Do you remember what it was like as a kid the night before you were going somewhere exciting, like Disneyland (or a bible convention where all of the Cute Boys Who Loved Jesus AND making out behind the nursery would be?) You would toss and turn and look at the clock every three minutes wondering if it was time to wake up and go already?
That was me last night. Only, I wasn’t going to Disneyland in the morning. Oh no, I was going to drive my first born son to his first day of high school.
I could not stay asleep no matter how hard I tried. My mind was racing with nervous thoughts for him.
Will he find his friends? Will he sit alone at lunch? Will he got lost on the big campus?
I really have held it together quite well considering I am one of Those Moms who cry about every little milestone in their kids lives. (For instance, last night Gabby drew her first recognizable happy face. I could feel myself getting all emotional as she made two round little eyes. When she was finished, I looked at her little happy face and said “where are the ears, sweetie?” And she drew two little round ears in the right spot and I flipping lost it. “Oh my God, she drew ears, Tony. EARS!”. Seriously, I cried over the drawing of ears, people.)
I woke up a little before 5, got dressed and did an hour of work before I woke the kids up.
At 5:45 I heard Andrew walking down the hall.
“Why are you up already?”
“I couldn’t sleep, mom.”
“Are you nervous?”
“No! I’m excited. I can’t wait.”
That was comforting to me and truth be told, I was nervous enough for both of us.
I made breakfast, made lunches, made sure the boys had everything they needed, woke Gabby up, got her dressed and out the door we went.
I have always had a little tradition of taking the boys pictures with their backpacks on the first day of school. Today, I ALMOST forgot.
“Oh my God, I need to get the camera! Wait here while I get the camera!” I shouted.
There was lots of eye rollage and sighs of disgust because “MoooooOOOoM!”
I ran inside and grabbed the camera despite the boys begging and whining that I just “forget about the stupid camera.”
Normally, when I take pictures, I’ll snap a shot, look at it and make sure it came out alright. Today, I didn’t do that. I just snapped the camera and off we went.
As we were getting closer to Andrew’s school, we started to see groups of kids walking towards the building. Andrew started fidgeting in his seat. I could tell he was starting to get nervous.
“You ok?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Well, I’m starting to get a little nervous now.”
And it was in that moment that the gravity of what was happening sucker punched me in the heart and took my breath away.
I had dreamt about this moment from the first time I held that baby boy in my arms. I truly had. And here it was happening sooner than I had ever imagined. My son, the sweet little boy who used to sit on my lap and giggle uncontrollably while I made funny faces. That innocent little toddler, who once held my hand, looked up at me with the biggest smile on his face and said “I love you so much, I want to marry you mommy.” That little guy isn’t so little anymore. He’s now an awkwardly handsome dude with a man voice who rolls his eyes when I ask him to pick up his clothes off of the floor because that’s what High Schooler’s do when their moms get all up in their business and ask them to get off of their ass for TWO SECONDS to pick up their mess.
As I pulled up to the curb to let him off, I could feel the flood of emotions rising within me and I wished so badly that I could shout “FREEZE!” and make time stop if only for a minute. I just wanted to look at that boy and remember how it felt the first time I held him in my arms and compare it to how it felt to be sitting there next to him in all of his teenage glory about to let him go into the big, exciting world of high school.
I put the car in park and I asked him how he was feeling one last time before he got out of the car.
“I’m nervous, but I’ll be fine, Mom.”
“I know you will be. Have fun, baby. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
And with that, he shut the door behind him and began to walk towards the campus and into a new chapter in his life. I watched him walk away in the rear view mirror, just in case he turned around to wave goodbye.
He didn’t.
I continued to watch him as he walked further away from me and closer to his new adventure in life. Suddenly he disappeared into the sea of teenagers.
A sea of emotions washed over my body.
Panic. Excitement. Anxiety. Pride.
Then came the tears. Finally, the tears.
“Only four more years”. I said out loud as I cried.
Four more years and my little dude will be an adult.
