Sisters strolling in the park. I pray they’re always this close.
Last night was a doozie. One of those evenings where every button is pushed, and by the end, every hair is pulled out. Tempers flared. Words hissed. Patience broke.
My youngest has been particularly difficult lately. Every other word is spoken as a whine, and when all 42 pounds of her 3-year-old body decide they don’t want to do something, it’s a back-breaking exercise in frustration. And she thinks it’s funny. And I used to let her get away with too much because, well, she’s my baby. And her older sister had me so wound up with her melodramatic preschooler-acting-like-a-preteen drama fests that I quite welcomed a different kind of naughty. But now? Now? My oldest has entered a “mommy’s little helper” phase while my youngest is …
If hearing voices makes me crazy, so be it. After all, I’m in good company.
Sometimes, internal voices happen outside my mind. Words are spoken, and received by my ears, rather than merely bubbling up in my brain. Who do these words belong to? Me. But not me. Both a better version…and a worse one. The proverbial devil and angel. The cartoon characters dressed in red and white perched atop opposing shoulders.
It’s simple, really. The devil with the red dress on is selfish, easily agitated and aloof. The ethereal one speaks softly, reacts slowly and remains engaged at all times. To be honest, sometimes she annoys me. Sometimes I just want to hang out and wallow in self satisfaction with the one in stilettos. But I can’t trust her. She doesn’t have my best interest …
Was that really a piece of dog hair embedded in dried snot on my child’s face? Yes. Yes it was. Unfazed, I reached up and pulled it off, and then thought I’d better clean that snot off, too. Gross. Only, not gross. Just normal. It’s weird how normal gross things are when you have kids. I’m nearly immune to the smell, texture and sound of bodily fluid as it drips, squirts and flies out of my children. Motherhood. Is this all?
I can still remember when my first-born nephew was around 18 months old (that would have made me 6 and a half). He was eating a cupcake (or something white, I can’t really recall). He had a smudge on his face, and my sister casually reached over, wiped it off with one finger, and licked …
“Let’s take pictures of the way the light is coming into the house mommy.” Just like I wouldn’t trade these hardwood floors, I wouldn’t trade my sometimes-difficult daughter for anything easier to maintain. She is worth the beauty.
I pinched a little white tablet out of the orange prescription bottle. 10 mg. What could it hurt? But what could it help? Could a man-made concoction of chemicals really help un-kink the rat’s nest of anxiety in my mind? I’d had the bottle for a week, but only now decided to start taking them. I knew it would be a commitment. This wasn’t my first rodeo with mind-fixing meds. But I’ve never been able to hang on for long. The side effects or non-effects just didn’t seem worth the benefits. So why would this time be …
I tell her she’s really fast on her bike. She’s not. But what am I, some kind of jerk?!
In our typical rush to get out the door in the morning, I got everyone ready before myself. (Which is a huge mistake, if you know the whole “air mask on a plane” theory. With both girls dressed, hair brushed, and teeth sanitized, I finally took off my own PJ’s. I threw open my closet door. No. Too dressy. I opened up my “pajama/workout clothes” drawer. Perfect. My “bigger” running shorts and matching lavender tank top. I quickly assembled my outfit and glanced at the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door.
Oh. My. Gosh. My stomach. At only 7 weeks pregnant, it’s already popping over the elastic on my shorts like a busted can …
Are there ever times when you hear your child calling you, and it takes awhile to respond? Not because you’re ignoring him/her, not because a baby is screaming in your ear, and not because you’re so tired that you’ve accidentally dozed off on the floor while playing blocks. But because you still can’t quite believe you’re a parent. “You talking to me kid?” That some great power above bestowed on you this much responsibility, this much authority. And unless your child came by way of adoption, you probably didn’t have to pass any kind of test.
It happens to me quite often. Moments that I not only shake my head and wonder why I of all people was trusted with these little creatures, but wonder how on earth I can manage to not totally screw them …