Tag Archives: Humor

October 17, 2011 · 3:36 pm

A Toy Story

If you know my daughter, you have most likely met the ragged counterpart that dangles by her side. It wasn’t that long ago that she carried her doll everywhere. Now it’s just almost everywhere. Still we cannot get over the hump of letting go. Did I say ragged? Mmm. You look at this doll and think you understand where rag doll got its name.

The thinnest, most threadbare piece of cloth holds my daughter’s favorite doll together. Once velvety soft, Ballerina’s see-through skin now shows the dark blue threads beneath. My daughter doesn’t like these threads that intersect under her doll’s happy face, so I tell her these are her veins, just like ours.

Her head, once crowned by yellow yarn pulled into a thick ponytail, now shows only the yellow fabric underneath that is fading away from delicate rubbing when my daughter falls asleep.

This doll is loved.

The tulle tutu, long gone, disintegrated in many washes. Her satin slippers have busted and been sewn so many times by my loving husband, I don’t know what keeps them together anymore.

And Ballerina’s skin, which runs like a pair of cheap stockings, gets stitched up by Dr. Dad just as often to keep her stuffing in.

Every piece of yarn hair that fell out, every tutu scrap that fell off, my daughter agonized over. “Will Ballerina be all right?”

My daughter has slept with and carried that doll around since she was about nine months old. Every night my daughter looks at peace, Ballerina in her arms or spread across her face, just as when my daughter was a baby. If my daughter awakens in the middle of the night to find Ballerina has jumped ship, it is our job to stumble down the hall, tear apart the bed, crawl underneath it, or stretch our arms behind it in search of her.

Ballerina has wiped away tears and snot, given countless hugs, and snuggled numerous hours of the day. She goes on every trip. She watches every movie. She gets invited to tea and birthdays. She is raced to after school each day. And she is sometimes unbearably hard to part with in the mornings. She has earned every battle scar, every loving stitch, and her worn-down, onion paper skin simply by being held and being there—just pure love.

One look at that doll, and anyone else would throw her in the trash. My daughter sees love and comfort, and cries whenever I tell her I’m not sure how much longer Ballerina will make it. So we sew and mend and do a little dance and hope that Ballerina will last just as long as our daughter’s love for her does. And every time I put her in the washing machine, I pray she will come out in one piece.

In many ways, it will be a relief when my daughter is not so attached to Ballerina. I often tell her to leave Ballerina in her room, put her down, or leave her home, mainly for fear the doll will bust at the seams beyond repair one day, but also because my daughter is getting too old for all that. But I know it will mean a lot of things when Ballerina is forgotten. When that time comes, I will tuck the doll safely away, whatever her state, because somehow I have become attached to all the memories stitched inside.

2 Comments

Filed under Everyday Life

Tagged as , , , , , , ,

October 10, 2011 · 4:22 pm

Another Goal, A Different Story

As I sat watching the mass of 28 feet desperately battering the ball, I realized I couldn’t even see the goal. My husband was out of town and if my daughter scored her first goal, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to give him the play-by-play. But surely that won’t happen, I thought.

The couple next to me looked away during their conversation and missed their son’s first goal. That’s really a shame, I thought, reliving the glory of my son’s first goal a few days earlier. “Did we miss it?” they asked me. “Did our son just score and we missed it?” I was almost certain he did, but we sat on the opposite end of the field and the five- and six-year-olds huddle around the ball like vultures around a dying cow. It was hard to see exactly what happened.

My daughter played awesome defense. She fought for position against the boys to get a crack at kicking the ball. And then something happened. She kicked it toward the goal. And it was no accident. I craned my neck and sprang to the edge of my seat for a clear view. She was there, she kicked it with force, and it looked like it went in, but then a teammate came and kicked it in farther. Who made the goal?

She looked over at me, smirking. Bewildered, I clapped and smiled and gave her a big thumbs-up. The couple next to me asked, “Did she get it in?” I was thinking the same thing. Great. Now I had possibly missed out on the big rush of my daughter’s first goal because I hadn’t a clue as to whether she made one or not. It all happened so fast.

I figured I’d play it safe, see what she said after the game. She was no help. “Mommy, I almost made a goal,” she told me. “It went behind the goalie and then David kicked it in more.”

“Was the goalie in the goal?” I asked, now revealing my doubts.

“Yes.”

“Well then you made it.”

