Sure, Santa. Stop by and drop off your presents. Have a cookie or eight. But that’s not all the oldest child in this house requests of you. Answer her questions and then sign on the line. I’m not sure it will hold up in court but I’m pretty sure the 9-year-old will hold you to the answers.
Oh yeah, and P.P.P.P.S., don’t forget it’s Jesus’ birthday.
A few weeks ago, I started writing an unfinished blog about how it’s been tough for me to give my kids room to grow. I’ve been worried that I’m suffocating their free spirits by not letting them play outside by themselves more – or stay over more friends’ houses – or let them walk the block to the bus stop without supervision. I see children playing outside in our neighborhood with other kids, no adult in sight. It looks as though they run this place. Confident and carefree, growing into their own. My kids, meanwhile, are sheltered.
It’s not that I don’t trust my children. I don’t trust others and situations outside of my watch. It’s been like that even for sleepovers at friends’ houses. Nia just had her first “alone” sleepover at a friend’s this year and I was worried the whole time. I woke up in the middle of the night. I checked my phone. She was fine and I felt like a mess. What’s my problem? I played outside until the street lights came on or until I heard the yell from home base. I had sleepovers and adventures sans adults. It’s just so tough for me to let them walk barefoot in the grass because I feel like when I do, they get stung by a bee.
What I need to remember is that the bee is really out of my control. I didn’t see it there as I sat and read my book. The kids didn’t see it there as they giggled and chased each other. Moments of bliss, interrupted with pain and tears. Mom and dad are there to make it better though. Scoop them up with hugs and kisses – medicine and a bandage. Don’t forget the ice cream. Still, we are able to be the protectors. Always the protectors. But what happens when you can’t be there to protect or comfort?
The heartbreaking tragedy that happened in Connecticut today captures that fear for me. Each day, we send our children on their merry – or cranky (depending on their mood that morning) – way to school and we head off to work or to whatever routine we have on the schedule. “Love you! Have a great day!” Words of caring we exchange to each other as they walk toward the bus or building. “See you later.” Because that’s what’s supposed to happen. See you later.
Sometimes, the hurt that happens when they are away from us isn’t permanent like the violence of today. Hurt feelings or worry in their hearts because of bullies, a fight with a friend or boys saying rude and inappropriate things. (That last one happened to Nia today.) For the most part, that hurt can be healed with an end of the day hug and talk with mom and dad. They feel better. They have some options on how to handle things if it happens again. They know teachers will be there to help because mom and dad talked with them. But still, I couldn’t keep them protected at the moment of their pain and I need to absorb that I never will be able to do that. They are not hurt-proof. None of us are. Mere mortals. Breakable. Perishable. Fragile.
Thinking about what happened in Connecticut today, my heart hurts for all those facing “What now?” and it hoards fear about “What if?” I am telling myself to allow my children to savor more barefoot in the grass and sleepover moments – especially for all those innocent little ones who now cannot.
I can’t believe it took me this long to notice. Well, maybe I did but I just didn’t want it to be happening so quickly. Other people mentioned the change to us. “Wow! Nia is getting so tall!” “She’s really growing!” “Nia had a growth spurt over the summer!” I just kept looking down at you, holding your small hand in mine, kissing you on your forehead – now level with my ribs.
Sure, I kind of noticed when I cleaned out your closet. To me, those 6X’s still fit you but in reality the ankle-length leggings were capris on you. I folded each younger size and hugged a few pieces in memory as I stacked them on your bed. I didn’t want to move them aside but I knew it was necessary to make way for the clothes that really fit you – and are the style you want now.
All the signs were there including how you’re now able to reach the cups in the cabinet without a chair and how you excitedly point out that you’re getting as tall as me. Heck, sometimes you would stand next to a friend who once towered over you and you’d meet them eye-to-eye. Still, it didn’t register to me like the slap in the face it should have. No. It took a moment of accomplishment for you at a corn maze festival to make me really see.
You climbed the netted tower all the way to the top and you made it look easy. Last fall when we went, you couldn’t pull yourself up to the second level. I watched you struggle and sweat and try so hard to make it to that next layer of net. You were so tired when you finally exited through the entrance. Maybe next time. And you sure did! You climbed it like it was nothing.
Top of the Tower
And then, if that feat of size, strength and determination wasn’t enough, you really showed me how big you are now. Never able to flip over on the bungee ropes before, you gave it another go this time. Of course you flipped. And flipped. And flipped.
Not to be out done, Nate wanted to flip too. I could see his stomach muscles working to try to pull his legs over his head. I was tensing mine as well, trying to zone over some strength for him to succeed. Just when we thought his time was up and no flip was in his immediate future, he gave it one more shot.
Finally, a flip!
I get it already. You’re both growing up. Show offs.
(I wouldn’t want it any other way …)
Pumpkins
Some of us may have a face-washing regimen. Others may like to read a book or need the tv playing. Maybe there’s a blog post/journal entry to write or a bathroom need you must take care of before you finally settle down for your night of sleep. For Nia, it’s always been a very particular process – almost a formula.
