A Few Good Men...

I knew I was having a boy.

After the shock of my surprise pregnancy wore off, I distinctly remember standing in the shower, the thought hitting me like a grenade-it’s a boy. And nine months later…well, I was right. A baby boy. My Son. And here I sit, nine years later, to the halfway point. Can it be that in the same short amount of years I’ve been graced with Son, he will soon be off to adulthood? To college, to travel, to discover who he wants to be? And, oh my God, will he ever learn how to close the damn dresser drawers? Or will he forever just fling them open, toss his clothes around, and…leave the room?  On the flip side, 87% of the time, he puts both the seat and the lid down, so…yeah. You’re welcome, World. 

For those first few years of Motherhood, your main focus is sanity, keeping The Children safe, sanity, trying to do the right thing, sanity, keeping the Children healthy, and, of course, sanity. (With a few hundred bottles of wine mixed in for good measure.) But now, nine years later, I realize, oh shit-I have to not only make sure my baby boy goes to bed at a decent time, but also guide him into becoming a Good Man. Because, as fore-mentioned, I’m halfway done before I release him to the world and he for real can’t eat cereal without milk dripping down his chin. I AM FAILING HIS FUTURE PARTNER. 

As Son grows older, I realize more and more that although he has a Kick-Ass Mother (a-hem), a young boy also needs a few Good Men in his life to really set the pace for becoming a successful human. And I only need to take a small glance around me to realize he has examples abound.

There are his uncles, who can teach him a good golf swing and a better fastball. He can look to his Poppy for unlimited lessons in Italian cuisine; he has grandpas who delight in showing him how to build a birdhouse or the best way to hook a catfish on the side of the dock, feet dangling in the lake. There are the neighbors who need little temptation to toss a ball around with him or play some Fifa soccer. And, of course, he has his father, a man who will protect him at all costs, and whom he can thank for his tenacity, intelligence, and an unhealthy obsession with UCLA. (Go Bruins.)

But what these Good Men so generously show my Son, besides a good fastball, is that to be kind is to be good. To be loyal is to be good.  To be present is to be good. And most importantly, to take the time is to be good. So today, I raise my glass to all the Good Men in this world. Once in awhile, we gotta give you a liiiiittle credit. Cheers.

But...the fries!

On the eve of Daughter’s 7th birthday, I of course am thinking of all the mushy, gushy reasons I love her and Son so much and how my life has been forever altered by them both and the thought of being without them is unimaginable and all that other lovey dovey stuff.

But what about those….other reasons…why having kids is so great? Sure, they’ll make you crazy and long for uninterrupted minutes of silence, but they also bring with them an abundance of opportunities to eat french fries, which is kinda awesome. So, in honor of that….for your reading pleasure….

A Few Unconventional Reasons Why Having Kids Is Kinda Awesome

One: The Kids Menu

Listen…we all WANT chicken fingers and grilled cheese on a somewhat very regular basis, but we can’t eat like that anymore! Especially after knocking out a couple kids! Having Children allows you the great pleasure of not ordering fries, but getting to eat them anyway. Because, you know, the KIDS MENU. I can’t tell you the disappointment Son can see in my eyes when he has the AUDACITY to order fruit instead of curly fries. And I can’t even talk about that period of time when he said he didn’t…like…chicken fingers…anymore. A dark, dark time in my life. Luckily, Daughter’s macaroni and cheese addiction helped me through it until I got him back on track. A Parent’s Golden Rule: order the salad so you can eat the scraps from the Children. You’re not above it. Trust me. 

Two: You Get to Say Because I Said So

This one is pretty self-explanatory, but I really want you to think about it for a second. Remember all those times your mom or dad would say that shit to you and it would just MAKE YOU SO MAD? Like-how is that a reason? How can they just say that? 

BECAUSE YOU ARE THE FUCKING BOSS NOW, THAT’S WHY.

And also, kids are insane and will do shit where you’ll find yourself saying things like ‘Please don’t tape your sister’s hands together’ or ‘We don’t use a fork to comb our hair’ on an alarmingly surprising basis and “normal” reasons just don’t apply to Small Insane People, so you just gotta pull out the Mother Card: Because.I.Said.So.