Another parent congratulated her. I figured he had some clue, maybe better than the parents next to me who had already missed their son’s goal. We asked her coach to be sure. He said it was on the line and rolled in, but I couldn’t help feeling a little suspicious.

So we had to tell my husband that we thought she made a goal, reenacting it at home, trying to put together evidence. The verdict? Either way, she was right there and she did great and she knows it.

I hate that her big moment sort of fizzled out by so much uncertainty. I wish her coach had congratulated whoever made it in the moment. But my daughter saw an opportunity and she took it. And I have a feeling this won’t be the last time she pushes her way through a pack of kids and scores big.

1 Comment

Filed under Can't Get a Break

Tagged as , , , , , , ,

October 7, 2011 · 10:30 am

GOAL!

It may have been the build-up. The longest set-up in the history of eight-year-old soccer. He stood there, trying to get the best angle, turning this way and that for what seemed like ages while some invisible force kept the other players far enough away for him to get everything lined up just right. Fists clenched, I held my breath and played it cool on the outside, but in my head I screamed, “JUST KICK IT! KICK IT! KICK IIIIIITT!” Finally, he did. And he scored what turned out to be the winning goal. My son’s first goal.

That goal wasn’t my success, but it sure felt like I had won. Teetering on the edge of my seat, it’s all I can do sometimes to even remain in it. There’s a lot of stress involved when you’re the parent watching the game. I never knew that before sitting through seasons of sports and games sometimes too painful to watch. It’s hard to see your kid being just like you.

My hope is always that he’ll overcome his fears because I never overcame mine. Isn’t that what we all want, for our kids to do better than we did? To not endure the same embarrassment? Courage. He needs courage. And it took awhile, but he’s finding it.

Lately my son had been improving little by little, making contact with the ball. Some days that’s all we could wish for. Then he had one good game. It was promising.

So last week, when my son’s team played a bunch of his classmates, I wondered how things would turn out. Would he step up and have fun with these boys he rough and tumbles with on the playground or clam up? When the ball came his way and his classmate was the one pushing it toward the goal, my son did nothing but step aside and let him score. I wanted to laugh and cry and yell at him to kick the stinking ball.

He said his heart was about to pound out of his chest. Nerves. Ah, just like me. I never did well at sports. I prayed the ball wouldn’t come near me. What my poor parents had to sit through. But seeing my son push himself and go farther in one season than I ever did my whole childhood, it makes a mom proud.

When my son scored last night on his third attempt, my nerves were shot. In an instant, a lump caught in my throat like a supersize wad of bubblegum. My eyes glazed over with a sheet of tears so fast, I feared I’d lose them there on the field, but not before I saw a smile spread across my son’s face and a humble celebration. And my husband, a quiet man who doesn’t give his emotions away easily, jumped from his chair with his arms raised in victory and cheered like he’d been living for that moment his whole life. The shock of that was enough to bring me back to reality.

I’m not sure who slept with a bigger smile on their face last night: my husband or my son. But the relief of knowing my son found his courage and maybe isn’t so much like me will make me smile for many nights to come.

Go, son. You did it. The success is yours.

5 Comments

Filed under Everyday Life

Tagged as , , , , , , ,

October 5, 2011 · 1:27 pm

Sick Days

I’m into day two of sick days with my daughter. After she finished crying this morning when I told her she had to stay home another day, she began listing the crafts we were going to make. This after more than two hours of crafting with her yesterday.

Sick days are not what they used to be. When I was a kid, a sick day meant I never left my bedroom. I slept the entire day. I always felt like I’d been run over. My kids? Never. Well, except for the nasty stomach bug we all had last year when none of us could lift a pinky. My kids play the day away like it’s a mini vacation. If they sleep for 30 minutes, they’re up past my bedtime.

I must have missed the lesson on sick days: Don’t play with your kids. Don’t make it fun. Give them castor oil and keep them weighted in their beds with layer upon layer of leaden blankets.

Instead, I get stuck with, “Mommy, do you have any crafts for me to do?” Or, “Let’s play ponies.” Sure, it’s nice to have a day alone with them, just the two of us. But when they’re at school, I do things. When they’re home, I don’t get to do my things. And around day two, I get antsy. And I’m out of craft ideas. And then I start to get a tickle in my throat or a cough or whatever germs they’re spreading.

