My little runner. Don’t let her cuteness fool you.
Dark pink. Bright yellow. Dark pink. Bright yellow. My eyes searched through green t-shirts, white leggings, denim shorts and purple rompers until they landed on a dark pink tank top and bright yellow sun dress. My children. I leaned back against the glass wall, and relaxed into the cushioned bench that rested on top of the shoe cubby. The play area at Chick-fil-A was packed, probably fifteen or so preschoolers and toddlers, all eager for a chance to expend some of their energy. Outdoor parks aren’t a good option at the moment, as flooding rains have turned them into mud holes and mosquito feasting grounds.
We were enjoying a lovely day, me and my girls, despite my churning stomach, waves of hot flashes and light head. These …
Okay, I know there are other parents out there who’ve been caught with their pants down…in the bathroom. Seriously, especially for us moms, I never knew what a luxury it was just to pee (and perform other bodily functions) alone. So today, I developed a plan. It’s called the “Lack of Privacy Payback Plan” to be exact. So here goes:
The number of minutes my preschooler stands in the doorway and talks to me while I’m using the restroom are equivalent to the number of minutes I’ll stand in her doorway and talk to her…while she’s trying to make out with her boyfriend someday.
But I’m not going to stop there. This next step is the pièce de résistance. I’ll not only stand in her doorway and talk to her, I’ll repeat word for word the questions, statements …
The smell of a dying fire swirled through the air as the sound of crickets filled the dark silent space. My left hip bone dug into the hard ground, it’s own layer of fat and the thick sleeping bag underneath providing a slim layer of comfort. Our first family camping experience would prove to be memorable, even if uncomfortable.
While my heart beat contentedly in my non-sleeping chest, full of love and gratitude, my body ached. My neck rested at an odd angle, perched atop a caramel-colored teddy bear named Frances. Pressed against my back was my sleeping preschooler, and tucked under my left arm was my sleeping toddler. Her auburn hair, badly in need of a trim, was pasted to her forehead and neck, and her hot breath hit my face with …
Today has been one of those Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Days. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but only slightly. No, we haven’t experienced a major catastrophe, meltdown, illness or otherwise majorly stressful event. Rather, it’s been one of those days that wear you down, drop by drop, like a slow leak in your roof that’s hard to pinpoint. It’s hard to fix, because you can’t nail down the source.
After failing to get the mower started, and giving up on getting anything done outside (this God-forsaken Kansas wind!!!), I let the girls stay on our covered front porch to play while I went in and did dishes. I turned the AC off, and opened the storm door glass, so I could still hear them through the screen.
“Oh, hi sweetie. How was your day today? I …
Her touch makes everything better.
She never taught me how to style my hair, or do my makeup, or dress in the most flattering fashions. She didn’t teach me how to blow a bubble, ride my bike, or snap my fingers. I don’t recall her ever making cupcakes for my class, or putting on an elaborate birthday party. A box cake mix and a can of frosting was about as fancy as it got. We never went for mother/daughter manis or pedis, or spa days, or other such extravagances.
But in the end, as I reflect on my own journey of motherhood I realize that all the things my mother never did for me, are things that never really mattered at all.
She always taught me how to stand up for what I believe in, be loyal …
The magic of this moment couldn’t possibly be captured by camera. Still, I’m glad to have it.
I can still remember the way she looked on my chest. Wet from the womb, her eyes wild and her chin, strong and angular, jutted out at me as if in an immediate assertion of dominance. She’s always been strong. Strong minded, strong willed. So strong, in fact, that she left a large, deep bruise on my left breast after a faulty first latch, such a painful encounter was our first as mother and daughter. “Good luck feeding that barracuda,” the nurse joked. How right she was. I gave up nursing after three weeks. Cracked nipples and scorching thrush meant that each feeding session was excruciating. I’ve always felt guilty about giving up on her, and perhaps I …