We started heading toward the front of the building when a school staff member looked at my son and shouted to us over a sea of children (who looked much larger than my five-year old), “Kindergartener?” I nodded yes, she motioned him forward, and off they went into the building … And my tears came. And they came.
Author: Stacy DeMarco
He has taught me that I cannot control everything (or everyone) in my life. And not only is that okay, that is exactly as it is supposed to be, because it is usually somewhere in the unexpected chaos that is life with my son, that I make mistakes, or actually get it right, and either way, we learn, and we grow. Many days are spent yelling like a crazy woman, and many nights after he has gone to sleep are spent longing for a chance to do better tomorrow.
As women, even when we are not compatible, we should respect one another and their own personal choices for themselves and their families, but a). not everyone has gotten that message yet, and b). even if they do, it means they will do you no mommy harm, but it does not necessarily mean you will be great friends.
My once tight, tiny body now has stretch marks and loose skin that covers my stomach and hangs where the umbilical hernia once poked through. And, since I am not only a mother— I am also a wife and a woman—naturally, I want to look attractive and sexy on this vacation.
… I come in, listen a bit about what the problem is, and solve it quickly by giving the toy back to the original handler or helping to rebuild the knocked down project, which solves the problem quickly so we can move on. At best, maybe I am modeling how to solve each problem, but mostly I am just problem solving and they are just watching, waiting to see if whatever injustice their sibling bestowed upon them will be righted.
And then it came. “Mommy, I have to go poop.” The dreaded words of any newly potty trained child. Because “I have to go poop” does not simply mean “I have to go poop.” It really means, “I had to go poop twenty minutes ago, so THIS.IS.AN.EMERGENCY.”
But loving my husband in that way does not mean that we do not have bad days, or weeks, or months. It does not mean that I see everything he does through rose-colored glasses. It doesn’t even mean that I always like him or what he does. In fact, after ten plus years together, there are days when that man drives me downright crazy. And we argue. Boy, do we argue.
“Mommy, will you play with me?” I pretend I don’t hear it. But it grows louder, “Mommy, MOMMY, MOOOOOOOM!!!” Oh, no! We made eye contact. There is no denying now that I heard it. And my three year old knows too. “In a minute, buddy. As soon as I finish what I am doing,” I
My son’s birthday just passed. He turned six. And although it may sound silly, this was the hardest birthday for me yet. I have seen how much he has learned, grown, and changed over the last year, especially since starting Kindergarten that I cannot help but realize that he is not a little boy anymore.
I had not felt awesome in weeks. I was exhausted beyond exhaustion. I was moodier than normal. My boobs were a little sore every time my kids bumped into me. And, man, was I bloated. Every rational part of me knew that it was the new generic birth control that the pharmacy had given me