It seems happy things (besides her goodnight prayer) is the longest running simmer-down-for-sleep ritual. After years of the same classical music, Nia has started listening to her beloved One Direction CD. “It makes me happy,” she says while turning over to get comfy in her bed.
The best way to fall asleep.
I must start by stating – I don’t consider myself a recycling do-gooder. I am lacking on many levels when it comes to reducing and reusing. However, I do try. We recycle the products accepted by our city each week and I’m aware and care about the amount of waste that we create and that exists all around us. Sometimes, I even feel dirty living in a “new” house when there were so many already in existence that needed loving occupants. That is a different blog post entirely though. Now that it’s off my chest – back to what this is all about – school lunches. (Yes, I just went all the way around all that stuff to get to school lunches. You just took a trip on my brain waves – weird, wild stuff and thanks for sticking around if you’re still reading.)
Yes, school lunches.
For the most part, the kids bring a packed lunch from home. (The one day they don’t is pizza day – apparently still a must buy – even if they don’t have those coveted peanut butter squares that we had as kids.) Every lunch, I would load their boxes with three throw-away plastic snack bags carrying their cheese crackers, carrots and grapes. I have plastic containers for their sandwiches but the rest felt so wasteful and pricey. Then, I spotted these at our grocery store:
Fit & Fresh Kid’s Healthy Lunch Set
They are called Fit & Fresh and I’m pretty happy with them. The kids think they are really cool too. (And so do their friends, so they tell me.) I like them because I don’t feel so wasteful and also because they come with little cool packs inside the lids. I bought the ones for dipping too so I can pack some ranch with the kids’ veggies.
I would say the only thing I don’t love about them is that they aren’t “Made in U.S.A.” Yes, I’m slowly becoming more aware of that as well. I know and understand all the reasons for it saying something else on the plastic – and it is a rarity to find labels with such print on them – but it just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy (supportive?) when it does. I did notice the little Rubbermaid containers I bought for their cheese crackers don those letters so I guess that balances out their lunch box some. I will likely buy more of those Rubbermaids though – did you see the sandwich and entrée kit?!
Reusing in the U.S.A. I’m a fan.
Silly momma. I thought it would be fun to test Nate’s baseball knowledge one night at dinner. I spoke it to him like a math word problem while he spooned up the last of his peas on his plate.
“If you’re playing Third base and there’s a runner on First and the batter hits a grounder to you and the First Base runner is coming for Third, what should you do?”
I was expecting a simple response like, “Throw it to First.” Instead, Nate replied, “I would tag the runner and throw it to get the batter out or I could throw it to Second so he could get the batter and then he could throw it back to me so we could have the runner in a pickle.”
Of course he’s always thinking about making a double play! How could I have expected anything less? What I love most about his answer is that he thinks about baseball in the same way I used to act out my Barbie scenes as a child. His imagination comes to life with such different subjects than I’m used to. His “pickle” was my Barbie cliffhanger.
Love his baseball brain.
Wow, I feel like I really blew that one. I wish it didn’t matter to me so much. Why does it? Why did I need Nate to wear nicer clothes (polo/khaki shorts, etc.) on the first day of school? I mostly think it’s because I want to take that obligatory first day photo where the kids are all decked out in their new duds. But that’s what I want, not what my kids necessarily want – and that should matter, right? I should let them have a say in how they’ll be dressed in that picture, right?
It’s just, based off the outfit that Nate picked out himself (by himself), his First Grade first day would’ve been captured like this:
I told him that he could for sure wear that on Tuesday, except for the Spidey socks because they really didn’t match, but I wanted him to wear a polo shirt and dress shorts for the first day. He could even wear his new sneaks. He expressed his displeasure in many whines and dramatics, even telling me his new sneaks would look “weird” with the nicer clothes.
That’s when I spoke what I wish I could un-speak. I told him I wondered why that would look weird but the non-matching Spiderman socks with the non-matching shorts and shirt doesn’t look weird to him. He paused, defeated. I felt like a jerk. After all, the little man picked out that band tee outfit all by himself and laid it all out ready to go. It was something he would feel good wearing on the first day. I walked out and told him I’d steam his tee.
He came to me and said, “What about my nice shirt with the guitars?” I hugged him with tears in my eyes and talked to him about why it mattered to me like it did but that I should have considered his feelings more.
We compromised. He’s now wearing his polo shirt that has guitars on the chest with nicer shorts and he plans to wear the shirt he really wanted to wear on the first day – a violent looking doughnut tee that he thinks is funny (forced mom smile) – on the second day. (Turns out, I found a small hole that needs stitched in the band tee. I swear I didn’t put it there.)
The best line of the whole ordeal was Andrew asking me, “Did you tell him, ‘You go to school to learn not for a fashion show’?” (Thank you, Fresh Prince.)
