Whatever pride or dignity I thought I possessed as a young whipper-snapper came spilling out of my body along with the child when I lay helpless in the hospital answering to the name of Mother for the first time, midwifes and nurses, grabbing, pulling and touching me in ways that I would have previously found appalling.
Over the past 6 years I’ve periodically made attempts to regain some of my lost pride but it’s hard when you live with people who can’t BELIEVE there’s not a baby in your tummy because it’s SO big, who use you as a human tissue, and who pray to Heavenly Father that he will help them please be on time for school tomorrow. Laylee knows I’ve shown myself incapable of regular punctuality so she likes to call for backup.
This morning on the way to school, I noticed I hadn’t even run a comb through her hair. This is absolutely unacceptable in my opinion, especially since she gets to pick her own clothes. I need the teacher to see one sign that she is not being physically neglected at home. So I pulled over to the side of the road and tried to do a quick fix with the only tools I had, a comb and a bobby pin. Without tangle spray or local anesthetic it’s nearly impossible to straighten Laylee’s bird’s nest without shrieks of agony so I “smoothed it over,” told her I’d done the best I could but it wasn’t great and got back into the drivers’ seat of the car.
“It’s okay,” Laylee replied. “Being on time is way more important than just looking nice anyway.” As she said this, I wondered if she was as aware as I was of my unshowered, unbrushed hair or the near-pajamas I was wearing. I could have been the poster child for “Looking Nice Isn’t That Important Anyway.” Then there was the reminder that being on time was more crucial than looks and that I’d let her down so many times in the past.
Kids will let you know what they think of you. Frequently their words are filled with love and often with that love comes brutally honest assessments of your worst traits, your biggest insecurities. Even their criticisms usually aren’t malicious at this age. They just stem from curiosity, fascination or just plain lack of social skills but they can still hurt or at least bump your pride down a notch.
Lately the kids have been using “humor” to share how they see the world, their favorite being the knock-knock joke that’s really a why-did-the-chicken-cross-the-road joke in disguise.
Both of these gems came up at dinner last night to much raucous laughter.
Knock knock
Who’s there?
Why did the mommy cross the road?
I don’t know. Why?
To go shopping.
Knock knock
Who’s there?
Why did the mommy cross the road?
I don’t know. Why?
To pick up her prescription
Nice. So this “mom” person is a materialistic shopaholic who NEEDS HER MEDS? I see why that’s funny. Almost.
Then driving to school yesterday, Magoo pointed out the window at a woman walking along the sidewalk and asked, “Mom? What name is that lady?”
“I’m not sure,” I replied.
“Oh. Oops,” he said. “That’s no lady. She’s just a MOM!”
AAAHHHHH! And yet. I love this job so much it hurts sometimes. What would I do without these kids? Besides be more of a “lady,” that is?
