Sturm und Mom

The Storm & Stress (& Joy) of Motherhood

Archive for the tag “reflections on motherhood”

Don’t Call Your Kids Rude Names, Even Though They Earned It

You have a problem with me, Mom?

“Be careful when you open that pop,” I warned Dear Husband.  “They kids were in the pantry shaking it up today.”

“You know that comedian you don’t approve of, who calls his kid a that name?”

“I just don’t think you should call your kids that.”

“You have to admit he has a point.  People who take your favourite drink, shake it for no reason so it loses all it’s fizz and  sprays all over you when you open it, and then puts it right back so you don’t know, well, let’s be honest. That person is an ass    .”

In response, I just looked at him and pursed my lips, which means, Yeah, maybe you’re right, but push it and you’ll find yourself in all kinds of wrong.  But he does have a point. If your children keep acting like children once they reach adulthood, they would correctly called all sorts of nasty names.

Like this kid:  She comes home and tells me that she won’t use the school bathroom stalls, because she is sure that the lock will fail and she will never get out.  This, of course, is crazy.  I try to role play asking for new pants from the Lost and Found, when she runs upstairs to use the — you guessed it — bathroom, knocking the humungous package of toilet paper off the stairs from which it was to be carried to the — guess again — upstairs bathroom, leaving it in the middle of the room.  She comes back 5 minutes later, interrupting me to shout, “WHERE’S THE TOILET PAPER?”   I pointed to the floor, and I went back to making supper.  Imagine my surprise when I found that package lying right where it fell, with just one roll clawed out of the package.  If you do that when you’re 35, there’s a name for you.

Oh, and remember sweet, little Princess?  After playing with her for nearly an hour, I tried to sit down and listen to an interesting audio clip posted on the Dumb Old Housewives blog.  She walks over, squeezes onto my lap, and asks all these questions about the stock photos that are playing, so I can’t hear.  Finally, “How looong is this?  It’s sooooo boring.”  Meaning:  You are welcome to entertain yourself, as long as it also entertains me.  Again, if you’re pulling this stunt anytime after the 3rd decade of your life, it’s not going win you a nice nickname.

But, they aren’t bad kids, just kids.  This is childish behaviour.  Immature.  Juvenile.  They aren’t doing this because they have decided the world should revolve around them.  It’s just that no one has taught them any better.   The teaching being my job, the job of a parent.

I would like to say I always treat my kids with respect because I am such a morally developed person.  But really, if I call them a jerk, they’d probably just look me in the eye and ask, “Oh?  It must be how I was raised.”  I have enough trouble with these kids without being shown up by the under 11 set.

If It’s Mother’s Day, I’ve Already Forgotten….

Looking in the mail for your card, Mom? Don’t be silly! They’re right here on my counter.

Some years ago, (I think I was preggers with Big Boy,) we took the family on vacation to the sunny shores of Lake Okanagan in British Columbia, an area known for hot, dry summers.  We were staying in a two bedroom “guest suite,” which is basically someone’s walkout basement that they rent out during the summer to tourists.  Late one sticky afternoon, we were watching TV in the tiny living room/dining room/entrance area, trying to get a weather report for the next day.  Tired kids whined, and Princess cruised, since at 14 months she refused to walk, and I was fed up trying to keep the under 7 set occupied.  But as the 10-Minute Update theme caught my attention on the Weather Network, I noticed something strange about the date.

July 3rd.  Wasn’t there something special about July 3rd?

I racked my brain.  I made that strange thinking face, where you tilt your head and furrow your brows.  What was so special about July 3rd?  OH I KNOW!

“HONEY!”  I shouted.  “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!”

This true story illustrates just how bad I am with dates.  (And so is my husband.  I guess that’s why we work well together. :-)) It’s not that I can’t remember them, though that is part of the problem.  There is just some part of my mind that doesn’t associate, oh let’s see, May 13th as Mother’s Day, with the May 13th that is the day after tomorrow.  So, I fully expect that on Sunday morning I will be awoken by proud children baring homemade gifts and wondering why they are giving me presents early.  Since it can’t be Mother’s Day yet, because that’s not until Sunday.

In other words, unlike other bloggers who are posting lovely, heart-felt reflections on Motherhood, and their Mothers, and their children, I will have forgotten — until the 14th, when it will be too late.  Combine this all with the fact that the Mover’s are coming to take all of our stuff to our new house on the 14th, and I’ve got a daughter away at Guide camp, and I have to get three sets of green clothing ready for a big park dedication at the girls’ school on Monday, well, Mother’s Day has been pushed off the radar for me and any other Mother’s I might owe due homage to on Sunday.  To all of you I would like to send my deep, heart-felt apologies.

And….thanks.  Because that is one thing that I love about Motherhood:  forgetting.  Forgetting about myself, and losing myself in the moment of life with my family.  Children have a way of drawing you out of your head, and the mundane, silly, disappointing world we live in, and connecting you to the greater, happy, hopefully world that we should live in.  Like when Big Boy shouts out with joy at McDonald’s that we “are the best Mom and Dad in the whole world.”  (They don’t call them Happy Meals for nothing!)  Or when Art Girl looks at me with her chocolate brown eyes and whispers, “You know what I want to be when I grow up?  A Mom.”

“Really?”  I beam.  “How many kids do you think you’ll have?”

“5.  No, 6.  No, 7!  I want to beat you and Dad.”  She giggles, and then grows thoughtful.  Looking down at the floor, I she says to herself.  “I really hope I have at least one.”

Yes, sweet girl of my heart, I really hope you have at least one, too.  Because Motherhood is a gift everyday, and I am very happy to receive it.

And one more thing before I forget:

Have a wonderful Mother’s Day!

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