Try it out.

It’s fun. 

Three: You can leave anywhere at anytime and throw your kids under the bus

Oh…that solicitor who won’t stop stalking you in the Trader Joe’s parking lot? Yeah, sorry, I don’t have time to fund your “college education,” I’ve got to go pick up my kids.

Oh…I’d love to stay and talk to you about how to save the dolphins, but…I’ve got to go pick up my kids.

Oh…shoot…I would sooooooo love to come to your tupperware party but…Son isn’t feeling that well, so I should stay home.

Oh…would you look at the time? I would loooovvveee to stay a little longer at your Great Great Aunt’s 97th birthday and talk to people I barely know but it’s nap time for the little ones! You stay, honey. I’ll take the kids home and see you later.

Oh….gee, Mr. Politician, there is nothing more I would like to do than have you stand in my doorstep convincing me of your worth, but my kids are in the bath! Gotta run!

This list could be endless. Use your imagination. 

Four: It no longer looks like you’re talking to yourself

You know when you’re out and about mumbling to yourself, most likely not even aware of it and you get a strange look here and there before you realize your lips were moving and sound was coming out? Yeah, well, stick a kid in that cart and voila! Instant conversation partner! A newborn, a toddler, a teenager…it doesn’t matter! There is a PERSON next to you! Once they pass 5 years old, they stop listening anyway, so go ahead and talk about anything you want! Out loud! Now-I’m not saying you should be embarrassed or anything about talking to yourself-I’m just saying…why not look just a little less crazy sometimes? 

Five: Every day, they let you try again to do your best

Listen, I’ve been a Bad Mom so many times. So, so, so, so many times. Whether it’s a small moment of impatience, or a lingering regret over a way you handle a situation, you will also be a Bad Parent here and there. But, Small Children are perhaps the only people on the planet who not only forgive, they forget. Like, in two seconds sometimes. And not that you want to go to bed at night thinking-shit, I really screwed up today-on a regular basis, but when you do…and you will…those squishy faces will be all new and fresh in the morning ready and willing for you to try again to do your best. In fact, they’re depending on you to always try to do your best. Because, look, they’re Small Insane People and we can’t count on them to make the best decisions. Let’s be real: you need to do your best because if you don’t, something might start on fire. 

And if that happens, just go ahead and order your own curly fries.

You deserve them. 

Common Compromise

Dear Offspring’s School, 

Hey-what’s up? How’s everything going? Pretty good, I hope.  And me? Well, you know, I’m fine, I suppose. Just plugging along in this school year. Hot DAMN the years just FLY BY, am I right? I mean, weren’t The Children just in preschool painting pictures of rainbows and dinosaurs?  Oh man…those were the days. THOSE WERE THE DAMN DAYS! Because now, there are no rainbows. There are NO RAINBOWS. I mean, Son is certainly drawing things in school these days but-funny story-it’s for Math! Oh my God I know!! Like-what the….? And no, he’s not in middle school, silly. He’s in 3rd grade-remember?  And, geez, this kid is smart. Like….smart. I mean-he’s pretty much been smarter than me for at least 17 months now. Don’t tell him I said that. He’ll use it against me. I know I know…everyone thinks their kid is a Beautiful Genius, but…how shall I say this…..they aren’t. I’m not throwing the G word out there for Son, but kid is smart is all I’m saying. 

And WHY am I saying this? Well, because, here’s the thing, School. I’ve got this Smart Kid who does well in school, is kind to his peers, respectful of his teacher, an adamant Rule Follower to boot, and each night, anywhere from 60 to….120 minutes, he is doing His Homework. And each night for about 60-120 minutes, we’re sitting at the table together talking about tape diagrams and some other shit I can’t remember right now and my Smart Kid is getting more and more frustrated because he would pretty much rather be doing….almost anything else…than tape diagrams. And guess what, School? Me too. And guess what again, School? He already did them. In School. While it was in session. He gives you a solid 7 hours, five days a week, and I cannot disagree with him that at the age of 9 years, in 3rd grade, Son should be able to come home from school, have a snack, watch his TV show and go outside and play until I tell his cute little butt it’s time to come in for dinner. You’re pretty much destroying his Childhood with this silly math homework you are RELENTLESS about sending home. Congratulations. Let’s take a nice, Smart Kid and make him hate school. In 3rd grade. Slow.Clap.

