Friday, October 30, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
I did something I’ve never done before with my kid yesterday. My kid who will be five in February. The picky eater, former vegetarian who has recently decided he will eat chicken nuggets, turkey hot dogs, homemade bread and still likes the fruits and veggies that have been sustaining his existence up until now. I have lost WEEKS of my life trying to get that boy to eat. I simply cannot comprehend how someone could have THAT much energy when I know darn well that he had two carrot sticks, four grapes and a forced nibble of peanut better and jelly for lunch. I have coaxed, prodded, pleaded, bribed and lost my temper, all in the name of a few more bites.
The stars are beaming at me; he now consumes relatively balanced meals without a fuss. Although this child, who wouldn’t touch mac and cheese with a ten foot pole, has informed me that he *might* like pasta when he is five. Four-year-olds just aren’t ready yet. Same goes for salad.
Anyways, back to my point.
I took Aidan to McDonald’s. MCDONALD’S! For a Happy Meal! And you get a toy! And this was after I took him to see Where the Wild Things Are, and I was officially the coolest mom ever yesterday.
Aidan was practically giddy with excitement.
Mommy does not do McDonald’s. Case in point- at the Tulip Time parade last year a friend excitedly said, “Aidan! Look! It’s Ronald McDonald!”
My kid: “Who’s that?”
Mommy doesn’t really do fast food in general.
He was bouncing off the walls excited, or maybe it was the chocolate milk with 25 grams of sugar, but I was awarded a huge hug, and “Mommy. Best. Day. Ever.”
Maybe I will make this whole McDonald’s thing a yearly trip. You know, because I need Aidan to think I am cool at least once a year.
Who knows. Maybe he’ll get a cheeseburger next time!
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
I knew so much would change. My heart, my ability to love unconditionally, the feelings and emotions delicately woven into the mother and child relationship, my growing up, my purpose, my body, my soul. Though only 20 when I found out I was pregnant, I was miraculously not intimidated. I was thrilled at the prospect of bringing a beautiful human life into the world and wrote my son love letters in a little book that still adorns the top of my dresser.
No one ever told me that I could physically ache for another person the way I do for my son.
I saw Aidan for the first time last night since Friday (and I swear he’s grown at least an inch). I enjoyed a much-needed and thoroughly enjoyable vacation with Renee and her husband Craig in DC and was also able to meet up with Kelly and Buck over the course of the weekend. It was delightful to connect with my old friends. Though I returned on Monday evening, Aidan was with his dad for the night. By mid-day yesterday I felt nearly frantic. Aidan, of course, had been having a blast- getting spoiled by both grandmas and spending quality time with his dad. Although his dad did tell me that at bedtime Aidan said, “You know, I miss my mommy.”
I literally felt like a part of me was missing being away from him for four whole days. That is the longest, consecutive period of time we’ve been apart since his birth. I positively craved him. His laugh, his smart ass remarks, the way he still twirls my hair when he is sleepy, the feeling of his warm little body in my lap. The depth of these moments is indescribable. It is the purest of love and holds such carefree authenticity.
I was, if possible, drunk on us last night. I had picked up a hilarious new book of 14 short stories that I read in silly voices and we just giggled and giggled. “Do it again, Mom, again!” That is the sweetest sound my ears could’ve heard. How I had missed the simple, mundane things like having him next to me while brushing our teeth. A tickle war? Best. Thing. Ever.
When I tucked him in and kissed him goodnight way too many times I realized that I owe it all to him. My heart is open because of him. I have felt the most intense emotions because of him. I know how to love another human being because of him. Because of a boy that has not quite reached five years of age, I have learned what matters.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
I’ve already been thinking about crafting a sign to stake in my front yard that reads:
I will make you an unimpressive, but hot, dinner and send you home with beer if you will please help me rake all my leaves and drag them to the curb when they finish falling. There may even be chocolate chip cookies.
Not sure that I’d get a response but that should at least be indicative of my feelings towards raking. I dread it worse than getting a cavity filled. I look at beautiful orange and red leaves that have drifted down and all I can see are calluses on my hands. It is only with great thanks to Jessie that my yard was actually raked last fall, as opposed to me procrastinating right up until snow fall and having to deal with the soaking, heavy leaf disaster in the spring. This year is not looking full of promise.
If THAT looming project wasn’t enough I noticed a lovely present while taking my garbage out this morning. Perched, right in the middle of my roof, is the orange-bagged newspaper I never read. The one that is always carried from the middle of my sidewalk to my recycling. I can’t even say if it is the Flashes or something different, I pay that little attention to what is inside. No ignoring it now, it’s hanging out at a height that does not allow me to toss it to recycling and I don’t own a ladder.
I would be totally tempted to hop up on the roof and remove it, because it looks ridiculous. I can handle always being the last one on my block to take their garbage can in, and always having pretty flowers and horrible, uncared for grass, and unintentionally having a driveway that has been shoveled, (lovingly!), at an angle. But I feel like that newspaper is mocking me. I will not, however, attempt to get it sans ladder, because I did that once. While Aidan was napping last spring and I was working on the yard, I noticed a bunch of branches to be removed on the roof. I am fairly nimble and thought I’d have no problem hoisting myself onto the roof while precariously balancing on the edge of my deck. This sounds absurd, even as I type it. Needless to say, I was wrong. I got about half of my body up and was bent halfway over the edge of the roof with my dirt-streaked legs dangling. I probably could’ve swung my legs up but instead opted to drop back, effectively scraping my entire stomach and fortunately getting a toe back to the deck. Heart thudding at my own stupidity, the branches are still there.
But they are in the back.
I can already tell this newspaper is going to drive me crazy. And now the sign I want to make for the front yard goes something like this:
Dear Dude That Delivers This Paper I Don't Read:
Not nice. Might want to work on your aim, buddy.
Oh, what? You think I should buy a ladder? Yeah. Thanks :)