I came across last week's homework for Kate which explained why she didn't have clue how to spell "where" or "when" because her 103 fever and what appeared to be pneumonia took precedent over practicing those 3 spelling words. I also found the list highlighted where I was supposed to bring spoons instead of plates to the party, explaining why the room mom commented on how someone forgot the spoons. I signed up for plates and bought the plates, but didn't realize that was a subjective list. I thought I was doing so well for having been able to figure out how to work a full week with a sick kid, have them both decorate Valentine boxes, write names on their store-bought character Valentines, cards for the teachers for teacher appreciation week (because of course, it should be the same week), send in the party supplies before the parties, manage to show up to the Valentine parties, work, and figure out what to do with 2 kids who get out of school at 11:30 (butpleasesignthemoutafterthepartyat10:30'causewedon'twantthemanymore) with a full work day. This, my friends, did not come with the instruction manual. I don't remember getting one, now that I think of it. Oh, and Monday's a school holiday. Oh, and Kate's kindergarten class will be doing individual research projects with an activity to teach the class next week. It's to prepare them (their moms) for the higher grades. Research? Seriously? For fun? I asked Kate what she'd like to research. She said, "hearts." I feel certain not the beating kind.
I gave up on being the kind of mom who makes printed cute sayings from Pinterest stapled on ziplocs of fruity heart shaped trail mix, although very jealous of them, and resorted to "get it done." In my mind, I know I could be her, but in reality, I can't make it happen. I don't even try. I also gave up on searching for fun things to entertain my children on school holidays. I don't think I ever tried. I know they are perfectly happy in their PJs, with me, a few legos, scrambled eggs, and play-doh. They tell me so and why mess with perfection.
I came across several things in that stack of papers that make me laugh, stop, and think. Amid the pharmacy bills, house note, insurance cards, tax documents, cancer clinic bills, and random loan offers were these beauties:
A picture of Kate and me. I'm not sure where, but the sky is blue, our hair looks good, and we are happy. And, she loves me. That's all that matters to her, and me too.
A note from Bailey after I let him have it for his intolerable laziness when he half does what he is supposed to sending me into a complete tirade and then him yelling back because he has to have the last word and me sending him to his room. Two wonderful things that could only be decoded by me: 1) He realized I was mad enough to write the note to his daddy to give to me to apologize instead of telling me himself and 2) He knows exactly what he needs to be sorry about - we've rehearsed this many times and since it doesn't change with really any new or different situation, it applied beautifully. I do realize the need to review the spelling of "rude" but I'll tackle that another day. I also like the face with the straight line mouth. Nice touch. I love him and I'm assured that somewhere under there he gets it.
Love this one. "I dot wat to." I've said this so many times. More in my head than out loud, although the out loud became much more frequent beginning about 3 years ago. I want a big poster board with this on it to hold up or a t-shirt - maybe in glitter letters. I found this on the last page of a stapled booklet of activities to complete. She said she was tired of it. I think Kate sums it up perfectly for many things in life. How great would it be to draw a big old "X" with a permanent marker and then scream, "I DON'T WANT TO!" I can make a list - cancer clinic, the alarm clock, figuring out what to eat for dinner, wearing a bra, CT scan, MRI, clean out the dishwasher, super glue the toy, super glue the bleeding lip that really needs stitches but it's just so freakin' late and he's a boy anyway, etc. I know it's toxic, but he was breastfed, right? What if, at the end of the day, when you're just tired, it would work to hold up the poster or put on the t-shirt? The problem is that the "need to" in spite of the "don't want" never ends, but I love that it works for her right now. There's plenty of time to learn the "you have no choice."
Now, over the past three years, my mothering mode has ramped up to hyperdrive. When you are told that your job as a mom might be cut short - which I came to realize all too early that a mother's job is never finished, no matter how old they are - you get with it. By that, I mean that if there is a first time for anything, you make sure you're there - with a camera. When you try to explain that you may have to work at Valentine party time and a tear appears, you say, "just kidding," rearrange your schedule to get it all done and realize that you will take the day off next time. When your son has a bad day because he might have actually started to come out of his shell and talked too much in class, you pick him up put him in your lap and talk him through it, explaining that "G" is for good, and he's really good - nobody's really "E" for excellent in life. You make sure they "get" the lesson out of the mistakes they made, or you made. You let your kids decide whether to wear PJs all day on a school holiday instead of trying to plan some memorable experience because that one will be just as memorable and have no guilt about wearing yours too. And at the end of the week, when you really want to hold up the sign and REALLY wanted a hotel for the weekend with no washing machine or kitchen, you'll completely settle for a Starbucks and 20 minutes in the Anthropologie sale rack.
I've realized that I'll always be one-upped. There will always be the mother who sells 300 boxes of cookies to your 38, the one who took her kids Disney World over the school holiday, the one with the cute printed paper Pinterest sayings - we got some, so thank you. The kid who got that "Terrific Kid" award but you have no idea how or you would darn sure make sure your kid is terrific enough to quit hearing about it again.
But, in the eyes of my own kids, they won't remember my inadequacies, or the pieces of paper I overlooked. Well, except for that one time with the picture with the baby kangaroo. But, heck, how was I supposed to know that if you didn't pay $7 you couldn't even see then dang things. The form was not that specific. And, I won't really remember in the morning how exhausting it was to discuss why "hurricames" occur around water and why we just can't get a fire-bellied toad because I draw the line at live bugs in my home and they eat crickets.
Truthfully, it's pretty much all erased every time those freshly shampooed heads snuggle up against me or I get the very first glimpse of those sleeping faces before they greet the day every morning. The magnitude is exhausting but I certainly would trade it. I wouldn't trade the bruises on my feet from the Lego bricks, changing a vacuum cleaner bag full of rainbow loom bands, the bowl of crayons sitting on my coffee table for decoration or artistic expression, the watermelon toothpaste on my bathroom counter, or the fingerprints on every light-switch in my house for anything in the world. This is definitely what I signed up for. I want to. THIS is ALL the instruction manual says. The manual was wrapped in a blanket - one blue, and then one pink, and handed to me, to write myself.
Here's the best one - hidden among the ABCs and some other random jargon, as the real stuff so often is:
Yes, you are. Inside and out.
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