Random Question

Your aunt gave you a maple syrup dispenser shaped as a rooster for your birthday. Now you've got to write her a thank you note! Try it :-)

Dear Aunt,
Wow, thanks for the rooster bottle for my syrup! Nevermind that I don't like syrup, but I'm sure I can find something useful for it...nothin better than thickish liquid comin out of a rooster's butt, right? Thanks again, love and kisses!

Good Decision

I confess, I was one of those “awful” parents who pierced my infant daughter’s ears at a mall kiosk when she was two months old. I sat in the chair in the window, cradling her close and clamping her hands down so she wouldn’t grab the piercing gun at an inopportune time. I made sorrowful expressions when her screams reached those on the other side of the window, and felt the proper shame when they scowled at me. But it was worth it—my beautiful little girl was even more beautiful with a little adornment!

Six months later, her little fingers got caught in her earring somehow, and she ripped one out. I removed the other to allow time for healing. The holes grew shut.

When she was two years old, I took my daughter, again to the mall, to get her ears pierced again. All went well, until she was about 4 years old. Somehow one piercing became infected, so again, I removed both earrings to allow time for healing. They grew shut. Again.

I began suggesting another go round to my daughter when she was six. She put me off, placating me with “We’ll sees”, “Maybe’s” and other such niceties she learned from yours truly. Finally at age seven I think she just got tired of my bothering her. After yet another “suggestion” from me, my daughter replied, “Mom, can’t we just wait a few years until I can make a good decision?”

Uh.

Bad mom! But who does she think she is, talking to me like an adult?!

But....They have WINGS!!!!!

It was a beautiful afternoon, and the kids were restless. I had been promising them for days that we would head to the park so they could ride their bikes and scooters. Living in an apartment has its disadvantages, including lack of safe free space for such activities. Brandon needed to run an obstacle course for Cub Scouts, and the school playground provided the perfect backdrop—parallel bars, monkey bars, slides, and tunnels.

We went to the school playground, parking close to the basketball court and play structures. I timed Brandon for his “obstacle course” and then allowed the kids free time to do whatever they wanted, making as much noise as they wanted. Course, it wasn’t long before they decided to chase each other around, including up the twisting slide. I warned them a few times not to climb up when the other was going down—like they would listen!

As I watched in amusement, Mariah climbed up the twisty slide, knowing full well that her brother was waiting for her at the top, for just the right moment in which to launch himself down the slide. The moment came; Brandon started down the slide, and crashed right into his sister. She turned sideways, cracking the side of her head on the curved edge of the slide before rolling down to the bottom. The two paused briefly at the bottom of the slide, before Mariah let out a piercing scream. She ran to me, shrieking the whole ten yards. Hugging her close, I tried to calm her. Not seeing any obvious injuries, I was confident she’d just been scared. Then I noticed the blood dripping around my hand, which was cupping the side of her head in a hug. Pulling her hair back, I noticed a large split in the skin where her ear met her head. It was bleeding dramatically, but after a minute, I realized it was superficial.

I sent Brandon to the car, for my ever-present first aid kit (it pays to have kids in sports, I tell ya!) He came running back, unable to find the kit. I sent him back to the car for anything remotely tissue like, to stop the blood until we could drive the two blocks home for a proper cleaning. He came back, with a strangely familiar yellow package in hand. “Mom, this is tissue, right?” Yes sweetie, yes my spare maxi pad is tissue, at least for now! Not having anything else handy that was absorbent enough to do the job, I unwrapped the pad—which had wings!—and stuck that puppy right to my daughter’s head. We drove home, with me thankful that no other parents were on the playground that day to laugh at my poor little winged-pad covered girl.

Surpassing your parents

We all want our kids to do better than we do, right? Achieve, succeed, excel? How do you think they will feel later when they really understand that they've surpassed us?

I have far exceeded what my parents did or had...I should be proud, right? I am, to an extent...but it also saddens me...that they just couldn't or wouldn't get over the hurdles they faced...I haven't even spoken to my mother in nearly a decade...but in recent emails, it has become clear that I am more...I don't even know what more! More educated? So what, she was the smartest mom ever, as long as we were together! More beautiful? She's self-deprecating and says that others comment on my "hotness" and she seems embarrassed about her appearance...I'm attractive, in my eyes, but I spent years telling her she was the prettiest Mommy ever, and that is all I see or remember...smarter? She worked three jobs and went to school while my dad worked nights so they could raise us in the most expensive and exclusive city on the West Coast...

I want my kids to be more, bigger, better, than what they knew in their childhoods, but I wouldn't wish this guilt or regret on them for the world...