My 5th grader is going through the stage where the fact that I exist is horribly embarrassing to her. It's creating a big problem. I can't even BREATHE without being criticized by her or having her roll her eyes at me.
The other day she had an orthodontist appointment. I picked her up from school and she plopped down in the front seat. I smiled and was happy to see her. "How was your day?" I asked. That was it. She rolled her eyes at me, "Why do you always ask me so many questions?!?!" Then she stuffed her headphones into her ears so she wouldn't have to subject herself to the music that I selected. You know, because the music I listen to is "old people crap."
We got to the orthodontist office and I signed her in. "Go brush your teeth," I instructed.
She sighed, "I know what to do, you don't need to tell me."
No, I do need to tell you because if you knew you needed to do it then why are you standing next to me and not actually doing it?
I sat down in the waiting room and she walked right past me and sat 2 chairs away. Rude. "Hey, I had some ideas for your Halloween costume. Do you want to come see?"
She shot me a look but did come sit down next to me.
You can't just buy a steam punk Harley Quinn costume for a kid. They don't exist. I pulled up a costume on my phone and showed her the embellishments I planned to do. "So, we'll order the dress and then get some steampunk goggles. I'm going to make a black, leather corset belt thing and embellish it with gears, we'll get a Victorian choker and then do gears on your wristlets and boots."
I'm going all in with the steampunk Harley Quinn and she seemed glad about it but she kept saying, "You're too loud. You need to talk quieter."
"I'm whispering."
"You're not whispering soft enough. You're embarrassing."
Then she got up and sat on the other side of the waiting room, as far away from me as possible. That's how it is, make your own costume.
While we waited for her to be called back, I people watched. There was a mom sitting across from me filling out paperwork. Her son, who was 11 or 12 was sitting a few seats away. At least I wasn't the only one. He had a look on his face like everything was horrible. It was a grumpy tween face.
The mom was just sitting there, acting normal and just being human. Another child sat down near her. He had a balloon with the name Nicholas scrawled across it in magic marker. "My son is Nicholas too!" the mom remarked to the boy with the balloon.
Her son recoiled. He looked like he wanted to kill himself. He was scanning the room for sharp objects, I'm sure. How dare his mother SPEAK? That is just unacceptable. She is obviously the WORST.
His mother had a defeated look on her face. I wanted to hug her. We have a lot in common. Here we were, sitting in an orthodontist office to whom we pay thousands of dollars so our children can have nice smiles and they won't even smile at us. We both have pubescent children who are ungrateful jerks. I wanted to invite her over, become friends, exchange war stories. Instead, I just gave her a closed mouth smile. I think she understood.
My oldest child loves it. Whenever the 10 year old is giving attitude, she smirks like I'm the good child in this house. I am always quick to put her back in her place. "You turned into a demon in fifth grade and I disliked you immensely." She started turning back into a normal human being about 9 months ago, so I'm thinking there is hope for my youngest. If not, there's always margaritas.
Things got back to normal pretty quickly at our house following our eventful Saturday. The following day we had dinner together which is a rare event. The kids have some kind of activity in the evenings on Monday-Thursday and most Fridays. We sat around and talked and enjoyed each other's company. Then my oldest said, "Did you guys know that there are clowns that are trying to lore people into the woods around here and rape them?"
"What?"
"For real. Kayla said she saw one. She ran inside her house."
My 10 year old sat there quietly but her face said it all. She was scared.
She hates clowns. HATES them. She can't walk past the clown mask section in the Halloween store without crying and having a panic attack. The fact that they are trying to lore people into the woods is secondary to her.
I tried to alleviate her fears, "I think that is an urban legend. If that was happening around here, I'm sure we'd be alerted." My husband piped in, "No. I think it is actually a real thing. I heard about it in the news."
I motioned to my younger daughter and shot him a dirty look. Seriously?!?! You suck as a person.
I responded, "Well, I would suggest that you never go near the woods. Now let's stop talking about clown rapists." Then I casually took a bite of my chicken.
That, ladies and gentleman, is the type of conversation that you might hear at the dinner table at my house. Which explains why we don't have a lot of friends.
After dinner, it was time for my oldest to take her antibiotic. She flat out refused. "This tastes disgusting. I'm not going to take it."