That when Ethan decided to chime in.
“Are you CRYING? Oh my GOD, why are you crying, Mom?!”
“Yes, I’m crying. I’m crying so hard because that is my baby boy, Ethan. The little baby boy that made me a mother and I still remember the day he was born and I just can’t believe that in just 4 short years, he’s going to be an adult and EXCUSE ME FOR LIVING, BUT I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO CRY ABOUT THAT.”
He shrugged his shoulders and said “Well, I just think it’s dumb that you’re crying about this.”
Nothing like the brutal honesty of a 10 year old to ruin a moment.
I was able to get a grip and turn off the tears in time to walk Ethan to his first day of 5th grade. I think that he secretly felt bad for me and understood why I was crying because as I was leaving, he said “I love you, Mom” and walked over to give me a kiss.
A kiss! From my 5th grader! In front of his friends!
He’ll never know how much I needed that kiss.
He’ll also never know that as soon as I got home, I ran inside to upload pictures I snapped of them on their way to school and that as soon as I saw them I started to cry again because OH MY GOD LOOK AT MY BOYS THEY AREN’T BABIES ANYMORE AND WAH IT HURTS MY LITTLE HURT SO BAD.
Category Archives: Parenthood
Screaming girls ruin everything.
The summer before my first born son started kindergarten was one of the most emotional times in all of my life.
I cried the entire summer. And when I say that I cried the entire summer, I mean that I literally cried the entire summer. Sometimes I’d cry a little, sometimes I’d cry uncontrollably (think Sally Fields in Steel Magnolias.)
But, every single day, I cried.
I’d start off the day fine, and then I’d think about him not being home with me every day, I’d think about holding his little hand and walking him up to the door of his classroom with people he didn’t know. I’d think about how much it would hurt to not hear his little voice talking to me all morning long. I’d think about going to run errands and only having one little boy to buckle into a car seat.
Oh, the pain!
I’d call friends and cry to them. “I just feel like I didn’t do enough with him while he was home with me and now, he’s going to go to school for the rest of his little life and I’ll never get this time back with him and WHY DIDN’T I CHERISH EVERY MINUTE?!”
The day came and it was as bad, if not worse, than I thought it would be.
As we drove to his school, I remember looking at my son sitting in the back seat. His hair was combed perfectly, his backpack sitting in his lap. I could tell by the look on his face that he was nervous, but he was trying extra hard to be a “Big Boy” and not cry.
I wanted to turn the car around and take my little man back home. I couldn’t bear the thought of not having His Sweetness at home with me all day long.
When we pulled up to the school, I forced a big smile to put him at ease.
We walked up the walkway to his classroom hand in hand as we talked about how exciting this was going to be. “You’re going to learn so many things! And make friends! And paint! And have recess!”
It’s been 9 years since that day and I remember the moment in which I had to let go of his little hand to kiss him goodbye as if it happened 5 minutes ago.
Letting go wasn’t easy.
Letting go hurt.
Fast forward to this summer—that same little kindergartner is now about to enter the world of High School.
I’ve been waiting all summer long to experience that same flood of emotions that I felt the year that he started kindergarten.
I’ve waited for the tears to start falling because my little boy is all grown up now and where did that adorable baby who used to sit on my lap and giggle at the faces I’d make go? And why have the years passed so fast? And OH MY GOD, only 4 more years until he graduates and begins a life of his own.
But the tears never came.
Then, this morning, I had to drive him to his freshman orientation.
On the way there, I asked him if he was nervous.
“No.” He answered.
Ah, teenage boys and their one word responses.
“Did you go to the bathroom before we left?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, if you need to go to the bathroom while you’re there, just raise your hand and ask someone…”
The look on his face made me stop mid sentence. He was seriously annoyed with me. Like, “Mom, I’m not a baby anymore, you don’t have to ask me if I went potty before I left the house.”
And THAT is when it hit me. My baby is going to high school. He’s not a little boy anymore. He’s a young man and he’s GOING TO FREAKING HIGH SCHOOL.”
