She can let it all go in dance class and she doesn’t give a rip.
And then…she ripped one.
My sweet-faced, curly-haired three-year-old angel let it all go in dance class, literally. And not while the music was blaring. Not while their little bodies were in motion. She waited until prayer circle. When it was quiet. Eerily quiet. Those last few seconds after the instructor asks, “Any last prayer requests?”
Bwooooop!! “Hee-hee-hee I tooted.” Yep. That was my daughter. Our tiny dancer is a big tooter.
The other girls giggled, too young to know (or care), that public flatulence isn’t socially acceptable. A few of the older girls looked at her with what seemed to be…admiration. “Wow, that chick just totally farted and didn’t even care! OMG she laughed about it!” (Or whatever tween girls talk like nowadays.)
And while I have …
Soaking in some mommy-daughter time.
For every stay-at-home-mom who’s complaining on her blog about her lack of appreciation (ahem, like me), there’s another mom sitting in a cubicle, dreaming of spending time with her little ones. She glances over at their faces in the 5×7 frame, and counts the hours and minutes until she can ooze into her front door after a long day of work to a chorus of “Mommy! Mommy! We’re so glad you’re home!” She would give anything to be in my shoes, but she can’t. She’s the sole bread winner, or the insurance carrier, or the single parent.
For every hair I pull out of my head while my children are driving me crazy, there’s another mom thousands of miles away, with sand in her hair and her combat boots. It …
Alright. Before I made the decision to stay home with my girls full time almost five months ago, my SAHM friends tried to warn me. They told me how hard it was to live on a frayed shoestring budget, never get a sick day, be with your kids from sunup to sundown and the kicker? Nobody really appreciates you for it. While I never thought for a second that this job would be easy, I had NO idea how hard it would be. No idea. I work so hard…for no money.
They appreciate me, right? Right?! I sure appreciate them.
But it’s not just about the money. I left a career I was good at. Really good at. But I was in the right place at the wrong time in my life. And time was …
Forget a lump of coal. We need a bar of soap!
I often hear people say they just “make” their kids do things. This perplexes me. I mean, it’s fairly easy with my fifteen month old, but nearly impossible with my three year old. She’s strong when she’s mad. I mean, super strong. And besides, physically forcing my child to do something against their will is a bit traumatic (unless it’s taking necessary medicine, then I just sit on her). Oh yeah, I also threw out my lower back, and hubby was gone, so physical force really wasn’t an option.
So, when my eldest daughter refused to take a bath, I was beyond frustrated. Bath refusal is something new. Here’s how our little exchange went:
…………
Honey, it’s bath time. Please get in with your sister.
No, I …
Children will eat you alive. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Hey. You two. With the lovey-dovey nicknames and hands that seem magnetized to each other’s backsides. I have a bit of news for you. Right now, you’re enjoying the freedom of youth and childlessness. As you should be. Live it up. Live it up now.
Because someday, you’ll be just like me. Maybe not within the next five years, but probably within the next ten. No? You think you’re so different? You think you will forge a different path to parentdom? Maybe. But I doubt it. Few get by unscathed. If you think parenting is as hip as the celebs make it look in that glossy magazine you’re reading, then you’d better find out a way to get rich real quick.
Soon enough, you’ll be the …
I finally stepped out to face my fears…and set myself free.
A heart never beats as loudly as when you’re crouched behind the backside of an open door, peeking out through the open hinge, and staring at your arch nemesis. Why was she here? How did she know where to find me? My grandparent’s house was supposed to be safe. Supposed to be off limits. Yet here I was, hiding from her hideous face, the blue Snoopy-print cafe curtains slightly stirring from the ceiling fan in the toy room.
I willed my lungs to stop working, if just for a moment. Each inhale and exhale seemed to echo through the room. Soon, she would find me. I feared I would wet myself. I was a child. And terrified. Absolutely panic-stricken. What would she do to me? …