"Dude, you have to take it. You were just in the hospital. You are GOING to take it!"
She would bring the medicine cup up to her lips and then start dry heaving. She was being dramatic and having a complete overreaction. She deserved an Oscar for her performance. I sat across from her and rolled my eyes.
Then she cried for 10 minutes. Not a quiet, weeping cry but the kind of tantrum that you would expect from a two year old who just got their candy taken away. If she were younger and smaller, I would have physically restrained her and just squirted it down her throat and been over with the ordeal. Not an option anymore -the child is taller than me.
I tried to reason with her. "Look, just hold your nose and take it like a shot."
"I'm 12! I don't DO shots!!!!" she yelled. Good point. I should have thought of that.
I poured cranberry juice into a medicine cup and sat across from her. "Look, I'll show you." Not that I'm an expert. I've only taken like, 6 shots total in my entire life. "It'll be like practice for college. Just kidding, don't drink alcohol." Worst mom ever.
I held my nose and downed my juice. "See how I just did it all at once?" Now your turn. She held her nose and brought the cup to her mouth. She grimaced and chickened out. "I'm not going to do it! Get me pills."
I finally just gave up. I decided to call the pharmacy in the morning. I did call the pharmacy and the lady on the other line said, "Yeah. It does taste really gross. Do you want to bring it back in and we can flavor it for you?" Really? You people knew it is horrible tasting and was prescribed to a child yet you didn't offer me that option while I was there? Buttholes. If I was still working and had to work in this extra errand into my day, I would have had a full-on melt down. I decided that I would swing by before picking my youngest up at gymnastics that evening.
That afternoon, I picked the kids up at school and dropped Kid 1 at band practice and Kid 2 at gymnastics. Kid 2 was being horrible, having an attitude about nothing as usual. I almost threw her butt out of my car. I was on my way home to make dinner when my phone rang. It was my oldest child. She sounded annoyed.
"Mom! You didn't pack me any socks in my bag."
"You told me you only needed shorts."
"NO! I said socks AND shorts. You never listen to me."
"Well, sorry. I'm not bringing you socks. You will live."
You want to know what she said to me? "Ugggh! You suck at being a mom today!"
She's lucky she wasn't standing in front of me. "I'm hanging up the phone now."
"No! Mom, I love you."
"Good bye."
"You're not going to say 'I love you too?'"
"No."
"MOM!"
"I'm not going to say it because apparently I suck at being a mom today."
"I'm sorry. You don't suck."
"Whatever. I love you." *click*
I went home and had dinner with my husband - the one person in the house that tolerates my shortcomings. Afterwards, I ran to Publix to get my daughter's medicine flavored. It cost $4 for the flavoring. I should have gone into the medicine flavoring business.
While I was there, I had to get some groceries. I was cutting it close. I had gymnastics pick up in 25 minutes. I decided I would let the bagger bring my groceries to my car to help speed up the process. We could tag team. WRONG.
This old man, bless his heart. Slow as molasses. I walked outside and he followed behind, leisurely pushing the cart and looking up at the sky. You are not a meteorologist, let's get a move on. I walked briskly to my car, checking the clock on my phone every so often. This man stopped in the middle of the parking lot with my f**king cart to talk to a random lady. I have places to be. WTF? I was trying so hard not to be a bitch. I waved my arms at him, to say over here. He moseyed on over at last and I told him I could load my own groceries. He made me, like 5 minutes later than I needed to be. NEVER AGAIN.
I drove like hell to make it across town to pick up my daughter. She sat down in the car and looked at me disapprovingly. "You're 3 minutes late." I sighed. "I know, I suck at being a mom today."
For the past 7 and a half years, I have worked VERY party time at a museum. I only work one Saturday a month for a 4 hour shift. It's not even a real job, it's more like a hobby. Once a month, I dress up and give tours and act like I know things.
The museum has been very short staffed lately and I was asked if I could work some all-day shifts. Still just once a month, but 7 hours. I'm not working now so I figured I could help out.
I worked a full day the end of August. I had just gone to the grocery store, the house was in order, there were no events scheduled for the kids. It should have been an easy, low-key day for my husband.