I could feel the lump forming in my throat.
I could feel the tears start to form in my eyes.
I could feel my stomach began to twist in knots.
I fought back the tears, if only to spare my son the humiliation of his mother sobbing as she walked him to the gym.
It was really hard to keep from losing it as we were walking to the gym. As we approached the door, I thought “this is it, this is the moment you used to dream about. The moment where your first born son started high school– except in your dream, you were the Hot Mom with smoking abs and not the Overweight Over emotional freak of a mother…”
And the tears became harder to fight and that lump in my throat started to hurt and I was just about to lose it when….
I noticed a bunch of cheerleader type girls lined up in two rows waiting to greet my son as he walked in the gym. I said goodbye and as he started to walk through the door, the girls started clapping and cheering and screaming. Like “OMIGOD WELCOME TO UR HIGH SCHOOLZ WE R SO HAPPY UR HERE WOOOT GO FRESHMAN!!.”
Now, if you knew my son, you’d know that he gets nervous when any sort of attention is focused on him. So, imagine the look of horror on his face when he realized he had to walk through that screaming, overly excited line of girls while every one was looking on as he made his way through the gym.
Suddenly, the sadness that I had felt in my soul as I watched my son enter a whole new chapter in his life was replaced with uncontrollable laughter—the kind of laughter that hurts, the kind of laughter that makes you cry.
I always imagined that I’d shed tears when my son started high school, I just never thought they would be tears of laughter because some dumbass thought it was a good idea to make nervous, unsure teenagers feel TOTALLY AWKWARD by having a bunch of girls clapping and cheering for them as they made their way into a gym full of people they didn’t know.
Hey, at least I can tell people that “yes, I cried when my son started high school.”
A real life conversation that just happened (that I thought would be funnier if written in paint.)
If she ever tells me I’m getting on her “nervous” I have the perfect comeback.
“Oh yeah? Well you’re making my disk bulge, so WE’RE EVEN!”
Life Changing Words
This morning I read something that has shaken me to the core of my being.
I was reading a post at Blogher by Denise on a book titled “Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters.”
This subject is near and dear to my heart, because I am a mother to a daughter and I am a woman who has spent the majority of her life hating (not feeling comfortable with) her body.
The last line of her post knocked the wind out of me and I’ve been crying every since I read it.
More than 1/2 of American women 18-25 would prefer to be run over by a truck or die young than be fat. More than 2/3 would rather be mean or stupid than be fat.
Would you rather be mean or stupid than fat? And what, exactly, is “fat”? 5lbs overweight? 50lbs? At what point would you rather be dead… if you’re a mom – at what point would your daughter want to be dead? Have you asked her?
It is quite possible that those words–that ONE question– has forever changed me.
I want desperately to put into words WHY it has affected me so deeply, but I’m having a hard time doing that.
Perhaps the answer is really as simple as this: “I don’t ever want my daughter to feel the way that I have felt for most of my adult life about my body.”
I may not have ever wished to be dead rather than fat, but in so many ways, I have been dead. I’ve locked myself in my house, I’ve avoided people that I love, I’ve stayed home from celebrations like weddings and birthday parties and turned down invitations to nights out with friends because I was too ashamed to be seen in public as a fat person/
I wasn’t always overweight but I felt shame about the way that I look. But now I AM fat and I struggle to come to terms with this body.
I hate it.
I will always hate being fat. I am uncomfortable. I hate that my thighs rub together when I walk. I hate that I can feel my belly hanging when I sit down. I hate that I can see lumps in my arms when I look in the mirror.
But does that have to mean that I hate who I am? And that I have to walk around feeling like I need to apologize to the people in my presence for being fat?
Sometimes, I feel like my Body Hate is a drug and I am addicted. I wasn’t happy when I was thin. I’m not happy when I’m fat. I am ashamed that I feel this way about my body. I hate hurting people that I love and yet, everyday, I wake up and make a choice to hate myself for being fat.
As I’m writing this out, it doesn’t even make sense to me.
