Child's Play

My older kids were invited to play at a friend's house today. Now that's all well and good, but when you have 3 children, it's about as common as a lunar eclipse to have them all playing elsewhere. Alas, you still have one hanging around. Today, I felt guilty for my young one. So I told her that I would play anything she wanted. We played SCHOOL for awhile (I read a child's dictionary aloud to my pretend class), then we sashayed over to the pretense of Barbie's world. I played with Nora for a solid chunk of time and it felt good. Now I don't want you to think that I have never played with my kids before. I used to be pretty good at - back when I had to be. But these days, I'm not called upon that often. You're probably thinking, get to the point. Anyway, in the middle of playing together, Nora said, "I love you so much Mom, you are the best Mom." Then later when I had moved onto other things, and Nora started to watch Eloise, she said it again. I do and I don't wish that I could find that kind of time to play with her every day. It's a little wierd though. It's such a simple formula and I just don't apply it very often.

Calling 911

While driving alone in the car the other day, my phone rang and I answered it. "Hello", I said. The unfamiliar voice identified herself with the state police and asked, "Are you alright, is everything alright? We received a 911 call from this number." Flabbergasted yet sure this wasn't a prank, I responded, "Gee, I don't know how that happened. I'm sorry. I'm fine, every one's fine." The call ended cordially and the caller was so nice that I didn't even feel guilty. But after I hung up, I looked at the display on the phone and read the words, emergency mode activated. So that was it. Who knew I even had an emergency mode on my phone, and God help me should I ever need to activate it. Oops! The next thing I did was laugh out loud as it occurred to me that I had butt-dialed 911. That's right, the phone was in my rear pocket while I was driving. I laughed harder when I thought that I had just birthed song lyrics. "I butt-dialed 911" could so readily echo the flippancy and begrudgingly likable melody of "I kissed a girl and I liked it".

Your Moment of Zen...

I'll leave you with this. I long for the day when I thought I could lose weight by cutting my hair. Seriously, I'm up at least 5 pounds, maybe more, thanks to winter indulgences such as cookies and chocolate. Cutting my hair won't make up the difference I need. I'm so desperate that I've stopped drinking the magical elixir - Coca~Cola. And I'm quitting my gym membership because they no longer have a magazine rack - no more People Magazine. On the upside, shop vaccing my basement full of water and hauling buckets has brought me closer to my goal weight in short order. Yahoo!

Eureka!

I finally figured out the IFs and WHENs of my blog sessions. When I feel like a crappy failure of a mother, I dry up and no words come. But when I feel decent about the things going on and all family members are nearly on the same page, I can write. So, can you guess what mode I've been in since March 2nd? That's right, crappy failure of a mother. When I look back on my life since becoming a mother, a huge paradigm shift took place the moment my children entered school. When I began to regularly turn them over to someone else for the first time, it was as if they suddenly became mini-me's. If they didn't behave well (and I had the pleasure to hear all about it), I wanted to shrink into a ball and slink away unseen. I felt shame and guilt, while a burning need to make things right oozed from my every pore. For the first time, there was another arbiter. And for the next several years, there will always be some other adult outside of our family to evaluate, monitor and even judge my kids. It's hard for me to separate myself and remember that I can't make my kids behave a certain way. Sure, I can discipline behaviors, reiterate rules and dispense lectures from the hip. I can bribe and motivate with creativity. But, alas, at the end of the day, I must remember that we (they and me) are not the same.