So, here’s the thing, School. Can we make a compromise? You can do aaallllllll the Common Core you want from 8:30 to 3:00 and then he gets to come home and not do it again until 8:30 the next day. I know, I know…that’s not quite a compromise, but…life’s not always fair now is it?  Don’t you worry too much; The Children will have plenty of time as they grow older to devote their Beautiful Genius Selves to homework. But please, for now, let’s just go outside after school and have a game of catch, shall we? 

Super.

Glad we got that cleared up.

Sincerely,

Gelato Mama on Behalf of All Parents of The World. 

Dear Son....

Dear Son,

When you were born, I didn’t know that you would be one of the 5% of people on this planet who don’t like macaroni and cheese.  When you were born, I didn’t even grasp or understand how much the very discussion of, act of, and refusal of poop would rule my life for YEARS.  I didn’t know when you were born that unless your socks line up EXACTLY the way you need them to, the world might end. I didn’t know that I would experience things like You Will Give Me 5 Grapes At Bedtime Or I Will Refuse To Go To Bed for 4 months straight. I didn’t know that every night for many years, I would have to sing ‘Baby Mine’ to you and I didn’t know how much I would miss singing it once it was no longer requested. When you were born, I didn’t know that when you ask me what time it is, you mean what time is it EXACTLY and 1:15 is not an acceptable answer when it is, in fact, 1:13.

When you were born, I couldn’t even begin to understand how my heart would stretch and grow as I watched you love your Baby Sister. When you were born, I didn’t know how painful it would be to watch you get swallowed up on the soccer field, only to later watch your confidence grow and grow until YOU became the one everyone was watching. I didn’t know you were going to be so stinking smart, which is wonderful because I still don’t know how to do your math. I didn’t know that one day, the little boy who refused to let go of me on his first day of Kindergarten would ever one day walk off with just a quick hug and run to catch up with his buddies. I could have never known that the tiny baby I held in my arms would grow to be such an earnest, kind-hearted boy who's sense of right and wrong so pronounced.  When you were born, I could have never possibly known the ups, the downs, the confusion, the self doubt, the battle cries, the failures, the triumphs that come with Motherhood.

Because all I knew when you were born was…love. All I knew when I heard you cry for the first time was that Life. Was. Different. Forever. All I knew when you were born was that I wanted to protect you from anyone who would ever dare to be anything other than kind to you. Because you are my Son. I am your Mother. All I know is to be your fiercest protector, your greatest fan, your toughest critic. To try and hold you to the standards that allow you to become a Man one day who treats children and animals with kindness; who has respect for his elders, who is generous with his love and admiration to his partner, who calls his mother every week and makes his bed every day. A Man who believes he is better than no one and puts his head on his pillow each night knowing he did his best that day. And some days, that won’t be the truth. Some days you will fail. Some days you will be short tempered.  Some days you will be the worst version of yourself. You will have no patience and you will feel frustrated and you will put your head on your pillow that night and ask for forgiveness and promise to try harder tomorrow.  (These days are called Parenthood.) When you were born, I was reborn. And each day with you, no matter how hard and trying they can sometimes be, is a gift. The greatest one I’ve ever been given.

So…Baby Mine, don’t you cry.

Baby Mine, dry your eyes.

Rest your head 

Close to my heart,

Never to part

Baby of mine.

Happy Birthday, Son. I love you more than my written words or lovely song lyrics could ever express. But I will keep on trying. 

Love,

Mama

Fight Club

You know that rare opportunity when you have just one of your Children (or maybe just two…or three; however many you have divided by how many less make you more of a sane person. Work with me)…and you’re all…oh…I really miss The Other Kid. Which is sweet and most likely true. But if you’re anything like me, that sweet little thought of missing The Other Kid is immediately followed with:  Why is it so quiet? Why am I so relaxed? Did I just laugh? WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME? And then it hits you:

Nobody.Is.Fighting. 