I’ve made some positive changes in regards to this issue. I’ll give you one example. I used to use horrifying language when talking about my body and I have made the choice not to do that anymore. But even though I don’t talk about myself in that manner anymore, I still feel that way about myself.
My daughter is watching me, she is learning from me and even though I may not walk around saying terrible things about myself like I used to, I most certainly am not living life to it’s fullest because of my weight.
At what point would your daughter want to be dead? Have you asked her?
I keep hearing those words running through my head and I want to change. RIGHT NOW.
For good.
I have tried so many times to change, to learn to love my body. But I’ve never really and truly found the answer. Is there an answer? There has to be answer.
Perhaps the answer is that I have to learn to be content. Content with who I am as a human being, not with what size jeans I wear.
I have to stop focusing on the negative and the feelings I have in regards to my body and start thinking about the people in my life who love me, the people who I have hurt deeply because of my body issues.
I have to start thinking about my children– especially my daughter because I don’t ever want her to say she’d rather DIE than be fat.
Birfday
Today is Ethan’s birthday.
Guess how old he is?
I’ll give you a hint.
And I’m all “Ha! Ha! SO FUNNY! He’s 10.”
Ten years old.
*Weeps*
Every year, I bring some kind of treat to his class on his birthday so that his classmates can share in his birthday celebration. And that treat is always store bought cupcakes. I always have great intentions of baking something really special, but I am not one of those mothers to which those kinds of things come easily.
You know which moms that I’m talking about– the ones who can turn a fart bubble into a beeYOOtiful chocolate cupcake with twirling ballerinas on top. You probably ARE one of those moms. I am, in fact, the complete opposite of those moms.
I am The Mom who stresses out for weeks before every cupcake occasion because I want my cupcakes to be totally awesome, but I know deep down in my heart that no matter how hard I try, they will never be as good as The Mom who turned her fart into a singing cupcake. So, I usually cry a lot the night before because “I’ve failed as mother. I’M A FAIIIIIILUUURRE” and go buy a few dozen cupcakes from Costco instead.
Today was different though. Today, I had this freaking Rad with a capital R idea. “I’ll buy these cute little heart shaped tin foil cups, and I will put pre packaged cookie dough inside of them and I will bake them, and then I will frost them and THEN! I will carefully write the number “10” on each and every one of them to symbolize 10 years of life!”
Honestly? Those treats were not hard to make and yet by the time I was done, I was sweating profusely and ready to lay on the floor and die. I wasn’t going to let the kids see me sweat though. When I got to the school, I put my brave face on. I walked over to the benches with my trays of heart shaped cookie cakes and was all “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ETHAN! Who wants a cookie?!”
You should have seen the kids faces. They were really impressed with my cookies. I’m talking seriously impressed. I started to feel better about myself, maybe even a *little* bit proud, but then some kid in a red shirt had to go and ruin it by shouting out “where are the drinks at?” (In a very judgmental tone, I might add.) Oops! Drinks! Riiiiight. Of COURSE I forgot about the drinks. But, in my defense, it’s hard remembering things when you’re trying to make perfect #10’s while your daughter is holding onto your leg, sniffing your butt. (No, Seriously. That’s my daughter’s new thing—sniffing my butt.)
I almost felt like a failure of a mother, until I looked up and saw the smile on my son’s face. He was so happy that I had taken the time to make these little treats for him and his friends. And he didn’t care what they looked like, or that I forgot drinks. (And napkins. Ha ha) All he cared about was that I was there, acknowledging his special day. All he cared about was that I took time out of my day to do something special for him.
I love that kid.
Pee Pee
On a scale of 1 to 10 (10 being YOU’VE RUINED YOUR SON FOR LIFE) how bad is it that I yelled out “make sure you go to the bathroom before you get on the bus!” to my 8th grader as I dropped him off at school for his field trip to an amusement park today?
