good grief, self-discovery

The Chainsaw Perspective

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It’s Halloween and I’m not feeling it. I’m guessing all the holidays after losing someone you love don’t have the luster they normally have. I didn’t put out any Halloween decorations this year. On the plus side, clean up is already done.

It’s not like my Mom and I hung out together on Halloween or had lavish Halloween traditions. However, she always knew what our plans were and I always shared the experience with her through phone calls and pictures. I don’t like not being able to share those things with her. Therefore, I don’t like holidays that create these sharable moments particularly much this year.

Despite my personal agreement with myself on Halloween morning to be cranky and ambivalent, I started to have some fun. There’s something about putting a Transformers costume on a sweet-faced two year-old that seems so wrong it becomes right. The boys were so passionate about trick-or-treating and their costumes I started to get swept up in their enthusiasm.

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pa313466As our evening wound down and we came home, they got even more hyped up to hand out the remainder of our candy. Full Speed would go to the end of our driveway and announce, “Candy for sale, come right up and get your candy!” Then as the stream of costumed neighbors paraded up, he would race back to our green kiddie table and distribute the goods. I would sit back and watch as the two of them would give about fifty-seven pieces of candy to ONE princess (they really dug the princesses) and then I would have to step in and say ‘enough!’. It was pure joy to watch them have so much fun.

I don’t know why, but this cheered me even more. My neighbor dressed in flannel and a scary mask had a chainsaw (with no chain) that he would fire up out of the darkness as the trick-or-treaters approached. The kids were taken off guard and some were genuinely scared. Everyone involved had a good time especially when the kids realized there was no real danger.
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The moral of the story is that even if you plan on not having fun, life can surprise you. You will be shocked to find you are having a good time. Sometimes all you need is a man in a scary mask with a chainsaw to put things into perspective (well, you know what I mean).

good grief, loss of parent, self-discovery

The Force

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Last night was date night. It was rather exceptional. Of course any time a stay-at-home Mom showers and puts on make-up makes an evening exceptional. This was exceptional for other reasons. Mad Dog took me to see Star Wars in Concert. I loved it.

The whole outing made me feel loved and special. Only someone who knows me well (like my husband) would know to take me to something like this. Even if the show was lame (which it was not) I felt the night was a success because he recognized my love of all things Star Wars. Thank you Mad Dog. Han Solo’s got nothing on you (except maybe the Millennium Falcon)!

I had a moment as the opening and highly recognizable crescendo of Star Wars theme music kicked off the show and my heart welled up and broke a little. I have these moments in my life that I off-handedly think, ‘can’t wait to tell my Mom about this’. The thought leaves my brain before my heart has a chance to remind it that she’s not here anymore. When it happens it knocks the wind out of my lungs and I miss her so much everything hurts.

A Mom knows you almost better than you know yourself (that is if you are lucky enough to have a kind and compassionate variety such as myself). She would have gotten a huge kick out of hearing about my Star Wars experience. She was there as I grew up and my sister and I watched Star Wars dozens of times. She respected the fact that Han Solo was my first love. She knew the force was strong in me and loved me anyway.

Star WarsI know on some level she sees my life and is part of it everyday. She knows I had a great time on my date and that the music of the trilogy I love so much moved me. Although she is no longer physically tangible to me, I can feel her with me in the deep pause between life’s moments. I haven’t totally accepted that she is gone. I have totally accepted that she knew me and loved me like only a mother could. And that is a force all unto its own.

children, mommy cliques, mommyhood, terrible twos

I Should Have Stayed Home

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This is the dilemma. Do you wait until your child can properly behave themselves in public (which could take years) to venture from your home or do you never, ever leave your house? This has been my plight since Full Speed was aggressively mobile (at about seven months of age). I have always been on the side of pushing forward and attempting to be social and expose my boys to world experiences. However, when I’m in the middle of one such experience, I often wish I had just stayed home.

I took T.Puzzle to the library for story time this morning. In the past I’ve had both boys with me and the result was often disastrous. I hoped that since I was playing him man-to-man, it would be tolerable and holding out all hope, enjoyable.
Your Frick can Read

Summer is the last time I went to story time at the library. The memories of social hierarchy come back to me in a rush as soon as the first clique-ish group of Moms walk through the door. My stomach does an unpleasant back flip as I realize that high school is never really over. I hate clique-y Moms. I’ve been a Mom long enough now that I don’t even pretend to try to talk to them. Life is easier that way.

T.Puzzle is hyper (I know, it’s like saying T.Puzzle is breathing). I think he senses that the more embarrassing he acts, the more anxiety it produces in his Mom. He must think that’s cool because he is very out of control. At one point he begins to make spitting noises. I lean down and say, “You spit again and we leave.” Story time was not going well.

He was not acting like himself. He was kind of clingy, wasn’t dancing or clapping (which at home is totally his thing) and he kept telling me to stop singing (which was getting on my last nerve). He looks at me thoughtfully and spits. He clearly wants to leave. He even tugs on my shirt and confesses, “I spit, Mommy. I go home.”

Another dilemma. I am always extremely conscious about what I say to the boys. If a threat escapes my lips, I am fully prepared to back it up. I want my words to have weight. I want them to know when I speak, it’s the truth and that I am consistent. If they don’t learn to respect my words now, what am I going to do when they are fifteen and seventeen respectively and are a head taller than me (fingers crossed Full Speed) and weigh more than me (fingers crossed me!)?

