The Young Ones
I drive my son to school every morning. He would ride his bike, but there are no sidewalks since the school was built on the edge of the community. We drive, usually, in disappearing darkness past million dollar bricked in communities, past the most incredible displaced English manor, and an encroaching community of mid-range homes. That’s all the left. On the right is open field. In the misty soft lighting of sunrise, the silhouettes of the cattle come into view. Above, on a telephone line, sits a hawk. I am always captivated by the birds of prey, but that’s another story.
On the field, little social groupings splatter about, lone cows graze and the new guys, the calves, capture my attention and heart. There is nothing that affects me more than the young. Babies, toddlers, kids in general, and young animals. As I drive back from the high school, I watch as the calves suddenly burst into a bucking, frolicking dance and tear around in a circle. It’s a freedom thing, I guess. A feeling of being unrestrained by social constrictions that allows kids to do what I think a lot of us would like to do.
Being a parent has been the most fascinating experience of my life. I remember sitting in the hospital with my first born, after everyone was gone, holding him, spellbound by his every movement, not getting a wink of sleep all night. So began the most long standing, unrelenting love affair of my life. My kids changed my life. They brought out the absolute best in me, and focused my life like a laser. The most impatient person in my family, became patient. The most ungrounded, became grounded. Regardless of what others might want, I have found that being a full-time mom has been an incredible blessing in my life.
Oh, but believe me, no two days are the same, and I have been so frustrated, exhausted and beyond the breaking point that I saw double…in red. It’s strange though, from the time the guys were toddlers and able to speak or function semi-independently, even on a day boiling over with frustration, where absolutely nothing went right, there is always a moment when one of the boys or even both said or did something that redeemed the day. Something that stood out as so exceptionally thoughtful, kind, unselfish, funny or just plain innocently precious. No two days are alike, which frankly is right up my alley since I get bored very easily. We can go weeks without an incident without anything major and then the floodgate opens and we are inundated from all sides with critical decisions, fires to the left right and center. I still get a redeeming moment everyday though. I can’t think of a time that I went to bed frustrated.
Cody wanted to spend his Christmas money on all the hardware to start gaming online. We went to Best Buy and he was thirty-four dollars short. Without prompting, without an IOU, Josh whips open his wallet and pulls out thirty-five dollars. This kind of thing happens everyday. A gesture. A thoughtful act. A kind comment. I’ll take the dogs out for a walk (Cody says when Josh seems stressed over the amount of homework he has). Josh helped me (Cody says when Josh helps him with his homework). Woohoo! Mom look at this (Josh says cheering Cody’s backflip on the trampoline). Sure they are at each other’s throats a lot of the time. I expect that. That’s what happens when someone matters to you. You have altercations. But the undercurrent of loyalty, admiration and love is prevalent all the time. Even when Josh’s eyes fog over with murderous intent, there’s a flicker of love. Even when Cody thrashes his arms to get away from me, races upstairs yelling “a-hole!” and slamming his door….ok..not so much love in that moment. But his anger is quick and fierce. Then gone. He’s like lightening. Josh is more like a thunderstorm, slowly rolling, darkening and persistent. But then the sun emerges and he’s ok.
I have never felt that I missed out on my own life, a career. I had to work for awhile, before Lance came into my life. Every morning I felt as if I was ripping an appendage off. I did not stop thinking about where my children were, what might be happening to them and the fact that the people caring for them were not me. It is one thing to be paid to care for children, it is another to have vested interest. The day I was able to stop working, even though it set us back, way back, financially, was the day I felt the weight removed from my chest. Being separated from something that is supposed to be with you is beyond agonizing. I don’t really know how to convey it any better. I cried so hard my body shook, every time I dropped my kids off at day care. Sounds pretty dramatic, but I might as well have been purposefully smashing my hands with a hammer, it hurt that much. Although, I am a reasonably intelligent person with plenty to offer the outside world, I felt I had more to offer my kids.