I sometimes forget that my son isn’t 5 anymore and doesn’t need for me to remind him to go potty before taking a long trip. But, I can’t help it. I worry about his bladder. I don’t think I’ll ever stop worry about his bladder. In fact, I’m pretty sure that on his wedding day, I’m going to shout out “MAKE SURE YOU GO PEE BEFORE YOU WALK DOWN THE AISLE!”
I have bladder issues and all that really means is that I have to pee every 5 minutes and I get scared when I take long car rides (or attend important events) that I will have to pee and there will not be a restroom for me to use. Just ask anyone who has driven in a car with me for longer than 15 minutes and they will tell you that I panic when I feel the urge to pee, even if I just did pee at Starbucks 10 minutes earlier.
I know It’s wrong of me to project my bladder issues onto my children.
It’s funny how your kids grow up and graduate from junior high and yet, they’re still your little boy and you still have this intense desire to protect them from harm (and from having an accident on a bus ride to the amusement park.). Suddenly, something that you’ve said to them for their entire life –like “go potty first”– is no longer appropriate or necessary because “oh my God, mom, I am going to be a freshman in high school next year, I think I know that I should go to the restroom before I leave.”
But no one tells you about this aspect of being a parent. No one tells you that one day your son will no longer need you to remind him to go potty and so one day you just shout it out because you love him and don’t want him to be stuck on a bus with a full bladder and no where to go pee. Then, you realize what you’ve done and you can only hope that the only person who heard you was the proctor directing traffic in the parking lot so that your son doesn’t hate you for the rest of your life because you felt it necessary to remind him to go pee before he got on the bus.
This is how it happens.
It was a typical Sunday night here at (not) our house.
The boys were in the garage jamming with their guitars and drums; Tony was doing some cleaning in there while Gabby danced around listening to her brothers rock out with their instruments. I was in the house sniffing the steak to make sure it hadn’t gone bad.
I went into the garage and asked Tony to come inside so that I could have him sniff the steak (because I am paranoid when it comes to meat and always think it smells bad and must be rotten.) I told the boys “I need your dad for one minute, keep an eye on your sister while she’s in here with you.”
“Ok, Mom, we will.”
Tony followed me inside and the great “The Steak is Bad!! IS NOT!!” debate began.
“It smells fine, it’s not bad.”
“I think it smells funny.”
“Well, you always think meat smells bad. You’re a paranoid freak about meat.”
“Well, better to be safe than end up with food poisoning from bad meat.”
“IT’S NOT BAD.”
“Fine! I’ll cook it for YOU, but I’m not feeding that to my children. I’ll go get them something for dinner.”
“Fine!”
I started to season the steak when Tony came up behind me to tell me he didn’t want THAT spice on it but THIS spice.
So, I let him take over steak seasoning duties and I headed over to the TV to turn on Celebrity Fit Club.
About 5, no more than 10 minutes had passed since Tony had come inside and left Gabby with her brothers in the garage. I got this really weird feeling in the pit of my stomach that I needed to make sure she was ok, because as much as the brothers love her, sometimes they forget they’re supposed to be watching her (which is why I never ask them to watch her for more than a few minutes at a time.)
“I’m going to go check on the kids, I need to make sure the boys are paying attention to their sister.”
Tony followed behind me.
The garage door is immediately to your left when you open the front door, so I opened up the screen, looked at Andrew who was holding his electric guitar in his lap and said “Is your sister ok?”
“She’s not here. I thought she went with you guys.”
“Are you kidding? I told you to keep an eye on her while I talked with your dad.”
“I know, but I thought she went inside with you.”
Tony ran out front to see if she was there. I ran inside to see if she had snuck inside. I began to search all of the rooms and didn’t see her.
I ran back outside, where my husband and the boys were frantically searching all over the yard. We were all screaming “GABBY!? GABBY?”
I ran back inside thinking maybe she was hiding in her brothers room or something silly like that. Ethan had ran inside with me and I turned to him and screamed “WHERE IS SHE, ETHAN? OH MY GOD, WHERE IS SHE?”
He started to cry.
“I don’t know, Mom.”
