We Are Not Alone

March 31, 2010

This is for everyone who said that their kid also says how mean you are or that they hate you.

Today I parked next to this car at the store. I couldn’t help but take a photo. It takes the note writing to a whole ‘nother level.

In case you can’t make it out, written in the dust it says Mom is meen

I just wish I knew who the car belonged to. I totally would have high-fived the woman and told her that I too was a “meen” mom.

Until the Day That 8 Times 8 Times 8 is Four

March 30, 2010

To My Nine year Old Son a.k.a Fabio,

You have become quite fond lately of saying that I (meaning me) do not love you (my beloved child)

Whenever I have to reprimand you, deny a request, force you to do homework, basically anytime you are not able to have your own way. Your own way meaning playing outside, going to arcades, and eating pizza and ice cream.

I am so, so very mean. I get that.

And this is the worst insult that you can think to say to hurt me. I get that.

I find it annoying. Sometimes I overenthusiastically agree with you.

Why, you are right! I do hate you! And I enjoy taking care of people I hate! And getting up at 5am every morning to make them lunch! And downloading songs onto their ipods for them! And reading them stories! And making sure people I hate take their vitamins and shower and brush their teeth!Those are the things I do for people I hate! Good thing I don’t love you.

Sometimes you will yell back at me.

You have to do those things.

And I respond.

Yes, I do have to do them. But only because those are the things you do for people you love.

Most often you just smile though.

Because you know the truth, how could I possibly NOT love you?

Like the Stevie Wonder song I sing to you, I’ll be loving you always.

Secretly I think you love when I sing to you. Deep, deep down. So far down you don’t even know you enjoy it.

*****
8 times 8 times 8 isn’t four.

I know.

I see a glimmer of understanding in your eyes.

See, learning your multiplication tables is good for something after all.
*****

Saturday you had a baseball game. You have been struggling this season. You moved up a division and are the youngest on you team. I see your frustration and your tears. You are a perfectionist. But that isn’t what it it looks like to other people. When you come back to the dugout after striking out and your coach tries to high-five you and tell you something positive, you refuse to give him a high five. In fact, you refuse to even make eye contact.

Your coaches are usually left with their hand hanging in the air and they have no choice but to pat you on the head as you walk by. I know you do this because you do not think you are worthy of their kind words when you don’t succeed. You hate false praise more than anything.

You are so very hard on yourself. No one will ever treat you the way you treat yourself. I tell you all the time that it is your effort that matters the most. That you should lighten up. Cut yourself some slack. I wish you would treat yourself with the same amount of kindness you extend to everyone else.

Saturday at your game you asked me if I would buy you a Gatorade. You know I hate those sugar filled drinks, but I said I would. Just get a hit the next time you are up at bat. You didn’t get a hit. I bought you the Gatorade anyway. You didn’t want to take it.

******

On the way home from the game you began saying that your stomach hurt. We have had some sort of stomach bug going through our house so this wasn’t wholly unexpected.

We barely made it home. You ran in the door, straight to the bathroom. A moment later I heard you scream for me.

I think in the future you will probably look to make sure the toilet lid is open before you throw up.

At least I hope so.

Also, I really hope you you stop saying that I hate you. There are very few people in this world that I love enough to clean up a bathroom that required two rolls of papertowels, a large box of baking soda, and half a bottle of bleach. And even less people I love enough to untie their vomit covered cleats. Seven, as a matter of fact.

*****

Always.

And Now You Are Eleven

March 26, 2010

This morning when I woke you up for school, you were stretched out on your bed. Your eyes still closed, you asked me if you born yet. No, you were on your way, but it would be many hours before you would finally make your entrance. You sighed deeply and said, Well I am really still only ten then.

I assured you that you get the entire day to celebrate, regardless of what time of day you were born. You opened one eye and looked skeptically at me. I gave birth to you, I get to make the rules, I told you.

You smiled, with those dimples so deep my heart falls right into them. Then I sang you my rousing rendition of Happy Birthday. The you-look-like-a-monkey version of which children are still fond.

I mean LOOK at your dimples? It is a miracle I did not eat you as a toddler.

*****

You wouldn’t be born until 11pm. You were the longest labor I have ever endured. It was mentally and emotionally exhausting. I felt sure that I would be pregnant and in the hospital forever. Forever in labor. A special circle of Hell that Dante forgot to mention, being a man and all.

I don’t recall much about your early days. Having four boys aged four and under will do that to a person. But you stole my heart. I do remember that you were an easy going baby. You never cried. You never complained. And you smiled all the time. You still have that same easy going personality.

*****

Yesterday you decided to mark your exit from the first decade of your life by dropping the F-bomb at school. You decided to tell someone to f— themself. Deservedly so. I wish you had made better word choices. That was what we discussed when you arrived home from school. Telling someone to f— themself is lazy and for people who have no imagination. It is a word that relies solely on its shock value. You are better than that. We then discussed alternative things you could have said.

