Summer Slump

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At times I imagine I’m capable of being all cavalier and professing I have no shame in humbly admitting my failings as a parent. Alas, this would make me a liar, liar pants on fire.  The reality is, I’ve never been so afraid of failing at anything in my life as I am with this gig, being a mom. I lose sleep. Lots of sleep. I have whiskey in the pantry and my Bible by the bed. I cannot. mess. this. up. And yet, I do. Daily. Now you know.

While there’s not been bloodshed, say for the droplets from my own eyes that I’ve just poked out of my head, it has reached a fever pitch here at the Cole House. If whining and nit-picking were an Olympic sport, we’d take gold. Solid 24K. It’s maddening. No, no, that’s not accurate. It makes me apoplectic. (Grab your Webster’s.  No here, let me help: http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/apoplectic). I can handle arguing, I can handle yelling, I can even handle the occasional brawl.  But the acutely self-absorbed mentality that has afflicted my children of late, I cannot do. And why, you ask, have they been recently plagued with this solipsism? (Here ya go: http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/solipsistic) Because I messed up, that’s why.  Yep, it was me who unwittingly invited this horror into our home.

It happened last week.  I was chatting with a friend.  I let loose and boasted with reckless abandon! “Well, we’ve just had a really great Summer so far, the kids are getting along swimmingly!” At the time, thunderous laughter erupted in the heaven’s, I thought it was my children frolicking upstairs. But, no, it was fate peeing its pants at my brazen display of ignorance.  And so, here we are.  The tables have turned flipped violently. I don’t even know my children anymore.  Who are these people in my house!??  Selfish! Mean! Demanding! Rude! I won’t have it! You don’t want to share your Legos? FINE!  Then yer gonna have to shove ‘em where the sun don’t shine cuz I don’t ever want to see them AGAIN! (No, no, I would never say that. Not within earshot of the children anyway.) Your hotdog is cold? Ooopsy, sorry mama failed to hit reheat on the micro over and over while you enjoyed Minecraft! EAT. YOUR. DOG!

And so, I confess the error of my ways. I eat my humble pie with a whiskey chaser. When my kids return to normal, and they will, I vow to NEVER again boast at good behavior.  I will keep it secret.  I will build a mote around the sanctity that is a quiet household.  I will sit by the window with my cup of tea and relish privately in the peace.  And when my neighbors drive by and see me smiling with my Earl Grey, I will scream wildly and duck to the floor!  Because never again will I invite this curse into my home!

Chocolate Soup

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It’s a rare occasion we visit McD’s these days.  Trying diligently to permanently adopt that healthy lifestyle. But, we stopped by today, as a lunch treat, after a morning of shopping for back to school.  I pulled up, ordered our usual “healthiest of the choices” with two small vanilla shakes to bolster my chances in running for Mother of the Year.  When I got to the window and paid, the gal said, “Wow, you knew just what you wanted, I love customers like you.”  “Why thank you,” I thought, my type A ego sufficiently stroked.

Then I arrived at the pick-up window.  No one was there. I noticed two small chocolate shakes melting at the window. They were very drippy and soupy.  I thought, “Poor person who ordered those!” Still no helper. I glanced in the rear view and noticed a lengthy line had formed behind me.  My Type A personality felt a tinge of panic at the thought I caused this “special order” back up with my “hold this and hold that.” 5 minutes.  I know it’s only 5 minutes, but come on, in the drive thru 5 minutes is like too short a swimsuit on a too long a ride home from the beach. You know I’m right. Then she arrived…7 minutes.  She opens the window and proceeds to hand me the chocolate soup.  I say, “Oh, we ordered vanilla.”  She continues to extend the shakes and says, “I know. They’re supposed to be vanilla they just look like that.”  She just held the chocolate soup out the window for me to take.  I just stared at her.  She snipes, “Ok, I guess I’ll fix it.”  “That would be swell,” I say. 

The line behind me is now up to Bellingham. My eye is twitching. Her hair color is irrelevant but when she came back to the window I couldn’t help but notice the fluorescent pink bands on her braces. Sans shake she delivers a doozy, “Uh, ya, our vanilla shakes are just like that.” Stares at me.  I say, “Your vanilla shakes are like chocolate soup?”  She grimaces, “Noooo, our vanilla shakes are a little, like, runny.”  Well hon, I’m a little, like, Charlize Theron and a lot, like, Dog the Bounty Hunter… I’m not here to cause trouble, I just want what’s right. So if you’ll kindly hand over my non-chocolate vanilla soup I’ll be on my way. She’s still staring. She brazenly asks, “Um, soooo, do you still want ‘em?” I’ve never wanted vanilla soup so badly in my entire life. “Yes dear, please. But, explaining to Mr. AC Delco behind me why his lunch hour has dwindled to zero is on you and your ineptitude.”

My 9 year old wrapped it up nicely as we drove away, “I think we all understand now why they have a help wanted sign in the window!”

On Fatherhood

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On Fatherhood. The most poignant observation I’ve made between a father and child is that which I’ve observed between my husband and our daughter and soon after, our son. He called her little bean. And she was. A tie from the start, literally, her very first moments, she had his heart and he’s held her there. Wide-eyed little bean, really wide, he carried her about the room and it was as if they were old friends. As if she’d always been his daughter. Indeed. Yet, there was more, it was even bigger than I could articulate. Though hard to construe, I recognized how it made me feel just in watching. I felt safe. Safer than I ever had in my whole life. She was protected, covered, secure. So was I. His arms enveloped her, fixed and unyielding. He was prodigious and towering compared to her wee, slight person. It was untouchable, the whole moment, an isolated haven of everything ever meant to be. In the many days since, I’ve never lost that feeling. The days have been long, the years short and time has a way of altering momentary perfection. Even so, whether climbing up mountainous challenge or flying over with victory flag in tow, it is still exactly as it was ever meant to be. And, in just observing, I’ve been all the greater changed by this one man, the leader of our home, the father of my children. Beholden.

To all the Kings of all the castles, a very Happy Father’s Day.