I've been slack on the Mom Things - not that there haven't been millions, but for some reason I've been busy. I always sit down to type them out, and someone beckons me from the nursery or from the grips of one of their siblings or from the bathroom. Such is life! Since most blog posts of late have taken over two days from start to finish, I'm considering it a success that this one took just the better part of a single day. Without further ado, after a way-too-long hiatus...How to Know You're a Mom...
During an intense game of "Doctor", you realize your child has a lot to learn before she can expect a successful career in medicine...
Dr. Abby: Your brains are coming out.
Me: Sounds serious.
Dr. Abby: Let me check my computer. (comes back holding toy hammer) My computer says the only way to get them to stay is to hammer them in. (begins tapping on my head)
Me: Whoa, whoa...you don't put me to sleep first?
Dr. Abby: (without hesitation) No. But you can have a teddy bear to hold.
Me: I'll take it.
As you and your son head out to the dentist for one filling apiece, your six year old starts crying because she wants to go to the dentist. What?! Oh that's right, she gets a prize from the treasure box if she's good.
Because it's free and because the projects are pretty cool, you and the kids head out to Lowe's and/or Home Depot most weekend mornings. The kids get to play with hammers, and bring home a toy. On one of the first trips to Lowe's, your five month old was in the mei tai carrier when you heard her start wailing. That's right. Your three year old had taken the hammer to her head. Not violently, but tapping - and enough to make your sensitive baby flip out. After explaining to the three year old that this is far from acceptable, she offered a sincere apology a little later in the form of, "Leah, I'm sorry I hammer you." And you wholeheartedly admit to laughing right out loud at that.
[I just realized that not one, but two, of these involve hammers to the head. I promise this is not something we teach them.]
As is often the case with older children on a power trip, your nine year old was trying to demonstrate his superior academic knowledge over your six year old.
Ben: Abby, who's the president of the United States?
Abby: (without hesitation and with matter-of-fact conviction) John Franksmin.
Ben: (confused) Maybe she meant the other guy who might be the next president.
Me: Mitt Romney?
Ben: Mint Romney?! That's even worse! What kind of a name is Mint? I thought that was a candy.
(At your infant's 6 month checkup)
Doctor: Let's put you on your belly and see if you can roll over. WHOA! You're crawling off the table!
You: Yeah, I forgot to tell you that part.
Over Labor Day you went on an overnight trip to the in-law's house and came home to a backdoor wide open that someone failed to close behind them when they when out to get their shoes from the back porch before church. By the grace of God, no one stole anything, but you did have some vagabond mosquitoes take up residence. You're still killing strays a week later. This is your Public Service Announcement. The 9 year old should never be the last one out of the house before vacation. (And your mom's voice echoes in your head, "Do you think we live in a barn?!")
Your three year old takes away the most interesting things from your nightly devotions. One time there was an illustration using a bear (no one even remembers the specifics anymore), which convinced her that rogue bears were going to walk into the house and eat her. For weeks she feared this. You finally explained that bears only live in the mountains (okay, so that's totally not true), and that you don't live near any of those. Her prayers changed to "Thank you, God, for the mountains being far away." Then she added, "Thank you for Daddy killing all of the bears." Hmm...things you didn't know about how your husband spends his free-time...
Your three year old has taken up bribery in an attempt to get what she wants. Her latest offering, "I'll give you a trophy if you set up this Polly Pocket world in the living room." Tempting...
The beauty contests. Your five and three year olds bedeck themselves in various dresses and accessories, tap me on the hip, and demand that you tell them which one is prettier. You are forbidden from calling it a tie. This seems like something that would cause lasting damage to their little psyches. Even if you choose them both every other time, there is no shortage of tears. Worst game ever. You ultimately decide to just deal with the wrath of not playing with them on that "game."
While cleaning the seat on your doorway jumper, your three year old seizes the opportunity to use it as her own personal trapeze.
A BREAK IN THE ACTION
5 months ago