I packed my lunch and off I went to the museum. I was only there TWO HOURS when I got a phone call from my daughter, crying and complaining that dad was being mean. She probably refused to clean her room or something. They called me like, 5 times. Asking me shit, telling me random things, complaining that my husband was in a bad mood. I stopped answering my phone. FIGURE IT OUT.
I checked the bank account before I left and saw that my husband spent $36 at McDonalds. I was so annoyed. I had just gone grocery shopping. That's a thing that I do. I check my bank account 3 times a day and I text my husband like, "What did you spend $11.63 on at Office Depot?" Guess how much fun I am to be married to? Not fun at all.
I called my husband on my way home. He sounded cross. "You need to get home and deal with your heathens. I'm over it."
"They are your heathens too."
"Well, you gave birth to them."
"You helped."
"Kinda, not really."
I sighed. "Listen, just heat up the pizza that's in the fridge. I'll be home soon. Please save me two pieces."
By the time I got home, I was exhausted. I am a lady who lunches now - working a 7 hour shift is hard for a woman of my genteel nature.
I walked into the house and everyone was on the couch watching a movie. The house was a wreck, I walked into the kitchen to make myself a plate of pizza. There was a 6 inch hole in my kitchen wall, the breakfast plates were still sitting on the counter and there were crumbs on the pizza stone.
"Hey did you guys save me any pizza?"
They shrugged. "No."
I could feel the rage building up inside of me. Creeping from my chest, up my neck. I took a deep breath and without saying anything - I turned around, walked out the door, got into my car and drove away.
I took myself out to dinner. I sat alone with my book and had a peaceful time. It was just what I needed. Nobody called our texted me. They probably could tell by the look on my face when I left that I was not in the mood.
When I got home, I was in a better place emotionally but I still mourned the fact that I can't leave the house for 7 hours without everything falling apart. My husband is a capable human being-he just needs to step up his game.
Last Saturday was my September shift. I gave my family a pep-talk before I left. "Okay guys- there is mac n cheese and soup for lunch. I went to the grocery store yesterday so we have plenty of snacks. Listen to dad and don't get on his nerves. Don't call me. Dad is in charge." I turned to my husband, "Seriously, please be legit today. Hold it together." He nodded. "I'm on it."
I went to the museum. Three hours later I had a text message from one of my mom-friends. "You let your daughter walk to the corner store? I don't know if I could do that." I didn't know what was happening. "Is she alone?" She texted back, "No, she is with another girl and a boy."
I didn't know how to respond. I wasn't bothered that she was walking down to the corner store with some of her friends. You don't have to cross a busy road to get there, it was in the middle of the day. I was feeling like I should feign concern for the sake of my friend who felt like I SHOULD be concerned.
I didn't want to be judged for NOT being concerned. I considered my text back options. I debated, "Yeah - we're letting our kids raise themselves at this point" or "I'm embracing the new free-range parenting philosophy." Instead I settled for, "I'm working right now so my husband is in charge." I threw my husband under the bus. It was the most honest response I could give and it saved me from having my parenting choices judged.
I thought that would be it for the day. NOPE. Two hours later I get a call from my husband informing me that my oldest daughter was suffering from abdominal pain. Surely, it couldn't have been that bad if she had just walked to the corner store with her friends. I triaged over the phone. "Okay, make her some toast or applesauce for a snack. Make sure she's hydrated. Take her temperature and make sure she doesn't have a fever. Give her some Tylenol. Make her try to use the bathroom. Tell her to take a hot shower and lay down and rest." I gave many options. I was not concerned. He sounded confident that he could get her to settle.
I got another call 2 hours later. "She doesn't have a fever but I gave her medicine and she still is in a lot of pain. She's crying." I sighed. "Look, just take her to urgent care down the street. I'm sure she's fine. I'll be done in about an hour and I'll give you a call."
"Okay."
I called him back at the end of my shift. He sounded defeated, "The doctor at urgent care sent us down to the Children's Hospital. We just got here." Well, that escalated rather quickly. I left work and met them at the ER at the Children's Hospital.
I walked into the triage area. My husband was sitting next to my daughter who was in a wheelchair. She turned to me when I walked in. Her eyes were red, her face puffy and tear stained. I leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head. "It hurts, mom."