I could hear Tony and Andrew screaming for her outside.
I was trying to stay calm, because I have a history of overreacting (OMG! BEES!) and surely, my little girl wasn’t really missing! So no need to lose my fucking mind!
But then, I heard my husband shout out to the neighbor down the street in a frightened, hysterical voice, “Have you seen a little girl?!?”
And my heart stopped.
And I felt the room spinning
And I felt like I was going to throw up, or pass out, or die.
I ran back outside.
Andrew was crying and saying “Oh my God, Gabby.”
Tony was white as a ghost.
Ethan was crying while riding around on his bike screaming “GABBY.”
“WHERE IS SHE TONY? OH MY GOD WHERE IS SHE?”
“Go call 911” he shouted at me.
I ran inside, head was spinning, heart was pounding out of my chest and all I could think was “this can not be happening. This can NOT BE HAPPENING TO MY FAMILY.”
I was shaking so violently that I could barely pick up the phone.
9-1-1.
At the exact moment that I heard the operator answer my call (“What’s your emergency?”) I heard my husband scream “Y! I found her! I found her!”
“I thought our little girl was missing, but we found her, we found her!”
I began to sob as I hit my knees because they were so weak they could no longer support my weight.
Tony ran inside and brought her to me while the 911 operator was asking me a few questions.
I hung up with her and asked him where he found her. “Where was she?”
“She was in my car, playing around in the backseat.”
Apparently, while he was running around outside frantically screaming her name, he heard her little voice, but couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Then, he turned towards his car and saw her little beanie bouncing around in the backseat of his car. (His car was parked on the curb just in front of our house.)
You see, she loves to play inside of the car. Sometimes, I’ll take her outside, we’ll climb in my van and I’ll let her play with the steering wheel while I listen to talk radio. And sometimes Tony will let her play inside of his car while he’s washing it. So, the little princess had walked out of the garage, headed down the driveway, walked over the grass, stood on the curb, opened up the car door, climbed in, shut the door behind her and was having a Party For One in the backseat totally clueless the to fact that her entire family, the people who love her more than anything else in the world, were frantically looking for her thinking she had been snatched by a stranger. (Because that is what we ALL thought.)
The only other time that I have been as scared as a parent is when Ethan almost drowned in our neighbor’s swimming pool.
It felt as though hours had passed by in those moments where we couldn’t find our little girl, but in reality, the entire ordeal lasted less than 10 minutes. And in those 10 minutes, I thought of so many awful things that could have happened to her and I thought of all of the times where I hadn’t paid enough attention to her and all of the times that I had been angry with her for stupid things that don’t really matter.
Tony handed her to me, I started to cry and kiss her all over and tell her how much I loved her and how she should never climb into daddy’s car without telling us first and how I’ll never complain again about how ever since she started wanting to wear make up and “be pretty like mommy” all of my lipsticks look like this.
And then, we all sat down as a family to talk about how important it is to obey your parents if they tell you to “watch your sister” for a few minutes, but more importantly, how we should hug each other more, kiss each other more, tell each other how much we love each other more because life is crazy and life as you know it can change in a split second and you never, ever want to regret how you treated the people who you love the most.
It kind of sucks to be us right now.
A few weeks ago, Ethan’s teacher sent home a copy of a story he had written about “his favorite place.” She told me this story made her cry and that she made copies to show her mother. It was a story about how this house was his favorite place in the whole world.
When I read it, I cried. Cried because all of these years, I’ve hated living in this house, because “the cabinets are ugly.” But my son, he loves it, he loves it because it has been his home. He doesn’t care what the cabinets look like, he only cares about the love and memories these walls hold inside of it. Here is a little portion of what he wrote.
As you walk in, tons of pictures are hanging on the wall. Lots of basketball posters in my room. I just love living where I live today because of all of my memories are held here, from happiness to sadness. This life here will never change.
And
By now you should know how much I love this place. I love everything in my favorite place. It fills me with joy. It is my very own house.