The whole decision to even keep one of my kids home is often a struggle to begin with. Fevers and puking are easy to figure out. But my daughter gets these annoying coughs. What to do? How long to keep her home for that when she otherwise feels pretty good? Many times I’ve kept a well kid home or sent a sick kid in. It’s rarely a winning situation for me.

When my husband came home at lunch today, my daughter raced around the house, laughing and yelling.

As my husband was leaving to go back to work, he said, “I’m glad you kept her home today since she was really sick, Dear.” Yep. That’s exactly what I was thinking.

4 Comments

Filed under Can't Get a Break

Tagged as , , , ,

September 27, 2011 · 12:53 pm

No, No, I Won’t Mow

“Look, Annie across the street is mowing the grass,” says my daughter, peering through the blinds like a puppy waiting for the mailman.

“Mmm hmm,” I say, not the least bit interested in that remark. I know where this is going.

“Hey, Mom,” my son yells, taking the steps two at a time, “Did you see Annie mowing the grass?”

“Yep.”

Five minutes later, “Oh, look, Dear,” my husband runs in to tell me. “Annie is mowing the grass.”

“Well isn’t that good for Annie,” I say. Dammit, why can’t the women around here band together? Or at least can’t they mow the grass when my family is not at home?

I have held fast for 13 years and counting. I have never mowed the lawn. Well, I attempted 13 years ago when we were moving from a rental and needed to mow the thick, waist-deep forest that had become our backyard. I pushed and heaved with all my might, and the mower sputtered and choked and did things I wasn’t sure it was supposed to do. I mean, I was new to the whole mowing thing. Thick, three-foot grass is not something to cut your teeth on. So I stopped. A whole eight-foot strip of grass. That is what I have mowed. So yes, technically I have never mowed a whole lawn. And I don’t dare start now.

I’ll tell you why. I have wiped so many butts some days, that I have not been sure which was my own. I have had every bodily function spewed or smeared all over me. I have cooked dinner while doing laundry, helping the kids with their homework while they have been splayed over the table crying that they don’t understand, and trying to get my mother off the phone for the third time that day. I have had a meal on the table every night when my husband comes home from work, even when my kids decide that while I am cooking is the best time to pitch a fit. I clean the house, wash the sheets, put toys away, clean the crud off the toilets, hold the kids down for shots, check body parts for things I do not want to, shovel snow, rake the leaves, sweep the driveway, and sometimes trim the bushes….I do it and that’s fine.

I do not want to mow the grass. And every time I see little Annie over there mowing the grass or the three other women on my street who occasionally do it, I grit my teeth, clench my fists, and think to myself, “Don’t we do enough?”

Well, evidently, they don’t.

12 Comments

Filed under Can't Get a Break

Tagged as , , , ,

September 22, 2011 · 12:06 pm

Taming of the Tantrums

Strolling through the aisles of a store recently, I heard the start of a giant fit coming on. A toddler wanted out of her cart. Those pesky toddlers can be persistent. Boy, the memories flooded back. My quiet shopping experience had become stained by the piercing shrieks and then constant screams of this little girl who wanted nothing more than to be out of her cart. I snuck a few glances to see if her mom was “stuck,” meaning could she even get out of the store. She quieted when her mother held her. Then she started up again–she wanted down, and she repeated that for a very long time. This fit went on for a good ten minutes. It was loud. The mother made no effort to make a beeline for the door.

All I could think was two things: 1) Why doesn’t she run out of the store and save herself? I would have had it by now. When you run out of cookies, get thee to a door. 2) I have been there and I am so glad I am done with that!

Six years ago…

One morning I took my kids, two and a half years and six weeks old, to a craft store to buy some Halloween stuff to make with my son. I knew what I wanted. It would be a quick trip. This was one of the first outings alone with my kids, and it was a doozy.

I picked up the things I wanted and my son pointed out what he wanted. I told him no. That’s where I lost all control. He went into full fit mode: volume turned up, body convulsing out of control. I was in a bit of a pickle. This craft store had tiny carts and the carrier my daughter was in did not fit in a cart. I had carried her in and walked my son in. I was stuck in the store with a toddler in a full-blown tantrum. All I could do was gently hold him down in the aisle and wait it out.

At first I laughed. I’d wait this beast out. Well, I waited. And waited. People stared. My daughter slept. I still couldn’t pick up my son at all. Two older ladies came by. “I’ll bet you’re two and a half,” one said to my son. I laughed. She nailed it. God bless her. She understood. She offered to take my son out in a cart. That made him scream more because he thought I was giving him to this stranger, which at that point I felt like doing.