"I know, but they are going to fix you all up. It's going to be all right."
They wheeled her to the back and my husband and I followed behind. He handed me the diagnostic report from urgent care. "I can't leave for one day without everything falling apart," I joked.
"Dude! This is not my fault."
She climbed into bed and moaned. She was in a fair amount of pain. Before long, a resident came in. He was young and handsome with dark bags under his eyes. He looked like he needed a nap. He examined my daughter and asked her some questions. Then he turned to us and named all the things that could be causing her abdominal pain. Every horrible thing. I took a deep breath. I was keeping the faith that it was something minor and that they'd figure it out.
"We are going to do some blood work, take her up for an ultrasound and we also have to give her a pregnancy test." He said it in an almost whisper.
"It's just standard procedure," he said. "Do you have questions for me?"
"Can you give her something for the pain?"
"Yeah, I'll order some morphine."
Well, shit. Let's just go all the way.
They came and started an IV and administered the morphine. Before long, she was a different person. She was talking non-stop. I tried to talk to my husband and she put her hand up and said, "No. We're not doing that right now. We are paying attention to me. I'm the patient. You talk to each other later." She told us stories about her friends. "Are you going to tell us all of your secrets now?" I asked her.
She turned to me in her drug-induced haze and said, "I don't have secrets from you guys. I tell you everything. You are my BFFs!" I should have gotten that on tape.
They got ready to wheel her to ultrasound. As the nurse pushed her down the hallway, she called out "Wheeee! This is like a roller coaster. Not like a real roller coaster, like the dragon roller coaster at the fair. You know what I'm talking about?"
The ultrasound tech did her thing. We saw all of my daughter's guts. She was amazed. Especially when she saw her kidney. She freaked out.
"MOM! LOOK! It's a bean. There is a bean INSIDE of me!!!!" The ultrasound tech chuckled.
After the ultrasound, we went back to the room and waited for the doctor to come back in. Long story short, she had a kidney infection. They prescribed some antibiotics and sent us on our way.
She was still doped up when she got home. She sat on the couch and spent 20 minutes watching herself raise and lower her eyebrows on her cellphone camera.
The next day I emailed the museum and told them that I could ONLY work morning shifts until further notice. My daughter was much better when she got up in the morning. She didn't remember a thing. I told her that she called us her "BFFs." She looked at me skeptically, "You're lying!"
Last week, my husband and I had a little lunch date out. We have committed to not going out to eat since I quit my job so it was a special occasion.
I walked into Moe's (we used to go there AT LEAST twice a week) and the cashier looked surprised to see me. "Where have you been? I didn't recognize you! You look different -thinner, healthier, happy, glowing!" I looked around to make sure she was talking me me. "I do?" I thought that was quite a compliment. I don't think I look any different than I ever have but it must be the weight off of my shoulders. I definitely feel lighter and less beaten down on a daily basis.
Am I happier? I don't know. I don't think I was ever unhappy. I am definitely more relaxed, more clear, less frazzled.
Things are changing. I can feel it with all of my being. It's not a bad thing, it's just a time of transitions. In the same way that summer turns into fall -I am entering this next stage of my life. I'm just not entirely sure where I'm going yet.
My children are getting older. My youngest is at the same school as her sister now. She's starting to care more about her appearance, she is much taller now, she is getting serious about gymnastics and spends a lot of time with her headphones stuffed in her ears. She is still my baby but she is not a baby anymore.
My oldest's life is a whirlwind of school, marching band, dance practice and LONG phone calls with T-man. *sigh*
Two weeks after I quit my job, my husband came home and told me that he will start traveling extensively for his job. It's a strange coincidence that those two events overlapped. Over the next 6 months he'll be gone for 15 days at a time with 11 day breaks in between. He gets to go to fun places - California, Georgia, Texas, Germany, Colorado. I am excited for him. He'll get a lot of great experience and it's a good opportunity for him. I used to travel for work, now it's his turn.
The other day, I was straightening my ponytail when I noticed something shimmering in the light. A long, silver hair. I plucked it out and examined it. "Holy Shit! That's a gray." I'm not supposed to get grays yet. I'm too young.