(Excuse me while I sob again.)
When I read that, it changed my entire perspective about this house. I had vowed to never say “I hate this house” ever again and to make sure that it always felt like our home. His words had a real impact on me.
Be grateful for what you DO have, mom..
Well, as of yesterday, we no longer have this house. Our landlord sold it unexpectedly (even though he told us he was going to “wait a year” to put it up for sale. But, I won’t EVEN go there. Bottom line is that it’s his house and he can do what he wants.) This house will belong to someone else very soon. But, what we do have is each other.
Now, we just need to find a home in which to make new memories.
And we will.
Right?
I mean, yes! We will!
(No, seriously, we will, right?)
Wounded Knees, Wounded Pride: A Water Park Story
The summer of 2002 I had one of the greatest ideas I’ve ever had as a parent.
I got season passes to Raging Waters.
I was only on contract for 10 months out of the year, so I most of the summer off with the kids and most summers were spent trying to think of what to do next so that the boys would not kill each other or so that I would not write to Maury to ask him to send my 5 & 9 year old to boot camp.
Every morning, we’d wake up and as soon as the boys started fighting I’d yell “Get yer trunks on, we’re going on some water slides!”
The first few times there were a blast. We’d go on every slide that they could ride, we’d grab an inner tube and float around the “tropical river”, or we’d just hang out in the wave pool.
It really was the greatest summer vacation we’d ever had.
Until the day I decided to break the rules.
There was this awesome ride that I wanted to take the boys on, but Ethan didn’t meet the height requirement. Every time I’d walk by, I’d be tempted to try to sneak Ethan on because I’m telling you, this ride was The Awesome. I’m trying to think of a way to describe it this ride. You sit on an inner tube and go make your way down through a series of drops, twists and raging waters, kind of like white water rafting? I don’t know, I’m at a loss, but trust me, this ride rules.
One day I decided to sneak Ethan on. I had a great plan. I’d let each of the boys go on their own inner tube, but I would hold onto Ethan’s so that he didn’t get ahead of me, or flip over.
We grabbed our inner tubes, headed up the hill to the front of the line. While we stood in line, we went over “the plan” to make sure nothing bad happened.
Andrew would go first. I would sit next to Ethan, making sure to hold onto his inner tube. If we got separated, we were to all meet at the bottom of the ride.
Perfect. What could go wrong?
Absolutely EVERYTHING, that’s what.
It started off great. No one questioned Ethan’s height and so the hardest part was over (so I thought!) We had successfully broken the rules! Let the fun began!
Five seconds into the ride, I lost my grip on Ethan’s inner tube and he started to float away from me. Andrew was already farther ahead than I would have liked, so I started to freak out. I noticed a big dip was coming up and I panicked. I screamed at Andrew “MEET ME AT THE BOTTOM OF THE RIDE IF WE GET SEPARATED!! DO NOT LEAAAAAVE WITHOUT MEEEE!” Then, my Psychotic Over Protective Mother Skills kicked in and I jumped off of my inner tube and tried running to catch Ethan’s tube.
There was just one LEEEETLE problem. It was a WATER SLIDE and um, there was a huge dip coming up and um, it was all slippery and uh, I fell all the way down that huge dip, hitting huge rocks all the way down.
I could hear the people standing in line watching GASP as I flipped, skidded and was tossed down stream with the rushing water. I finally landed in a little area where I caught up to Ethan’s tube. I grabbed onto it. Ethan was crying hysterically, I was bleeding from my knees, arms and back and an employee from the park started shouting at us to exit the ride.
I picked Ethan up, dodged the incoming riders on their tubes and made the walk of shame to a set of rocks that I had to climb up to exit the ride.
People in line were staring, I was bleeding, Ethan was crying and the employee was PRETTY FREAKING PISSED OFF.
He helped us off, asked if we needed first aid (um, howza’bout a couple of bandaids, dude?) and asked us to never do that again.
