It’s a Mom’s Prerogative.

Can I just say I love being a mom! I get to be there for all the firsts, seconds and thirds to infinity.  But even better than that I get to be on the sidelines as my boy ROCKS the basketball court!  I get to yell, cheer and cringe, and no one thinks I’m crazy.  They just look at me and say, “She must be his mom.”  It’s AWESOME!  And it doesn’t even matter to me if the other mothers are sitting by quietly with their little golf claps because they really don’t know what’s going on anyway. And I am not annoyed that it’s the dad’s making all the noisy.  I can make noise with the best of them.  It’s not even about winning or losing, it’s about being there to support whatever the outcome is.  It’s encouraging him to do the very best he can and then encouraging him to push just a little harder! It’s about the celebratory slupry after a game well played. 

I love being a mom!

The Logic of a Seven Year Old

I joke with other parents on how we spend the first five years of our children’s lives teaching them to walk and talk, and then we spend the next thirteen years telling them to sit down and shut up.  I am so glad I don't really live by the idea, or I would have missed some of the funniest logic from child D. Here is a conversation I would have missed out on:

Let me set up the scenario, we have just come from the Dr. office, Child D has a sinus infection so we have to drive over to Wal-Mart to fill the prescription.  The conversation goes like this:

(Standing at the pharmacy counter with the pharmacist.)

Child D: Is he a Doctor?

Me: No honey, he's a pharmacist.

Child D: Well that's stupid.

 (Stifling a laugh, and feeling a bit uncomfortable, as the pharmacist is STILL standing there.)

Me: Why is that stupid?

Child D: Well, we just came from the doctor. He is the one who said this medicine will help me get better.  What does this guy know? Why are we getting the medicine from him?

Me: Well, he's kind of like a Doctor.  He has to go to school just like a doctor.  He is the one the doctor tells what kind of medicine will make you better.  Then he has to mix it up and tell us how to use it so you will feel better.

Child D: But why isn't he a doctor, and why did he have to go to school just to hand me a bottle of medicine?

Me: He isn't a doctor because he doesn't have to look at all the sick people, and he has to go to school because he has to learn how to mix all the medicines together so that people won't get hurt when they take them.  Does that make sense?

Child D: Oh, so he goes to school so he can learn how to mix the medicines that the doctor says will make me feel better?

Me: Exactly! Do you understand now?

Child D: Yeah, that makes sense. Mom, can I pick a treat when we pay for the groceries.

(Chuckling to myself, because I know that was the cue that the conversation was over.)

Me: Sure.

If I lived by the thought that children shouldn't talk and ask questions I would have missed the slightly uncomfortable, yet adorable conversation.  I hope we all let our children talk.  Sometimes it might be horribly embarrassing, yet it will probably always be a teaching moment, and a bonding moment.  One of those missed opportunities that I didn't miss. :-)

Play Dough in the Carpet is NOT a Tragedy!

“But there is play dough in the carpet!!”  My husband exclaims.  I can hear the small whimpering sobs of the children coming from various rooms in the house.  I had just returned home from running a few mommy errands.  When I left the children were happily laughing and playing with the play dough at the kitchen table. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and then I ask, “What happened exactly?”  At this point my husband bursts into a ranting montage of details, about how the children were playing with the dough, laughing, being creative and happy, when child C decided to encourage child D to chase her around the couch with the newly created play dough monster. “And?” I patiently reply. I am waiting for the tragedy that caused the sobbing and the eternal banishment to their respective rooms. He gives me this blank stare.  I can feel and see the confusion emulating from his very soul. “And?” he utters, “Now there is play dough in the carpet.”  He looks at me like that one simple statement should explain it all.  I’m really struggling now not to laugh.  I once again have to take a deep breath just to keep from erupting into uncontrollable laughter.  With a calm that I have mastered after being a mom and wife for fifteen years, I reply, “Play dough in the carpet is not a tragedy.” I casually reach for the play dough container.  “Look, see, it says ‘nontoxic, easy clean up’ right on the package.”   I pat him motherly on the shoulder, “Maybe you need a time out honey.”  I reply with a smile. He turns and solemnly walks out of the room.

You see I have a philosophy about raising children, we only get them for a few years and then we have to let them out into the big scary world.  So we need to cherish all the moments we have.  If we are constantly focused on the stupid stuff, we miss the really important things are children need.  I really believe that play dough in the carpet isn’t that big of deal.  I can clean it out, or replace it, but a child can’t be replaced, nor can any of the moments we have with them.  I don’t want to miss anything.  I don’t want a lifetime of regrets for all the missed opportunities to be silly and laugh with my children.