I guess I need to take some of that advice. Besides, I have a feeling uniforms are on the way …
There was the white sweatshirt with neon-colored, glow-in-the-dark hand prints all over it. There were the jam shorts. The coolots. The acid wash jeans. That one white jean shorts overall piece with polka dots that really made my collection complete. (Rocked that one the first day of school.) All of it added up to hours of me in a dressing room and mountains of the latest department store styles.
I have very fond memories of those sprees with my dad from when I was a pre-teen. Wild fashion sense aside, of course. It was cool that he would let me pick out what I wanted – giving me the chance to feel independent and content with my choices.
This was the first year that Nia really wanted to contribute like that. She’s always been an easy shopper. I could hold something up, ask her if she liked it, and more times than not, she would. Done. This year though, she told me the stores she wanted to shop at (Justice, Crazy 8’s and Target) and walked in knowing the style she wanted.
We had so much fun. She seemed so confident about what she wanted, especially the zebra print belt and shiny heeled sneakers. We giggled in the dressing room when she tried on jeans and they were gigantic on her. She didn’t even have to unbutton them to get them on and off. Two Beans could fit in there. Each time she would grab one of my size 10 selections (just in case, you know?) that made her disappear, she would tell me, “See? I told you I was an 8.”
She is so excited to wear all of her new clothes and I didn’t have the heart to make her wait until school to wear her heeled sneaks. (I also wanted to make sure she could walk in them and they didn’t hurt her feet.) She wore them around the house as soon as we got home and then to the grocery store the next day. She wants others to adore them as much as she does, expressing disappointment as we left the store, “Nobody said anything about my shoes.”
I love that you love them, Bean. I have a feeling they are only a glimpse of what’s ahead and hope shopping together is something we always enjoy.
I never thought of myself as a “kid person.” I didn’t grow up dreaming of having babies and never really had plans about parenthood. I just existed. I wasn’t aware that at the time I was saying I wasn’t going to have kids yet (or soon), there was already a Bean on the way.
I guess then, I’m somewhat guilty for feeling the way Nia’s little friend did when she stayed with us. “I’m glad I don’t have a little brother,” she innocently said, not really understanding the hurt or feelings it cause. He had just been trying to hang out with them, which came across as pestering to them. Not being used to having a sibling around, that was understandably too much for the friend to handle.
I’m sure there are times when that thought may cross Nia’s mind too. What would life be like for her if she didn’t have Nate? I’ve even thought about it. What if we only had one? And, on the flip side, what if we had more children than Nia and Nate?
Here’s what I know:
We told him that was very sweet of him but we have no plans to have another baby. Besides, we noted, the baby may be a little sister and who’s going to share a room with the baby?
“I will,” confirmed Nate. “If it’s a baby brother.”
I sure am glad we have our little brother.
Our conversation only lasted for about five minutes but Nia sure did cover a range of thoughtful and complex topics.
The bulk of the chat revolved around an experience she had a camp.
“When we were at the pool, there was a man with one leg there. One of the boys in my group was staring and making a big deal about it. As the man was taking off his leg to get in the pool the boy said ‘I can’t watch!’ like it was gross to him. I told him he should stop staring and saying that because it was disrespectful.”
I told Nia I was proud of her for trying to teach the right thing and explained that many kids – heck, even adults – will stare because they aren’t sure how to react when someone isn’t just like them. I told her one of our friends or family members could have something that makes them different/special – or even us – and how would we feel. She remembered the time we saw a man with no arms below the elbows and how he was still carrying snacks and a drink and had his little girl on his lap. She said, “It was amazing all that he was doing.”
From there, the topic of praying came up because we talked about praying for people to be ok and treat others kindly. She told me she thought it was nice to pray for others and not herself. She said, “I already pray that no catastrophes will happen to the world again because I don’t want people to get hurt or die. When I am scared that a tornado may come, I pray quietly and then I feel calm because it feels like we will be ok. I never pray for toys.”
I wonder if she prays for piano lessons though because that was the next topic. “Did you call about me getting piano lessons today?” I told her I sent an email with questions. “Did you send that email during work? Is that ok to do? You used to be able to do that at your old job. Do you remember when I came to your old work and sat behind you? I drew that picture for Tracy. I wonder if Tracy will always keep that.” I told her I wasn’t sure and that I got to talk to Tracy today. That made Nia happy.
“What about Ashley and Erika?”
“Yes,” I told her, “I still talk to them. In fact, those girls and mommy’s friends Marcy and Courtney are planning to come and visit us at the end of the month.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Girl stuff – for 21 years and up.”
“You could go to the movies. You could go see Madagascar 3 or Brave. I think that’s PG-13.”
Five minutes of chatting that I will always cherish. I hope my words will stay with Nia, “You have such a caring and considerate heart, Bean. Please don’t ever change it. Keep it safe.”
“Also, my age means I can see R-rated movies too.”
Are You Zhazha? 
Say what?