We have our moments when I think that yes, I understand why some people hit their kids, drown them like the little rats they are. I am convinced that is when I have a surge of the primitive. The primal instinct of ferociousness. Fortunately, I have a great foundation and a great deal of information regarding children in my frame of reference. Plus I am deeply empathetic. I could not imagine striking a child. The thought of seeing a child look at me with the face of stunned fear is too much. Might does not make right in any instance. I have never raised my hand to my kids. Oh, but I have thought about it. That split second of reaction to some smart alecky comment or action that goes beyond definition, that moment can never be taken back. If I were to react in a way that I know I am capable, and I hit my kid, I could never take that sting back. The physical pain might be short-lived but the ramifications emotionally and spiritually would last a lifetime. I would basically be putting the stamp of approval on them hitting their own kids someday. My grandchildren. Especially for boys, who are physical by nature, it is a dangerous precedent to set.
Not all days are rosy, hallmark or Norman Rockwell-esque. So very far from it. We do not sit at the dinner table together yukking it up and pretending to be engaged in riveting conversation. We eat at the dinner table. Our conversation, thank God, is unrestricted. It mainly occurs when they want to talk now. I am grateful that I have been here directly after school when they want to talk about things that came up or situations they didn’t know how to avoid. Bouncing their reactions or feelings off the maternal wall to gauge the appropriateness for themselves. I am here, but I am keenly aware of developing their independence. They know how to cook. They know how to do their own laundry. They know how to clean a bathroom, a kitchen and living area. They know how to care for a pet. They are developing their independent life skills that will make them good partners as adults. Do they do it everyday? No. Do they object to it on a regular basis? Would they be kids if they didn’t?
I am not their buddy. I am their confidante. I am not their pal. I am their parent. I am not inflexible but I do have high expectations. They get frustrated by me more than often. Oh, well. Sorry. Do I love to have fun with them? That’s one of the best perks of this job. Having fun at every stage in their life. Finding the joy. Finding a way to laugh. Absorbing the sheer unabashed love that I have for them. Moving through their lives slowly, sometimes awkwardly, sometime erroneously, sometime gracefully. It has been an unbelievable experience. I dig my kids.
I drive my son to school every morning. He would ride his bike, but there are no sidewalks since the school was built on the edge of the community. We drive, usually, in disappearing darkness past million dollar bricked in communities, past the most incredible displaced English manor, and an encroaching community of mid-range homes. That’s all the left. On the right is open field. In the misty soft lighting of sunrise, the silhouettes of the cattle come into view. Above, on a telephone line, sits a hawk. I am always captivated by the birds of prey, but that’s another story.
On the field, little social groupings splatter about, lone cows graze and the new guys, the calves, capture my attention and heart. There is nothing that affects me more than the young. Babies, toddlers, kids in general, and young animals. As I drive back from the high school, I watch as the calves suddenly burst into a bucking, frolicking dance and tear around in a circle. It’s a freedom thing, I guess. A feeling of being unrestrained by social constrictions that allows kids to do what I think a lot of us would like to do.
Being a parent has been the most fascinating experience of my life. I remember sitting in the hospital with my first born, after everyone was gone, holding him, spellbound by his every movement, not getting a wink of sleep all night. So began the most long standing, unrelenting love affair of my life. My kids changed my life. They brought out the absolute best in me, and focused my life like a laser. The most impatient person in my family, became patient. The most ungrounded, became grounded. Regardless of what others might want, I have found that being a full-time mom has been an incredible blessing in my life.
Oh, but believe me, no two days are the same, and I have been so frustrated, exhausted and beyond the breaking point that I saw double…in red. It’s strange though, from the time the guys were toddlers and able to speak or function semi-independently, even on a day boiling over with frustration, where absolutely nothing went right, there is always a moment when one of the boys or even both said or did something that redeemed the day. Something that stood out as so exceptionally thoughtful, kind, unselfish, funny or just plain innocently precious. No two days are alike, which frankly is right up my alley since I get bored very easily. We can go weeks without an incident without anything major and then the floodgate opens and we are inundated from all sides with critical decisions, fires to the left right and center. I still get a redeeming moment everyday though. I can’t think of a time that I went to bed frustrated.