Nobody is fighting! No.Fighting. OhMyGodHallelujah! There is no fighting.  There is no fighting!  HOT DAMN! HOLY SHIT! THERE IS NO FIGHTING!!  THIS JOY MUST BE SPREAD!  TELL EVERYONE! GO! GO TELL IT ON THE MOUNTAIN!  SHOUT IT FROM THE HEAVENS! THE WORLD NEEDS TO KNOW! QUICK BEFORE THIS ENDS! MY MESSAGE OF PEACE MUST BE SPREAD!  (I think a tear just escaped from my duct recounting such joy.)

I’m pretty sure the equivalent to no fighting in the house has to be flying. Like a bird. I literally feel like I could soar across the sky shouting the news down to the Good Parents of The Earth. And while I’m up there flying over your homes, I will have magic fairy dust to sprinkle over the land that turns all Children into peaceful, loving creatures who speak in hushed tones together and put their laundry away without being asked 67 times all while saying please and thank you and oh my gosh, this dinner again? How did you know I loved chicken so much, Mother? Thank you, Mother. Not only are you beautiful and kind, you have oh so many ways of turning chicken into a wholesome, delicious meal for us. Why don’t you sit down while we do the dishes? Oh and here-don’t forget your wine. Oh look, here’s Ben Affleck circa ‘ The Town’  to rub your feet…..

Sorry.

Sometimes a fantasy takes over and you just go with it.

But seriously, nothing makes me feel like a failed parent quite like the unrelenting, unending, steadfast fighting that goes on between The Children. Sometimes it is fun and games. Sometimes it is not. All times it is annoying. I have a lot of brothers and sisters and we would also fight on a regular basis and I think to my now Grown Ass Mom Self-where was my mom while we were beating the shit out of each other? Was she crying in the bathroom like I do? Was she at work?  Was she some kind of super hero who’s power was the ability to just…ignore us? Or wait. I know what she did. She told us to go outside and not come back until dinner. Then she locked the door. You could do during the 80’s in Iowa. One of it’s many charms. 

Seeing as I have a close relationship with all my siblings, I do have hope that one day Son’s perpetual habit of sticking his foot out to trip his Sister will be seen as a sign of love, not just an opportunity to hear her cry and then scream at him WHY DID YOU DO THAT in that special shrill voice reserved for Dramatic 6 Year Old Girls, then lunge at him and have a wrestling match commence which will result in someone crying (me) and yelling WHY CAN’T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG?

But that day is not today.

But I think it will be eventually.  I mean, I still love my brother today even though his favorite thing was to do was to hold me down and fart on my head. And if I can overcome that…well, then…anything is possible. Perhaps even flying.

The Good Stuff

It’s dark. It’s chaotic. You are surrounded by Sugar-Crazed Maniacs and glossy solo cups. Every few feet, a familiar face appears and the small talk must be UNBEARABLE to said Sugar-Crazed Maniacs because, after all, there are countless lit-up houses waiting to unload their sugar stash to eager, small hands and sweet-toothed parents, eyeing the good stuff. Young eyes grow big at the mounting pile of lollipops, licorice and peanut butter cups and, feeling overwhelmed by darkened chaos, you look at the time and realize it’s only been a paltry 45 minutes since the first “trick or treat” left the lips of the Children. The urge to encourage your little ones to start making their way home is overwhelming; after all-they have more candy than they will ever possibly consume and also-that glossy solo cup is feeling light. And it’s not just home and then to bed. No, no, no. There will be the ritual dumping of candy and trading and fighting over who gets what followed by the desire of The Children to sit on the porch and pass out treats to Oddly Older Teenagers still out and about because it’s almost as much fun to pass out the candy as it is to collect the candy and the prospect of a quiet house after a big night feels hours and hours and hours away….

But somewhere along the path of darkened chaos, it is The Children who are bumping into familiar faces. Friends and neighbors alike, they run off in packs, promising to stay together, to be right back. And they do. And they are. A glossy solo cup is suddenly feeling a bit heavier, thanks to a friendly neighbor with a bottle to share and a wall to lean against. As your eyes dart back and forth, trusting-but verifying-The Children’s presence, the time doesn’t seem to matter so much anymore for the magic of Childhood is wildly in play right before your very eyes. Will it be this Halloween they remember so poignantly as they grow older? Maybe it will be this moment, this very one, that they look back on and smile about in some 20, 30, 50 years. It certainly isn’t going to be the candy they remember the most fondly. It will be this. It will be a dark night with friends swirling all around them, feeling free and happy. It will be the rebellious fun of staying up way too late as your parents tell you, Sure. We can stay out later. Grab a friend. Let’s walk together. After all….look at all these lit up houses just waiting for you and your small, eager hands. We’ve still got a few trick or treats left in us. 