I thanked them but waited another minute and my son calmed down long enough for me to grab him in a football hold and loop my other arm through my daughter’s carrier. I ran for the door and through the parking lot, my son kicking me and biting me the whole way. While I tried to strap him in his car seat, he kicked me in the face, pulled my hair, and grabbed at my face with what felt like sharp claws. I can’t even mention the words that were going through my head and I’m pretty sure I cried the whole way home. I didn’t go back to that store for months.

I have been fortunate these past six years. That was the worst public display and nothing else has compared, but it scarred me for life.

Looking back to that day, when I realized I couldn’t escape my stupidity, I should have bought the silly wooden pumpkin that he wanted. I saw that fit coming and I could have said, “Sure, you can pay me back.” It wouldn’t have spoiled him. But it would have saved my sanity and helped me avoid a few battle scars. Had it not been there, that fit would have played out somewhere else, but maybe I would have been able to make a run for it. Regardless, I learned early on, it’s always better to shop without kids.

Leave a comment

Filed under Everyday Life

Tagged as , , , , , ,

September 16, 2011 · 11:45 am

The Boys’ Bathroom: Sometimes You Don’t Want to Know

I am fortunate (I think) to have a son who tells me things. When I ask him what happened at school, he tells me about his day at school. He tells me the minutiae of his day. And he tells me the goings-on in the boys’ bathroom. For years I’ve heard stories about what goes on in those dank, smelly chambers. Boys sticking their feet in urinals. Boys–cringe–rolling on the nasty floor. Boys doing things they should not be doing.

This week I think I’ve heard it all. I can’t bear to hear another bathroom story. My husband doesn’t even know the story, why I keep lecturing my son about this. “Just don’t touch anything and wash your hands. With soap. I don’t care what the other boys do.” My husband makes fun of me for this.

My son told me he went in the bathroom the other day and George* wasn’t in there, so he used George’s urinal.

“George’s urinal?” I asked.

“Yeah, George has his own urinal and nobody can use it,” my son said.

“Why is it his urinal?” I asked.

“He licked it,” he said.

My brain stopped right there. Overload. Too much to process. Where are the teachers? Ugh. Should I tell his mother? No, she wouldn’t want to know. I didn’t want to know. I mean, you don’t want them to touch anything in the bathroom and this boy had slathered his tongue along the cold porcelain. I felt weak.

“Don’t you ever lick anything in the bathroom,” I said. “Anything. Don’t even touch the urinal. People miss.” I could have gone on for an hour. My son had already moved on.

He described how a line formed behind him and then George came in and said, “Hey, why are you using my urinal?” and everyone in line started pushing.

Then George put a pencil in a toilet and flushed it and they watched it swirl around and around. Billy* reached in to get the pencil out and threw it away.

“Don’t put your hand in the toilet,” I told my son. “Ever. Just don’t touch anything in the bathroom. And wash your hands. With soap. I don’t care if the other boys do or not. You wash your hands.”

Ugh. Sometimes you don’t want to know.

*Names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

10 Comments

Filed under Everyday Life

Tagged as , , , ,

September 14, 2011 · 11:49 am

I Was Dissed

I packed up my lunch yesterday and headed to school to eat with my kids. My daughter smiled and bounced in her seat at breakfast when I announced I would be coming. My son said OK. That’s pretty much how it goes every time. But I knew something was up when he walked into the cafeteria at lunch and looked at the wall instead of at me. He sat at his table with his friends, and when I motioned for him to join his sister, her friend, and me, he shook his head no and wouldn’t look back. Dissed. Is my third-grader already too old for this?

I’ll be honest: It stung a little. When the excitement of having Mom meet you for lunch has dwindled by third grade and wanting to be with friends begins to take over, it’s a bit of a shock. I know it happens. I remember vividly that inner struggle as a kid, wanting to be with my parents but wanting to be with my friends too. (Though I was much older, I’m sure.) You don’t want to miss any of the fun and really, you want to seem cool. Eating with Mommy isn’t cool after a while. Boys can’t talk about bathroom situations and gross stuff when Mom is around, and Lord knows they do. And Mom might ask questions. Yeah, I would certainly do that. “What do you like to do?” “What sports do you play?” Seems like a logical time to get to know the kids my kids hang out with. Maybe it’s too much.