I started crying because Andrew! My poor Andrew! Where was he? Had he followed “the plan”? Luckily, he had and was standing at the bottom of the ride waiting for me. He was visibly upset because it had taken me so long to get there.
As we made our way to the bathroom so I could clean my bleeding wounds, Andrew began to scold me “that’s why they make rules, mom, so that no one gets hurt!”
I felt like the shittiest mother to have ever expelled children from her vagina.
I had spent my entire life as a mother teaching my children to follow the rules because “rules are made to keep you safe!”
I stood there with gaping holes in my knees and said “You’re right, it was wrong of mommy to try to sneak Ethan on the ride, I’m sorry.”
That one little decision pretty much ruined the rest of our summer at Raging Waters because Ethan was traumatized and refused to go on another slide that wasn’t “for babies”.
I spent the rest of the summer bored to tears watching my boys play in the little kids wading pool, longing for the good ol’ days of speed slides and “Drop Out”. But I was just grateful that our season passes weren’t revoked and that we weren’t banned from the park for breaking the rules and almost dying on the freaking roaring rapids water slide.
Back to Back Cheese.
Friday morning I sat down on the living room floor with the intention of folding the laundry. Gabby followed me and plopped her precious little butt right next to me on the ground.
“Would you like to help mommy fold the clothes?” I asked.
“Yes!” she said with a little twinkle in her eye.
“Ok, you get all of the socks and put them in a pile, ok?”
“Ok!”
Well, that’s not what happened. She grabbed a sock and threw it. Then she picked up another one and threw it.
And another one.
And another one.
My first reaction was to tell her to stop because she was making a mess and mommy didn’t need any more messes to clean up!
But, I didn’t tell her to stop. Instead, I grabbed a handful of the laundry and threw it at her.
She started laughing.
Then she grabbed a handful of laundry and threw it at me.
We both started laughing.
Laundry Fight! Laundry Fight!
At one point, a sock landed on her had and she started laughing uncontrollably. I started laughing uncontrollably and we both had tears streaming down our faces from laughing so damn hard.
Our little laundry fight only lasted a few minutes and we found ourselves worn out from all of the laughing and tossing of clothing.
As we lay on top of a pile of socks and t-shirts, I looked over at my daughter who had a smile from ear to ear. She was so happy.
And so was I.
Such a simple little moment had provided the both of us with so much joy.
That moment almost didn’t happen because I didn’t want “another mess.” I almost told my daughter “No! Don’t throw the clothes!” Because that’s what my first reaction usually is…
To say “no.”
To say “not right now.”
To say “later.”
To say “don’t’ make a mess!”
To say “Mommy’s too busy.”
I remember a commercial that was on TV a few years ago. It was a little boy who had got the cereal down and taken the milk out and poured himself a bowl of cereal under the kitchen sink. He made a mess everywhere. When the mom came in and saw what he had done, she looked at him and smiled.
I remember thinking. “Oh HELLS NO.”
If I walked into the kitchen to find my little toddler had made herself a bowl of cereal, my first reaction would not be “Aw, how cute, she made herself a bowl of cereal.”
It would be “ah. OMG! Why didn’t you just tell mommy you were hungry? YOU MADE A MESS EVERYWHERE AND I JUST MOPPED THE FLOOR!”
I can’t tell you how many times my kids have wanted to help with something and I’ve told them no because I knew that them helping meant more mess for me to clean up.
And it makes me sad that I’ve been that way. It makes me sad that I’ve denied my children and myself “Little Moments” because I didn’t want to deal with a little mess.
It wasn’t easy for me to be all “To hell with it, let her throw the socks!” Everything inside of me was screaming “don’t throw the socks! You’re making a mess!”
But I kept hearing this little voice say “Don’t sweat the small stuff. Just enjoy the moment.”
(Again with the Voices In My Head. They’re really starting to get on my nerves.)
And so I gave into the moment and had a little fun.
The truth of the matter is that the mess I was so worried about took 5 minutes to clean up but the memories that I made with my daughter in that pile of clean socks and t-shirts will last for the rest of my life.