The principal, when she called, told me not to worry, that in her experience kids with teenage siblings learn these words. I think she was just trying to make me feel better.

Not that she needed to, because I NEVER say that word.

But the more I think about it, I have decided I am blaming Joe Biden.

I tried not to laugh on the phone. Not because I think it is funny, I don’t think it is, but because it is so completely out of character for you to say anything like that. I don’t think I have ever heard you swear. You rarely get angry enough at anything to well, actually get angry. You laugh most things off. But things are always brewing with the crazy neighbor-bully children and it was inevitable that you would blow up. Personally, I am glad that you didn’t punch the kid in the nose. I don’t think I could have blamed Joe Biden for that one.

The thing is, when you are an adult you will run across people like this child from time to time. How you react to them shows as much about you as it does about them. That’s where a sense of humor comes in.

The fact that you began refering to your lunch detention you had to have with the principal today as your “birthday lunch date” assures me that you are going to be just fine.

*****

I wrote you a note that I placed in your lunchbox today. Eleven things I love about you. The last thing on the list, number 11, was that I am so happy that you are my son and that I secretly believe all the mothers in the world are missing out, because I got the best one.

And I believe that. This past decade being your mother has been an honor. I have watched you grow from a tiny helpless baby. I have delighted in all your accomplishments. I think about the next decade of your life, one where you will be moving further and further away from me. One where you will need me less and less. My role in your life will be to step ever-so-slowly backwards.

I will watch as you navigate new friendships, fall in love, more than likely have your heart broken. I will watch from afar as other people play larger parts in your life. Days will pass where we will not see each other or talk. And that is how it should be. My job as your mother is to raise you to leave me.

What other kind of job is there like this? Nine months of having your body stretched physically to it’s very limit. A life time of endless worry and crossed legged sneezing. Lack of sleep. Exhaustion. In exchange for a love so deep it breaks you heart. Oh, what the hell, sign me up. Again and again. (And again and again and again and again and again. Man, I am exhausted just typing that.)

That you leave me and have your own loves and your own life will be the measure of my success. And I am okay with that. Mostly.

But I want you to know that when I sit next to you on the couch at night, or we curl up in my bed reading together, when I brush your hair out of your eyes and kiss your cheek, it is still the same cheek I kissed all those years ago. You sometimes are annoyed by me and you want me to stop looking at you, stop kissing you, and for the love of God stop tucking you hair behind your ear. But to me you haven’t really changed. You will always be my angel haired baby. Even with the potty mouth.

Happy Birthday. I love you.

Little Ways I Fail # 5,695

March 24, 2010

This morning Miles wanted oatmeal for breakfast, instant oatmeal. He got out his little packets of apple cinnamon goodness and poured them into his bowl. I put the water on the stove to boil.

He sat patiently at the table.

I walked away.

A half an hour passed. During which time I drank coffee, checked email, stared into space, willed myself to stay awake… you know the usual.

Miles walked by me into the family room. “Well, I guess dry oatmeal is good, too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot about the water. Do you want me to make it for you now?”

“No. I was too hungry and I ALREADY ATE IT.” Cold. Dry. Uncooked.

On the bright side, at least I know he will have plenty of fodder for his therapist one day.

*****
Winner of the third GoodNites giveaway over here! Also, you MUST MUST MUST go here and enter to win the writing contest. There have hardly been any entries so the odds are in your favor. And for a $2500 prize what are you waiting for????

Forever Saddled With the Nickname ‘The Baby’

March 23, 2010

How many of you have been reading long enought to remember this video from when Miles was 1 yr old?

(insert the required bit about how big my BABY has grown, where did the time go, how is it possible ,oh my heart, how I weep for those snap crotch onesies, etc etc etc. Also, wow I was one of those mothers who let their kid outside in the front yard in a diaper and undershirt. KLASSY. )

What a difference four years makes. Not the least of which is that hecan now put his own balls on the tee.

I was sitting across the yard from him earlier when he was hitting the ball and one hit me right in the face. I was so totally not expecting it to go that fast and furious. Now I sit behind him.

Colors of the Fair

March 21, 2010

They both won a prize here.

I did not know this sort of thing still existed. A freak show?

This ride went so fast and bounced up and down so hard that I thought for sure the kids were going to come off of it with back injuries. But no, they laughed and laughed and went on it again. Ah to be young again and not worry about debilitating injuries, chiropractors, and co-pays.

This ride brought you a million feet in the air and then dropped you. I guess people like having their stomachs shoot up to the back of their throat. I am not one of them.

Miles is one of those people. He loves rides. He went on his first “big” ride at Disney World right before his fourth birthday. He screamed the entire time he was on the Tower of Terror. I thought he was surely traumatized. As soon as it ended he screamed, “AWESOME! Let’s do it again!” Unfortunately for him, he is often too short to go on many rides.

