Get that kid in a classroom!
To some moms, these words strike horror into their hearts. To all the other moms, me included, it’s time to party.
My kids make me laugh, cry, and throw a choice word every now and again when I find 20 pair of shoes at the bottom of the steps. Oh, you blessed shoe. You’ve seen your days flying through the air to the top of the steps only to stay in a heap there. At least I don’t have to look at them that far up.
To get back on track, and to be courteous (see last blog – ahem) I will give the benefit of the doubt to all you moms that get sad when their kids get on the big yellow bus. I know you miss them, and everything that summer entails. Late mornings rising past 9 a.m., treks to the swimming pool, getting groceries with three kids hanging off the cart…
Wait a minute. Scratch that last part. Get those kids in a classroom!
Yesterday, as we were eating a lovely late summer supper, I took stock of my son’s appearance. He was gnawing heartily on the fresh burgers I had grilled, oblivious to his surroundings. I saw what looked suspiciously like a hole in his hair. An area so matted I thought he had got in a fight and someone pulled a chunk of hair out. Either that or it was the beginning stages of dreadlocks. But I digress. Upon further investigation, I could see the dent in his noggin came from none other than his Turtle Beaches.
TUR-TLE BEA-CHES: Really sweet earphones for Xbox that let you hear your opponent creeping up on you. Like really, mom, you can hear EVERYTHING.
Yes, I’m the mom whose son’s head is permanently dented for playing hours of Call of Duty: Black Ops.
Put a pencil in that kid’s hand! Make him do some algebra!
When they were little, I counted the days until all three of them were in school. I did cherish the days they were home. I can still hear Arthur, Barney, and Rugrats playing in the living room. Screams emanating from the backyard as they chased after each other in endless hide and seek sessions.
Some days, all it takes is a line from Little Bear to get me all nostalgic for little hands and sturdy bodies that would melt into your lap.
I was never, though, the mom that held on to them so tightly that they felt guilty for leaving me. I somehow knew, in that cloud of preschoolers, that they needed wings, not chains, for flying high. And in this process, it gave this mom the courage to find her own wings.
These days, as my two left at home head into their junior and sophomore years, I don’t find myself counting down the days to school. I’m working three days a week, and the yawning crevasse of time to myself has waxed and waned to only two days a week.
Still, those alone days beckon me. It’s the time for me to catch up on all those novels that have piled up beside my bed. I won’t feel guilty for picking them up and finishing them. There’s also the writing I want to do that is building up in my head and needs to come out into word form.
And the thing I most I look forward to? The silence that lets me simply be Missy. Not mom, or babe, or whoever I am when I’m with my family. Sometimes we just need to find our names again.
That is, until your kids come screaming in the door yelling, “Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom!” Oh wait, that’s just my kid with the dent in his head – the one that always makes me laugh when I’m mad at him. And the other child with her quiet academic ways, who when prompted, will talk for two hours straight about everything going on in her life.
I am split in three. Wife, mother and Missy. And I happily know where to find each piece of her.
Viva back to school!