Hope they’re giving out the good stuff. 

The Sound of Silence

I’m sitting here in my kitchen. It’s quiet. There is nobody here but me. The TV remains black and silent. The Bose speaker remains unplayed. The hum from the fridge, an occasional door slam, a lonely dog bark and the click of the keyboard; these are the only sounds I hear. It is so rare to sit in silence. It is so rare to be alone in my own space. So many days I think I need to be doing something or going somewhere. And, of course, many days I do. And of course there are many things I could be doing right now in my own home; there will always be something to organize or clean, something to be picked up. A list to be made, a dinner to think about. But today at this moment-why be busy just to be…busy? Why not just sit and be alone?

Because, let’s face it, with summer only a short time away for me and my kids, shit is about to go down. So these little tiny moments of silence-I am hoarding them away in the hope that when summer does arrive and the opportunity to sit alone or roam the house without hearing MAMA! 127 times an hour, I will be able to call upon the sense memory of these silent moments and it will carry me through whatever asinine thing The Children are fighting over. (See Mom! That whole Acting School was good for something. I’ll sense memory the SHIT out of this silence.)

While I have a few things lined up here and there and two trips planned back to the Homelands this summer, I have to admit-I do not believe in a packed schedule. Not for them or for me. And while I am not immune to the fact that the Gelato Children will drive me to the brink of insanity with all of our…togetherness…together we will be and together we will be A LOT. It will not be easy to do this I know. We do not live in a world were kids can be so free as I was as a child during the weeks between spring and fall. We live in a world where instead of discovering boredom, kids discover Minecraft. Which is a shame because out of boredom, some pretty great things can happen.

For it was in boredom during those childhood summer months that I discovered the tree in my neighbor’s yard wasn’t a tree-it was a planet I had just fallen from and had to discover this new world I landed in. It was in boredom that I played countless memorable games of HORSE in the back alley with my brothers and sister.  It was in boredom that I found a secret hiding place in the middle of the lilac bush in my back yard. It was in boredom that I read books over and over and over again, forever securing my love for Where The Red Fern Grows. That I found a friend to take a bike ride to nowhere with, all day long. That I hung upside down on a swing until the whole world looked lopsided. It was in boredom that I strapped on those roller-skates and put on a show for whoever happened to be watching. It was in boredom that I discovered my imagination. It was in boredom that I discovered I was…free.

This is the gift I hope to bestow upon The Children this summer; this gift of freedom. Perhaps they won't appreciate it now, but I hope as they grow older they realize how much joy can be found in it's wake. In the middle of all this "boredom,"  I know we will also fight. A lot, I'm sure. We will sometimes watch too much television and I will give in to the pleas for another ice cream cone because...why not? We will get cranky. We will complain. We will have the best time together. I will be filled with gratitude that I never miss a thing…which means I Never.Miss.A.Thing. It will go too fast, even as the days drag on. And before I know it, another school year will have started. And while the beginning of a school year does bring relief to the parent, it also brings the mourning of another milestone marked. For their growth is rapid. My kids are way older than I ever was at their age. And that isn’t going to slow down or change-it will only speed up and continually scare the crap out of me. I enter each new school year unaware of the ways in which they will grow and learn. Unaware of the challenges and the victories that await. Each new school year is entered with a deep breath and a mantra: We got this.

But let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. This school year is winding down rapidly and sweet summer is so close we can touch it. So until then, if you need me, I’ll be sitting here, alone in my kitchen. Not cooking. Not cleaning. Just sitting. The click of the keyboard, the hum of the fridge, an occasional door slam the only sounds I hear.

Enjoy your silence.

And good luck. The force is with us. 

And let’s not forget…there is always wine. Front porch open anytime for friends who are...bored.