I took this photo when we were stopped at the top of the Ferris Wheel. The seat kept rocking back and forth. And Miles kept STANDING UP. And I was all hyperventilating. I am not sure why Ferris Wheels irrationally frighten me so, but they do. The kids kept telling me to look around at the scenery behind me, but I was using all my mind powers to keep the seat from flipping over upside down and spilling us out. Which worked by the way.

See my foot in the photo? I was pinning Miles to the seat with my leg.

And right here? $24 worth of icecream. I believe my exact words were, “You better enjoy the shit out of those cones.”

Here we are watching a monkey, dressed in cowboy attire, sitting in a tiny saddle, riding on the back of a dog, herding goats. I know. I KNOW!

And if that doesn’t make you laugh you are dead inside.

It’s All Bigger in Texas

March 19, 2010

Yesterday I took the kids to the Texas Fair and Rodeo It was huge, just like everything else in Texas. It was also expensive. Once we paid our admission fee and wristband fee so we could go on the rides I turned to my children and said, “I hope you guys weren’t planning on going to college.”

And they were all, “No way, Mom. This is waaaay better than college.”

Actually I didn’t say that. What I really said, while I held up my wristbanded arm, was, “We will get our monies worth from this. We are enjoying the shit out of this fair. I am warning you, just so you know.”

And they were all, “Can we go on every ride?”

And I was all, “Oh you are going on every single ride. Whether you want to or not!”

This look says, Holy crap! What have I gotten myself into?

This look says, Why am I friends with crazy people who are LAUGHING and SMILING right now.

This look says, Hold on tight. Just hold on tight.

I am pretty sure that at this exact moment he was thinking, ‘AAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!’

Miles, on the other hand, wept that he was not tall enough to get on the ride.

Again, ‘Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!’ coupled with, ‘What the hell was I thinking!’

I know what I was thinking, ‘One ride down, only fifty more to go until we enjoyed the shit out of this experience.’

Here he watches his 10yr old brother and friend ride three more times in a row.

You don’t want to go back on?

No. I did it once. What’s the point.

I laughed. Because the amusement park thrill seeking is something you are either born loving or not. For some of my kids these types of rides are not something you suffer through just so you can get to the end and say that you did it. Like me with the Ferris Wheel.

No, for some of my kids these type of rides tap into something that I am clearly lacking. They love the adrenaline. The faster and scarier the better. They are thrill seekers and not just at the amusement parks. I watch their fearlessness with awe that they are my children.

Because I didn’t even step on that crazy upside down ride once.

Playing Catch Up

March 17, 2010

So there was this conference? You might have heard of it? SXSW?

This past weekend I was thrilled to hang out with so many friends, both old and new. Eat out at restaurants and have cocktails mid-day with no thoughts about taking care of children. Or driving. Sleeping in until 9:00 am. Of course after which I mused to Susan and Kristin, “I feel like the whole day is shot now and I will never catch up!”

I had long talks with my friends Susan and Maggie, who listened to me drone on and on and then offered constructive career advice. Everyone needs friends who say things like, “Tell me what it is you want and then we will figure out how to make it happen.” Maggie left me inspired in a way that I have not been for a very long time.

While I was there the NY Times article was published. I couldn’t get myself worked up about it. Not because it wasn’t an assinine and sensationalistic portrayal of women bloggers, but because it is so far removed from anything that I experience in the community of women that I consider friends and colleagues that I could not even reconcile the two in my head. The most outrage I could manage was to mutter to Susan that if you want to be taken seriously as a professional you need to start by doing certain things… like wearing shoes at professional events and not infantilize yourself by doing things like drinking out of sippycups (?!?!). It is the same fight in a different wrapper. And I am tired of it.

And maybe that is the thing I love best about this community, when you are too weary to fight the fight, there are others who are there doing it, carrying the mantle of professional women bloggers.*

As always happens, I took very few photos, all on my iPhone. So if you are interested in photos, here are some links:

Laura Mayeshas a recap of her excellent Kirtsy party.

Susan’s photos

Karen Walrond’s photos

*I would add all the links, but then I would be here all day. Mommy does have a life outside of the computer.

Siblings

March 15, 2010

The Second Giveaway Winner…

March 11, 2010

I know I said I was going to pick the second winner on Monday but I TOTALLY FORGOT!

You all know the drill. Click on over to find out who won.

You MUST MUST MUST go here and enter to win the writing contest. There have hardly been any entries so the odds are in your favor. And for a $2500 prize what are you waiting for????

*****

Unrelated, I have THE BEST recipe for home made spicy potato wedges that I am going to post over at Work It,Mom today. I may have eaten 5lbs of potatoes myself. Maybe. I’m not admitting anything. You can make the world’s best banana bread recipe I have posted over there while you wait.