loving day of mommyhood. Today was a bit of a struggle mainly because I'm feeling a bit under the weather, and when all of my pistons aren't firing, it's bad news for the kiddies. My impatience is way worse, my boundless energy hits a roadblock, and my attempts at acting selfless are just feeble. 

So tonight, the homework and the dinner and the bath and the bedtime for my three kiddos disintegrated into a huge heap of pathetic blahness. I was mad at myself for being so short-tempered and lame with the kids but at the same time I couldn't snap out of it for even a second. But as all good mamas know, it's during these very moments that your kids all of a sudden become the wisest souls on the planet gently showing you the way.

I walked into my girls' room tonight to plant a kiss on CR's forehead. The Love Fairy, my 4-year-old was already deep in slumber beside her, and Bam-Bam, my toddler boy, had crashed out 30 minutes earlier in his crib.  As I said goodnight to CR, I said, 

"Sorry the evening didn't go as nicely as we would have liked." 

My soulful 6-year-old firstborn replied, 

"That's okay Mommy, we'll start over in the morning."

Amen to that.

A Conversation that Aged Me - Literally and Figuratively

Last night when The Love Fairy was the only one in the tub, she sat back down after I soaped her up and she slipped back slightly and gently bumped her head on the side.  After the little head bump, our conversation went a little something like this:

Love Fairy:  "Our bathtub is not as hard as yours is upstairs, mama , so I won't die when I bump my head on this bathtub, right?"

Me: "Of course you won't die honey, not from bumping your head like that!"

Then I remembered that my dude and I are always telling the kids not to stand up in the tub and to be careful because, "You could slip and fall and...uh, die."  

Okay, I didn't think we said "die" but maybe we had.  I know for a fact we say "You could slip and fall and really really get hurt." Hmmmm.....note to self, the kids ARE listening.

The Love Fairy: "When I die mama will I be able to open my eyes?"

Me:  "Yep I think so.  It's just that when you open your eyes in heaven, things might look a little different."

The Love Fairy:  "Will I see clouds and waterfalls?"

Me:  "Sure..."

The Love Fairy:  "And in heaven I will get to meet the precious God!! Who is God to the entire world!"

From what I know I have never ever referred to God as precious.  So sweet, I thought.

Then she sits back and looks up at me with these peaceful blue eyes and says, "Mama, are you gonna die before I do?"

Oh, how I love death conversations with the kids.  Really gets me spinning.

Me: "I sure hope so!"

The Love Fairy: "NO!  I don't want you to die first!  I don't want to be without you! Maybe I'll die first!"

*gulp, swallow, heart, heart, gulp, breath, the thought, oh please*

Me:  "Oh no sweetie.  That's not gonna happen and don't worry because I'm not gonna die for a long, long time."

From my mouth to precious God's ears.

The Love Fairy: "Really, how long?"

Me:  "Oh, I'm gonna be around for so long.  I'll probably live to be one hundred years old!"  

Okay, maybe NOT from my mouth to precious God's ears.

The Love Fairy:  "One hundred??"

Me:  "Yep."

She pauses, her little wheels spinning.

The Love Fairy:  "How old are you now?"

Me: "41."

The Love Fairy:  "Oh my gosh! That IS almost one hundred!"

Yikes.

Oh precious God, let's try and keep these death conversations to a bare minimum.  

 

The Art of Repetition

I was tucking The Love Fairy in last night who was in a particularly lovey Love Fairy mood and she said:

"Mama, you're the best mama ever."

"Oh really, why?"

"Because you love us even when you yell at us."

(Hmmmm, so they know I yell.  I was hoping they didn't notice.) 

"How do you know that?" I ask.

"Because you've told us that one hundred times."

Whew. And I always think I'm talking to myself.  

Good to know one thing has sunk in. 

Stranded Soul

On my way home from picking up CR and her two neighbor friends from school today, I stared out into the Friday afternoon Los Angeles hazy sunshine thinking about everything and nothing all at the same time. As I exited my new-used mini-van off the Santa Monica Freeway, the light at the end of the freeway ramp turned red just as I approached delaying my arrival home for a few more minutes.

I noticed them standing there but I didn't pay any attention. Actually, I made a point not to pay any attention. I have seen them for many years on many street corners, at the end of many freeway ramps, in many parks around this city I have grown to love, at gas stations, and yes, even walking down our street rummaging through our trash cans on garbage days.

My eyes connected for a split second with the man of the duo. He was the one holding the sign as his female counterpart paced the road looking for sympathetic passersby. When it comes to the people of the street, whatever their story, over the years my sympathy has morphed to skepticism. I've seen too many, heard too much, dug into my purse too many times, been swung at by a crazed man or two, and well, I've become a mom. My awareness has shifted - my world has turned - my kids are to be protected.

I was content to sit through the uncomfortable moment of the couple in need staring at me through my closed window and wait for the green light to save me. Until, from the back seat of the van, CR calls out, "Mama, what does the sign say?"

Forced to bridge the space between me and the duo, I turned to really look at the cardboard sign he was holding.

"It says, 'Stranded. Need gas and car repairs. Please help."

"What does 'stranded' mean Mama?"

"It means, they're stuck. In a bad spot. Their car doesn't work. They need help. They need money."

The skeptic in me guessed the stranded story was just a guise. A way to sucker in the faithful few so they could buy some booze or some weed or in the best scenario, a meal. Without thinking much, I asked, "Should I give them some money?"