That night I lamented to my husband. "Can you believe that I found a gray hair in my head today? MY HEAD?!?!?!"
He didn't seem surprised, "Yeah, that happens."
"I'm aging!"
He laughed, "You're no spring chicken."
"Do you want to change my shit diapers?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about the road I'm headed down...."
He rolled his eyes, which is the most appropriate way to deal with me. Bless him. I could not be married to myself. I'm too neurotic.
The gray hair is just a reminder of the 30-life crisis I'm going through. The stage of my life that I'm in where I am wondering where all the time went and what the hell I'm supposed to do next. I feel like I should have all the answers by now. On paper, I have all my shit together but I truth is that lately I can't shake the feeling that I am just completely average and will be average my whole life. I don't want to be average. I want to be AMAZING, BAD-ASS, SOMEBODY.
I've come to peace with the fact that I need to be still and have faith that eventually I will be able to look back and connect the dots. Hopefully I won't have too many more gray hairs by then.
I've been nesting. I can't quite figure it out. I'm not having a baby (Thank the Lord Jesus). Maybe it's because I'm coming out of this fog and I'm realizing how much I've let the house go to shit. Seriously, a few weeks ago I stood in front of my house and thought:
We tore up all of our bushes. I painted our shutters, mailbox, and front door. I repainted the porch and garage door trim. I purchased some bushes and flowers. I planted mums in hanging baskets that will hang from the porch. It's going to look so nice!
The kids had off from school today because of the tropical storm so we got to sleep in. I didn't have to pack lunches or drive anyone to gymnastics. It was the best thing ever. Since it's September, it was time for me to put up the autumn decorations. I went to the garage and pulled out the bin labeled "FALL DECOR" but I rustled through some of the other containers. I had 3 LARGE bins of kids papers. I pulled them out as well.
After I had taken down the flags, switched out the wreath, draped autumn garlands, hung a cinnamon broom and lit a pumpkin candle - it was time to tackle the kids papers. I opened them up and went through everything. Some of it I hadn't seen in years.
There were some things that were mine. A report card from first grade, random report cards from my middle and high school years. My high school year books, and sloppy pictures that I drew in kindergarten.
I kept some clothing items. The dress my oldest came home from the hospital in, an Easter dress that belonged to my youngest. My got rid of my oldest's kindergarten graduation gown and the sling that I'd carried the kids around in. It was hard but I did it.
The papers were overwhelming. I saved so much. Every scribble, every card, every award and report card. My kid got an award for pooping in the potty. I'm not kidding you, it was signed and everything. I get it, it's a big deal when your kid takes a dump in the toilet for the first time but do I really need a piece of paper in the garage commemorating the event?
I started purging. Great - my kid wrote the letter "J" twenty times. Why am I keeping this? Toss. Why do I have the note cards for a red panda research paper? Toss. Before long, I had a huge pile of stuff to get rid of.
My kids came downstairs while I was mid-purge. "What are you doing with all of our papers mom?"
"I'm getting rid of them."
They were personally offended. "Why? Don't you want this stuff? We made it."
I was going to stand my ground. I was not going to re-pack this stuff. I asked them to look through some of it. "Do you want me to save this stuff to give to you to store in garage when you grow up?"
They shook their heads "no".
"Good. Now one of you go get me a trash bag so I can throw away all of these memories." Bad Mom Award.
In the end, I threw out 2 trash bags full. I still saved a lot of stuff. I saved the report cards and awards, some drawings, memory books they made in school, I even saved the award my daughter got for shitting on the toilet. Things that they'll want someday, maybe.
I felt like a horrible parent doing it, but the truth is - there is no reason to save that stuff. They are sitting in boxes in my garage. My house is full of things my kids have made. I have their framed art hanging all over my house, my kitchen window sill is a menagerie of clay art projects they've made.
I may have thrown out a TON of their old school work and their art BUT what they don't realize is that I've been writing about them since they've been born. Literally, hundreds and hundreds of pages of stories and accounts of our days together, funny things that they've said.
My opus will be compiling all of it for them. I'll pair up stories with pictures and get it printed and bound. I think they'll enjoy that much more than the poop-in-the-potty award.