Cody wanted to spend his Christmas money on all the hardware to start gaming online. We went to Best Buy and he was thirty-four dollars short. Without prompting, without an IOU, Josh whips open his wallet and pulls out thirty-five dollars. This kind of thing happens everyday. A gesture. A thoughtful act. A kind comment. I’ll take the dogs out for a walk (Cody says when Josh seems stressed over the amount of homework he has). Josh helped me (Cody says when Josh helps him with his homework). Woohoo! Mom look at this (Josh says cheering Cody’s backflip on the trampoline). Sure they are at each other’s throats a lot of the time. I expect that. That’s what happens when someone matters to you. You have altercations. But the undercurrent of loyalty, admiration and love is prevalent all the time. Even when Josh’s eyes fog over with murderous intent, there’s a flicker of love. Even when Cody thrashes his arms to get away from me, races upstairs yelling “a-hole!” and slamming his door….ok..not so much love in that moment. But his anger is quick and fierce. Then gone. He’s like lightening. Josh is more like a thunderstorm, slowly rolling, darkening and persistent. But then the sun emerges and he’s ok.
I have never felt that I missed out on my own life, a career. I had to work for awhile, before Lance came into my life. Every morning I felt as if I was ripping an appendage off. I did not stop thinking about where my children were, what might be happening to them and the fact that the people caring for them were not me. It is one thing to be paid to care for children, it is another to have vested interest. The day I was able to stop working, even though it set us back, way back, financially, was the day I felt the weight removed from my chest. Being separated from something that is supposed to be with you is beyond agonizing. I don’t really know how to convey it any better. I cried so hard my body shook, every time I dropped my kids off at day care. Sounds pretty dramatic, but I might as well have been purposefully smashing my hands with a hammer, it hurt that much. Although, I am a reasonably intelligent person with plenty to offer the outside world, I felt I had more to offer my kids.
We have our moments when I think that yes, I understand why some people hit their kids, drown them like the little rats they are. I am convinced that is when I have a surge of the primitive. The primal instinct of ferociousness. Fortunately, I have a great foundation and a great deal of information regarding children in my frame of reference. Plus I am deeply empathetic. I could not imagine striking a child. The thought of seeing a child look at me with the face of stunned fear is too much. Might does not make right in any instance. I have never raised my hand to my kids. Oh, but I have thought about it. That split second of reaction to some smart alecky comment or action that goes beyond definition, that moment can never be taken back. If I were to react in a way that I know I am capable, and I hit my kid, I could never take that sting back. The physical pain might be short-lived but the ramifications emotionally and spiritually would last a lifetime. I would basically be putting the stamp of approval on them hitting their own kids someday. My grandchildren. Especially for boys, who are physical by nature, it is a dangerous precedent to set.
Not all days are rosy, hallmark or Norman Rockwell-esque. So very far from it. We do not sit at the dinner table together yukking it up and pretending to be engaged in riveting conversation. We eat at the dinner table. Our conversation, thank God, is unrestricted. It mainly occurs when they want to talk now. I am grateful that I have been here directly after school when they want to talk about things that came up or situations they didn’t know how to avoid. Bouncing their reactions or feelings off the maternal wall to gauge the appropriateness for themselves. I am here, but I am keenly aware of developing their independence. They know how to cook. They know how to do their own laundry. They know how to clean a bathroom, a kitchen and living area. They know how to care for a pet. They are developing their independent life skills that will make them good partners as adults. Do they do it everyday? No. Do they object to it on a regular basis? Would they be kids if they didn’t?
I am not their buddy. I am their confidante. I am not their pal. I am their parent. I am not inflexible but I do have high expectations. They get frustrated by me more than often. Oh, well. Sorry. Do I love to have fun with them? That’s one of the best perks of this job. Having fun at every stage in their life. Finding the joy. Finding a way to laugh. Absorbing the sheer unabashed love that I have for them. Moving through their lives slowly, sometimes awkwardly, sometime erroneously, sometime gracefully. It has been an unbelievable experience. I dig my kids.
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