Apr 24 2014
It was one of those days where I would’ve been better off staying in bed under the covers. Work had been stressful. My bus home was delayed. A close friend’s actions had left me feeling hurt. And just as I was gearing up to put my toddler to bed, my husband called with the news that our car, which he was supposed to be taking for a simple oil change, would need several thousand dollars worth of repairs.
Clearly, nothing particularly tragic went down. But I was tired. I was already aggravated and upset. And yes, okay, there were also some let’s call them “prominent female hormones” at play. So when I got the call from my husband, it was that classic piece of straw that broke the worn-out mother’s back. And so I did something that I hadn’t really anticipated but also somehow couldn’t prevent: I broke down crying in front of my toddler.
Now just to be clear, I’m talking about the type of crying where you sink to the ground, your body shakes back and forth, you start making all sorts of strange guttural noises, and you generally can’t catch your breath for several minutes in a row. It’s the kind of crying you really can’t hide, and it’s the type that most adults would probably either avoid altogether or reserve for the confines of their respective bedrooms or showers. In other words, I cried like a baby. A big baby. And worse yet, I did it in front of my baby. Read the rest of this entry →
Oct 15 2013
Almost every morning my heart is broken. OK, five days a week to be exact. For almost all of last year and so far this year too, dropping my 3-year-old son off at school is a tragic affair, unequaled in torment and misery–until the next day. It reminds me of Prometheus’ punishment for stealing fire from Zeus, but why I deserve this public flailing I’m not so sure.
The sweet little girl who also had a tough time parting from her mama now runs off to play with her friends. The other boy who clung to his father’s neck now runs from him at break neck speed to join everyone at the breakfast table. Long after all the other kids have adjusted to daily day care drop-off, there is my son, clinging to me, crying, nuzzling into my neck; covering me in snot and tears, pleading desperately, “No mama, don’t go. No mama! NO MAMMMMMMAAAAAAA!” Yes, we are the scene makers; the ones the others parents stare at, glad they are not us. The teachers look at me like I am the cause of the problem.
Sigh. Go ahead, judge me. At least we steal every scene we make. Read the rest of this entry →
Sep 23 2013
My 4-year-old is absolutely obsessed with books. Mainly books about trucks–especially fire trucks. He wants me to read to him all day long. He also loves Little Bunny Foo Foo.
“Mom, can you just read it four more times before bed? Pullleeeaassse?
It does this mama’s heart proud to see her kids enjoy a book. Even if it is Little Bunny Foo Foo.
My eldest son also loves a good book, but now at 13 years old, the days where he crawls up into my lap and asks for me to read to him are long gone. I no longer pull his head close to me and breath his boyish smell of sweat and dirt and play dough. He doesn’t need my help brushing his teeth, getting dressed, or lacing up his shoes. He hates most of the clothes I pick out for him (even though I’m certain I have better taste than he does). He shrugs and feigns pulling away if I try to give him a hug, even though he has a smile on his face. Read the rest of this entry →