Come and Play

As a new parent you are often told to forget about the laundry or the dishes and play with your kids. "Time goes by so fast. The nights may be long, but the days are short. Before you know it ...."

A million platitudes exist to remind you that the dishes can wait - your kids can't.

And I agree it is one of the major conflicts of parenthood (granted, there are hundreds of conflicts). You want to get on the floor and play blocks, look at picture books, play Legos or Star Wars or Barbies or tea party, but it can be ... boring.

And personally, at times, it can be confusing. A five-year-old's imagination is much more vivid than a mine (sometimes I think my dog's imagination is more vivid than mine).  I often play Barbies with Abby and I have to admit that I can have trouble following her "Barbie triplets marrying the royal brothers with alien dogs serving as flower girls" scenarios. According to Abby I often "don't do it right." Many times I would rather watch a few minutes of TV or surf the Internet or water the flowers or empty the dishwasher or sit on the porch with a glass of wine.

But you know what?

One day they stop asking.

Belated Mother's Day

I'm pessimistic. And cynical. And jaded. I'm not a huge fan of Mother's Day for reasons I won't go into less I sound pessimistic, cynical and jaded.

But this year I'm going to buck the trend and not complain about Mother's Day. (You don't believe me? Read my May entries.)

This was my Mother's Day.

I only slept in until 7:30.

I got to sleep until 7:30 instead of getting up at 6:30 because I'd actually prepared my Sunday school lesson.

The first thing I did on Mother's Day was plumb a clogged toilet.

Thankfully I found a plunger and unclogged the toilet before it leaked all over the floor.

After unclogging the toilet I had to clean the litter box.

I was able to clean the litter box just in time for our new kitten to use the box instead of defecating on clean laundry, Jake's backpack or my bed.

While I was in the shower my kids ate breakfast so I ate breakfast alone.

I was able to eat a quiet breakfast, drink 2 cups of coffee and read the Sunday newspaper.

Sam spent the night with a friend, and Bryon and Jake went to the grocery store so with Abby in Sunday school I sat through the Mother's Day sermon alone.

I was enjoy to enjoy a beautiful sermon about mothers and motherhood without shushing my kids, breaking up any arguments or fishing for crayons or gum in my purse.

I spent the afternoon at a bar for the boys' end-of-season School of Rock concert.

I spent the afternoon at a bar for the boys' end-of-season School of Rock concert.

I had to force all my kids to bathe.

All three of my kids went to bed clean.

My family gave me a cookie for Mother's Day.

I love cookies.

So today I'm looking at the bright side. If you are a mom, you may have had breakfast in bed. You may have answered a phone call from a kid in a different state. You may have not received a single salutation or thank you. But it is what it is. You want these kids. You're crazy about these kids. They drive you crazy. It's not all lullabies and giggles. Sometimes it's tears and frustration. Sometimes you will look at the other kids and the other mothers and wonder why it isn't you. Guess what? It isn't and it won't be. And just the fact that they have you and you have them, that makes you special. That makes you the only person who can say I am so proud of you, and have it mean something. That means that only you can apply a band-aid and immediately make it feel better. Only you can be there to pat a back or listen to a story or praise a grade or soccer goal or drawing.

And instead of wondering why they don't make every day Mother's Day, you can hope that maybe, just maybe, the reason they don't make such a big deal out of Mother's Day is because they think you are the greatest every day.

Cast Away

When I was in first or second grade I broke my arm while playing on a jungle gym in the backyard. If it weren't for a photo of me in the cast, or the story about how I broke it (my sister did it!) or the cast itself, which my mom saved all these years, I might not even remember the event.

I wonder if it will be the same for Jake. We were about the same age when it happened. He fell off the monkey bars at school. We took a couple of photos.

But they did not let us keep the cast. Mainly because I didn't get the chance to ask. We went in for what I thought would be a mid-treatment check-up and minutes later the cast was off. Saw, cut, spread, toss.

Chapter closed.