Ask me how to strap a giant whale to my minivan and drive 1600 miles home with it! I'll tell you how. Ask me to define the word sharing. It's different than what you might expect. Ask me how to get your child to learn there's more to life than pb&j. Wait, don't ask me that. Ask me what it's like to have an autistic child. I'll try to help you understand. Ask me to show you my Mom of the Year award! Oops, usually I'm out of the running for that about 10 minutes after getting out of bed.
Yet, it's all good. Sure, the paycheck is lost in the mail but I still wouldn't trade this life, quirks and all. In my posts, I'm hoping you'll find humor and honesty and that you'll be able to relate to my humble acceptance of motherhood's ups, downs and in betweens.
Welcome to my world!
DON’T TELL DADDY!
SWOOSH! SLAM! CRASH! THUNK THUNK THUNK!
My six year old just lost control of his controller. Yep, that’s right. The Wii controller that is his golf club just went flying across the room, slamming into the wall and knocking over a small replica of an old Italian abbey, blessed by the Pope himself (according to my mom).
“WHAT WAS THAT?!” I hiss possibly with fire coming out of my mouth, myself being perched on a tall barstool, attempting to deck my halls with boughs of holly, falalalafreakingla, on the last day before December begins.
“DON’T TELL DADDY!” Ryan emerges from the TV room, eyes wide, controller in hand behind his back.
WHAT?! I think to myself. YOUR FATHER?! Give me a break. For these are three words that I hear often in my house, from two out of my three speaking children. And Daddy is the least person in this house to flip out! Do you not see the level of rage in my face? My mom brought that back from ITALY, for crying out loud. And by the way, I am up here decorating for the holidays, have been all day, I do NOT need another shelf to deal with, got it?
But, he’s moved on. Because no matter who is the one to lose their cool faster in this house (me), no matter who is the one to have some illogical meltdown (me), who is the one with the be all, end all threats, empty as they may be (me), it is THEIR FATHER that they seem to fear the most when it comes to doing something they know they weren’t supposed to be doing. Your Dad doesn’t even know what shelf that thing belongs on! I mutter to myself as I right the abbey in its place, reminding Ryan to please, for the love of God, wrap the Wii wristbands around your hands so you don’t put a hole in the tv!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! SWAAAHHHSH, goes the dragon’s breath from my mouth!
Who knows if he understands because he’s got a hot game of Wii golf going on and his mother yelling at him is just another day in the park, deaf ears activated.
I have no answers to this, none. I have an image of the house burning down and as I’m scrambling to save all of us plus the dining room table, my children saying “Don’t tell Daddy!” and handing me the matches to hide.
Isn’t it funny how that works out? Even now that my kids are older they still fear their father, though I can’t imagine why when I’m the one who is always fussing at them for stuff, and the kids know it because who do they tattle to? ME!
Comment by Jody — December 1, 2008 @ 11:11 amthat last paragraph is classic….
Comment by kim — December 13, 2008 @ 8:19 pmI can’t do anything but laugh… or I’ll cry! :)
Comment by Megan — December 20, 2008 @ 4:11 pm