My son looked over at me once during lunch. I played it cool. I mean, we were having fun. You know, yeah, whatever man. He had a good time with his friends, whispering and laughing and bonding over Spaghettios and Wonder Bread.

I don’t eat lunch often with my kids at school. My kids ask when I’m coming again as soon as I leave the lunch room. But when he blew me off and pretended I wasn’t there, I tried not to be bummed. I saw his point-of-view: time to hang with friends and let my guard down or be with Mom, another supervisor. It was just harder seeing it from a mom’s point-of-view.

That afternoon during pick-up time, I debated blowing him off. Instead, I decided to just let him sweat it out a few extra minutes.

Later on I was going about my to-do list at home. He came up and hugged me. A big bear hug. No words. No prompting. Just a giant squeeze around my waist. I get it, son, all of that growing up stuff. I do. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

4 Comments

Filed under Everyday Life

Tagged as , , , , ,

September 8, 2011 · 1:41 pm

Words That Make My Son Giggle

“Daddy, I learned a new word today,” my son announced at dinner. My first instinct is to always ask, “Is it appropriate?” His determination pushed him on. “G-E-N-I-T-A-L-S.” He spelled it for the sake of protecting his younger sister. Sweet.

I tried to stifle a snicker and could tell immediately that my husband was not amused. My daughter had a check-up at the doctor yesterday afternoon and we had the pleasure of trying to catch a sample in a cup. During that transaction, my son entertained himself with some wall reading, medical info. Nice.

A fit of giggles meant he found another funny word: penis. “Ha ha! Look, Mommy.” It was an eight-year-old boy’s dream, right there in the bathroom of the doctor’s office. Naughty words displayed for him to read again and again, providing that satisfaction in feeling he was doing something he shouldn’t be. Giving him reason to say it. I couldn’t dispute the fact that it was right there on the wall…several times.

Overall, a juicy discovery for a kid, finding sacred body part words in print. Learning a new one. Genitals. He even had to stop and close his eyes for a moment after he saw it. “Hold on. I need to remember it,” he explained. He was genuinely proud of this new word. Hopefully, he’ll fight the urge to share it during recess today.

Leave a comment

Filed under Everyday Life

Tagged as , , , , ,

September 2, 2011 · 10:18 am

Cry Me a River

So it’s been a full week of back-to-school bliss. My days are filled with quiet cleaning, cool morning walks, peaceful time to work, hours to do what I want with no interruptions. And then at three o’clock every day, all hell breaks loose.

Here’s how our week has gone:

~Nearly everyone in my daughter’s class from last year is in another class together this year. “Why did I get left out?” Heartbreak for her, heartbreak for me. Not to mention the impulse to call the principal and ask him what in the world was he thinking doing that to my daughter? She shed a few tears.

~A fall down the stairs sent my daughter into a well-earned crying fit. More crying upstairs. I raced up to learn that my daughter had bumped her nose. And then when a mid-air flip attempt went awry, my son landed on his head. More tears.

~My daughter released a flood of tears one afternoon on the couch, just because.

~Tears flowed at the mere mention of writing thank-you notes for birthday presents my daughter recently received. This followed by a bit of rolling around on the floor and burying her head in a pillow.

~Homework, ugh!!! My son just didn’t get it and he wanted my help. Yet every time I read the directions to him and tried to explain it, he threw a fit. Did he or did he not want my help? I know he didn’t read the directions to begin with. Writhing on the floor, he screamed, “I hate homework!” Me too, man, me too.

~It took me 15 minutes to read one email due to four crying fits over a chair, a stool, a couch filled with dolls, and a knee to the eye. Each time I entered the room, it was a different story. “What’s wrong now?” I said, trying to keep my frustration to myself. My son kneed himself in the eye while doing flips on the couch. I didn’t even know what to say. After the whole head thing? Seriously?

~A math problem nearly sent me into tears. My son just wanted me to do it but I continued trying to calmly explain what he was missing. Hair pulling. Teeth gritting. Tears man, more freakin’ tears.

~Don’t even get me started about the announcement of bathtime and bedtime every night….

I’m amazed I’ve been able to get dinner on the table and homework done and the kids to bed on time (7:30 because they are so damn cranky). In years past, we’ve suffered nearly two months of this meltdown mania at the onset of school.

If you are a cranky mom this week, hugs to you. If you know one, give her a hug. Me? I think I just need a good cry.

3 Comments

Filed under Can't Get a Break, Everyday Life

Tagged as , , , , , ,