I’m the responsible one?
As a mommy, I get dealt a whopping 30 emotions flung at me every single day. And these emotions are BIG. Big fat tears, big boo-boo’s, big sibling fights, big everything.
The drama that can play out over a lost lego is something I’ve never seen nor imagined could ever realistically happen. My inner 20-something self, yearning for a second coming, stares wide-eyed at the spectacle. Thank the heavens my 40-something self has witnessed this too many times and knows the routine: Get down on the floor and begin rummaging through a million little pieces for THE one. No questions asked.
Ego being crushed long ago.
The thing I find troublesome (not that trying to find one microscopic lego piece among millions isn't troublesome mind you), is that I’m supposed to be the wise, gentle, patient, and all-knowing one who is also a master problem solver in every scenario. I’m supposed to be Mary freaking Poppins. (While I have been known to whip out an English accent at parties for the hell of it — as I see it, it’s all in the way you place stress on the vowels in case anyone is in need of a lame party trick — my demeanor is a stark contrast to Ms. Poppins.)
I’d like to know who, in real life, is all of those things in the face of irrational children crises?
As a mostly stay at home mom who has visions of career grandeur as a writer, personal trainer, and nutritionist, I actually spend most hours of my day as a negotiator, referee, and cleaning lady/cook/personal shopper. When Whole Foods becomes your sanctuary you know your path has deviated.
All these roles that I’ve unwittingly undertaken require different skills sets that I either don’t have or didn’t realize I had. Thank you, children, for allowing me the opportunity to realize that I can indeed decipher the sounds of your police whistles from your 2nd floor bedroom and make it down a flight of stairs, through the front door, down another set of stairs and across our driveway so as to pull your policeman costume wearing behinds out of the street as you attempt to direct traffic. I didn’t know I could be an Olympian sprinter.
One of my favorite skills I’m constantly working on improving is mind-reading! Let me close my eyes and get centered. Deep breath in, hold it for a count of 4 and slowly exhale. Now let me look deep into your eyes so I can see what’s going on. What desires lay beyond the cute face? What lurks inside? What do you hunger for?
Is it apples?
How about a slice of cheese?
Bread and butter?
Ok, ok.. yes I was kidding.
How about a nice glass of water?
I still haven’t perfected the art but I get plenty of practice. I’m also well versed at multi-tasking, but as I’m learning this isn’t as desirable a trait as it was in the 00’s. Now single-tasking is what we need to strive for. Laser-focus.
I don’t think mommies were surveyed on this one. If I single-task, I’m a goner. I wrote this article while making coffee, finding a lost playmobile figurine, answering to “mommy” and offering up solutions to things such as “what can I have for breakfast?” “there’s no food here, where is it?” “when are we going on our playdate?” “can I play with the blocks? They’re in daddy’s office and his door is locked”.
I can no longer in good conscience sit here and riff on mommyhood (there is literally a 7-year-old leaning up against me who can now read!)
Thank you, Medium, for letting me be a “writer” for a moment. Now I’m off (in my best English accent possible) to be the best patient, loving, caring, master problem solver that I can be!
Just to drive it all home, this is what I see as I get up from my desk. It would appear they have taken Mardi Gras beads (what else do you call them?), and are planning my demise by having me trip over them and I don’t know, crash into the wall.