Ultimately, we didn’t go home. I felt T.Puzzle was playing the system and being sneaky to get what he wanted. We plundered through the remaining five minutes of songs and stories. This whole time I imagine staying in our house this morning might have been the right choice.

However, that’s not how I roll. You can defy me, you can act a fool and you can spit at me, but dammit, we are getting out there and we are going to live life. Some Moms may pretend we don’t exist, and yet other Moms will feel validated that they aren’t the only ones with devilish offspring. It matters not. We will always leave the safety (and boredom) of our house and someday, I hope manners and good grace find us. Until then, have compassion if you see us in public. I apologize in advance.

happiness, parenting, terrible twos, Uncategorized

Full Speed is Back

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Today was our triumphant return to Tae Kwon Do. I was feeling joyful because Full Speed  has been given the greenlight to fully participate in his usual physical activities. It filled my heart up to see him back in uniform and out on that mat (he had an awesome class).

T.Puzzle, well he’s a different story. I was feeling fear, anxiety, trepidation and any other emotion or feeling that constitutes dread. I was not looking forward to him hiding under a table at the Tae Kwon Do facility wailing his distress for all of Florida to hear.

I squared my shoulders and placed a hardened veneer over my soul. I was going to be the one in charge. I put on my scariest ‘Mommy face’ and used my most frightening ‘Mommy voice’ upon our arrival. I was so intimidating that a ripple of fear went through the watching crowd of parents and fellow students. I was so on my game, I frightened myself a little.

T.Puzzle sat like an angel on the mat. He did not move a muscle. I was victorious (finally!).

Class itself played out differently. T.Puzzle lost interest about twenty minutes in and nothing the instructor could do got him to focus. Of course that Mad Dog surprised us (yippee!) and was sitting on the sidelines didn’t help matters. T.Puzzle kept looking at him and was twirling and whirling around to show off for his Dad. Twirling and whirling are not exactly fitting with a Tae Kwon Do warrior’s repertoire. He was admonished harshly by the instructor at several points. The instructor even asked me in the middle of class if T.Puzzle had been given any soda during the day. I denied it vehemently (he did not). And, I wasn’t about to tell him of the freshly emptied fruit snack wrappers on the floor of my truck.

In the end, T.Puzzle had to sit off to the side of the mat because he had reached a point of no return. He was unphased and found his reflection in the mirrors highly entertaining.pa183399

The tides of war may be shifting in my battle against the terrible twos. Even though he clearly had an army of ants in his pants during class, little brother’s level of compliance prior to the start of class was the highest its ever been.

That is the icing on my cake because big brother Full Speed is back and life is good.

Uncategorized

Bullet-Proof

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The day before yesterday I had to pick Full Speed up early from school. This time it was for his five year check up. I’ve gotten so used to him being exemplary in doctors’ settings that it threw me for a loop when he started acting like a squirrel.

Our pediatrician, who does not have the gentlest bedside manner, evaluated me with a harsh eye as I had to pull out every scare tactic I had to get Full Speed to properly comply. I was certain she was writing in her notes: Mother is losing her grip, child’s behavior is unacceptable, have both evaluated by a mental health professional and behavior specialist respectively, PRONTO!

I realize that a pediatrician can’t remember every patient’s history. However, when Full Speed tested a 20/60 in his right eye and a 20/40 in his left (best to date and I was ready to crack open some bubbly), she had the nerve to ask me what I was doing about it. She wanted to know my action plan to get him to 20/20. It was hard for me not to reach over and start to strangle her smug neck. Put that in your notes and suck it Dr. Lady!

If you can’t tell I’m a little sensitive concerning my boys and their vision. I feel I’ve done just about everything short of plucking my own eyeballs from my head and giving one to each of them to get them to 20/20 vision. Next time, I’m asking for the other doctors in the practice when we have an appointment.

As we exit the facility and Full Speed is still full of the sillies, I pause and tell him he better get his act together. We have to go to the grocery and his behavior needs to improve tremendously or he is going to start losing all sorts of privileges.

“Can I get a cookie?” he asks.

I turn and look at him. The look on my face tells him his answer without me so much as uttering a word.

He shapes up nicely. Of course he takes in his two pencils he earned for a good check-up (health-wise not behaviorally) and proceeds to have a loud, pencil sword fight with himself throughout the entire store. At several points in this outing I have to tell him to use ‘inside’ voices. He reins it in for a moment or two and then the action takes off and he loses all volume control repeatedly.

During this shopping trip I realize we are on the same trajectory as a Dad and two, small girls. I’m guessing they are about two and a half and one. I am in awe. They sit peaceably next to one another and don’t make a sound. At first I’m convinced it’s a fluke. Then, I realize that no matter where I see them in the store, they are still seated and quiet. Their Dad doesn’t raise his voice once. He even comes to a complete standstill and deliberates over what brand of cereal to buy. The girls just sit there.

I’m tempted to ask him if he administered Benadryl or some other sedative to them before he left home. I don’t of course but this ludicrous notion helps me cope with the fact that I am the Mom who always has the loudest, most rambunctious kids in the store at any given moment.

I look at Full Speed and he starts pretending to shoot me with his pencils. This is my life. I dodge imaginary bullets all day long. Luckily, I’m bullet-proof.

Frack shoots