And with that question, I turned around and was taken aback by the three innocent faces staring back at me. Dressed in their Catholic school plaid uniforms, they nodded emphatically and in their trio of voices they said "Yes! Of course! Yes!"

I reached over to my purse, grabbed out a dollar, rolled down the window and handed it to the stranded man who accepted it with thanks. I watched him as shoved it into his back pocket and took his place back on the curb.

I turned back to look at CR and with an open-mouthed smile of pure joy, she clapped and said, "Yea!!"

And with that smile, my stranded soul stuck in skepticism was renewed with sympathy.

Quote of the Morning

As my dude and I stood in the kitchen this morning cramming our breakfast down our throats while packing CR's lunch, brewing the perfect cappuccino, sweeping up the third bowl of Cheerios El Destructo dumped on the floor, emptying the dishwasher, making The Love Fairy's breakfast, filling the dogs' water bowl, feeding that damn goldfish CR won too many months ago at her school festival, trying to get the lil' dude to stop screaming for the Doritos bag for breakfast, and of course, checking my all-important email, The Love Fairy stomps in and says in her 4 1/2 year old screechy demanding way...

"May I please have some orange juice my servants?"

Holy shit.  

Is it that obvious?

And how in the hell does she know how to use "servants" in a sentence?

Fragments from a Funeral

Despite fearing that a second post including death reflections might result in the death of this blog, I simply must carry on with what's currently swirling in my being.

I am at the end of a two-day emotional journey of taking the necessary steps to say farewell to a life.  It's like I have been sucked into some alternate reality and tomorrow when I wake up, I think I'll start to re-engage with normal life.  Kind of.  

My heart and soul are bleary and exhausted from the process but I also feel quite centered actually.  Oh you know, with all of those cliche thoughts of "now I know what's really important in life" and all of that good stuff.  But you know, I'll take it.  I'm there.

The near all-day viewing of the body on Tuesday was inspiring.  It all went down just as it should have.  With tears and laughter and stories and impromptu eulogies and lotsa food (especially good brownies) and meaningful embraces.  (I simply despise wimpy hugs and it seems that funerals bring out the best in people's hugging abilities.)

The kids were stellar and so in the moment, I just had to sit back and smile at the scene. CR and The Love Fairy and her cousins and second cousins made plenty of trips to the desert tray and did enough inappropriate running and squealing that I knew my aunt would have been proud.    

The Love Fairy had expressed to me before that she probably didn't want to see the body but before I knew it, a conversation between the girlies and their cousins was started and I was lucky to start eavesdropping mid-stream:

CR (my oldest age 6 1/2):  She's wearing a wig.

Second Cousin (age 5):  No, she's not.

CR:  Yes, she is.  And she's bald underneath.

Second Cousin:  No, she's not bald.

CR:  Yes, she is and she's wearing a wig.

Second Cousin: Let's go see.

CR: Yeah, let's go check it out.

CR, Second Cousin, The Love Fairy (age 4) and Cousin (age 3) all run up to the casket, jump up on the kneeler and start analyzing my aunt's hair.  Four little girls who are not at all freaked out by the fact that there is a dead body in front of them, but instead are just a little concerned that the hair looks strange.  So girl, right?

As the hair analysis went on, both Second Cousin and Cousin touched my aunt A LOT. CR and The Love Fairy chose not to but they did get the general idea of what it might have been like when Second Cousin reported that "she feels hard."   The cousins stroked her fingertips, felt her fingernails and caressed her forearms.  

After deciding that it sure did look like a wig, CR and the Second Cousin dropped to their knees and decided to pray.  The two Catholic school girls did the sign of the cross and then proceeded to do a Hail Mary, then the Our Father and then....one more Hail Mary. And that was just about right.  

My soul welled with that scene but I could only stand behind them smiling with tears in my eyes.

That night when I was putting CR to bed, she looked me square in the eyes and straight to my soul and she said, "I'm glad you're alive Mommy."

"I'm glad too,"  I replied.

"I mean, you're only 41.  A lot of numbers have to go by before you die." 

I certainly hope so, my sweet CR.  I certainly hope so. 

'Cause I'm not done yet.

I got a lot of supermom stuff left to do.

Starting Over

You know what I love about each and every morning? It's a chance to start over and erase all of the crap that went on the day before. Every dawn, as a mother, brings with it the possibility of a smooth-running, fun-loving day of mommyhood. Today was a bit of a struggle mainly because I'm feeling a bit under the weather, and when all of my pistons aren't firing, it's bad news for the kiddies. My impatience is way worse, my boundless energy hits a roadblock, and my attempts at acting selfless are just feeble.

So tonight, the homework and the dinner and the bath and the bedtime for my three kiddos disintegrated into a huge heap of pathetic blahness. I was mad at myself for being so short-tempered and lame with the kids but at the same time I couldn't snap out of it for even a second. But as all good mamas know, it's during these very moments that your kids all of a sudden become the wisest souls on the planet gently showing you the way.

I walked into my girls' room tonight to plant a kiss on CR's forehead. The Love Fairy, my 4-year-old was already deep in slumber beside her, and Bam-Bam, my toddler boy, had crashed out 30 minutes earlier in his crib. As I said goodnight to CR, I said, "Sorry the evening didn't go as nicely as we would have liked." My soulful 6-year-old firstborn replied, "That's okay Mommy, we'll start over in the morning."

Amen to that.