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Having a baby makes you a parent. Having five sons makes you a
referee. What a wild trip is parenting. From my first born….to the
baby….to the grandchildren….and now greatgrandchildren…seems to have
been the blink of an eye. Where did the time go? Let me try to
condense it in this column.
As I put fresh linens on my bed…. on his 50th birthday…. I longed
for the fresh smell of sheets from the clothesline. How I loved
retiring when the bedding had hung out in the country sunshine. Then
my mind quickly traveled to all the hours spent hanging diapers on
the line. Hundreds of diapers have flapped in the wind during my
past experiences. This flying of dozens of diapers after cleaning
baby, soaking the diapers, bleaching the diapers, then rewashing
with Dreft so their tiny hiney wouldn’t chafe while they refilled
their bright, white, nappy with doo doo once more. Kudos to
automatic washing machines and dryers where you can throw in some
pod that cleans everything and then a softener that makes them smell
like sunbeams and joy. Also praise the Almighty for the invention of
disposable diapers. I know. I know. Arguments about recycling will
abound. But after experiencing the chore of cloth versus the delight
of disposal…… every mom should get to throw away some baby
poopsplosion upon occasion.
Oscar Wilde said, “Children begin by loving their parents; as they
grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.”
Man o’ man am I on that end now! I am overwhelmed at which boy
remembers what occasion. I don’t know what hurts my momma heart
more…..them remembering the tiniest of infractions or their
forgetting what I thought were monumental occasions.
Dr Seuss, “Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment unit
it becomes a memory.” I’m here to tell you, you will never know what
moment they will remember until decades later. It’s a monumental
burden to put on someone with a lifetime commitment to a job that
has no instruction book…...parenting.
Rookiemoms.com, “At bedtime, all children become dehydrated
philosophers who need a hug.” “Four-year-old ‘Tell me a scary
story!’ Me: ‘One-time little people popped out of your mom and they
never stopped asking questions.’ Four-year-old, “Why?”
Bedtime was a battlefield for me. My Mac would help with the task by
telling wonderous stories of extended galaxies, arenas in another
universe and all the spaceships, extraterrestrials, space cadets
thereof. Yes, it was “Star Wars” eternal at our home. He would get
them all tucked in with a flashlight each and they would have
flashlight beam saber light fights. There were screeches and shouts
of victory and defeat and then my sweet husband would crawl into bed
and sink into the silver curtain of night.
That was my time to become another movie character…...Miss Hannigan
from “Annie”. Calming the boys after all that was no simple chore.
Yep, 50 years later the boys remember both our parenting roles at
bedtime. My part is not nearly as endearing as their dad’s. Heavy
sigh.
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Rookiemoms.com, “They say it takes a village. Where can I get
directions to this village?”
There’s a weird phenomenon about parenting. Sometimes we feel as if
we are the lone soldier in a boat being tossed about on the endless
sea with broken oars. We pray for one moment in time for peace and
quiet. Just one moment.
The next minute you recite the quote, “You can take my cold, dead
hands from my wallet, but never my small, sticky roommates from my
sight.” People seem to come out of nowhere asking for the precious
commodity of time with my darling boys. I remember the heartache
well of wanting to selfishly clutch them to my chest as they merrily
went off to some other home.
For years I dreamed of eating a hot meal. By the time I cooked,
plated, cut up, cleaned, cut up more, fed, cleaned up more, my own
meal was a plate of congealed sadness. Now I can eat piping hot food
any time, any day and I would trade it in a heartbeat for the drama
and trauma of a meal that only a toddler can orchestrate.
John F. Kennedy, “Children are the living messages we send to a time
we will not see.”
That is so true. The son that absolutely could not use an indoor
voice? He became a decorated sergeant in the US Army. The boy that
had to be in the middle of everything/everywhere……head of a
hospital’s emergency room and later hospital management. The one
that constantly read……even if it was the label on the cornflake box
at breakfast…. raised a son that loves words so much he became a
linguist. Another drove us crazy teaching himself to play the
guitar. Now we are the ones driving him crazy pleading for him to
play for us when he comes to visit. How time changes the rhythm of
life.
I adore this quote by author, William Martin, “Do not ask your
children to strive for extraordinary lives. Such striving may seem
admirable, but it is the way of foolishness. Help them instead to
find the wonder and the marvel of an ordinary life. Show them the
joy of tasting tomatoes, apples and pears. Show them how to cry when
pets and people die. Show them the infinite pleasure in the touch of
a hand. And make the ordinary come alive for them. The extraordinary
will take care of itself.”
[L. Maxine McQueen may be contacted
at maxmac.1@juno.com
] |
