A Tale of Two Mommies

…because more seems excessive…

Tag Archives: empathy

Pillow Talk

Something my three-year-old little man requests that is among my favorite things in this world: snuggling in our bed. Usually when he asks it’s not a good time, and some type of avoidance strategy…like sleepy time or something of a similar sort. But, this morning I’d just showered; Warrior Queen was still asleep; I was tickled to have him knock on our bedroom door asking for a snuggle in our bed. I lay down, and he insists on tucking me in…making sure I’m warm, then burrows into me.

Funny thing is that I’m not a particularly cuddly person…like to comedic proportions. But, that needed to stop bringing children into this world. My general presence is aloof, standoffish, and intimidating. It comes in handy working with at-risk and incarcerated populations…and as a manager. Everything is about a time and place. I’m an exceptional disciplinarian, so it’s paramount I’m able to balance my brusque immediacy with snuggles and Mommy lovin’. I have an unscientific ratio: for every one negative interaction, I try to communicate three positive ones. Mostly I’m successful, if for no other reason than I’m paying attention to when my kids do something lovely. Other than my son reaching the age of threenager, he’s a sweet and loving child. I like to think I’m doing something right.

My often harsh demeanor receiving requests for snuggles makes even the most heinous tantrum and oppressive guilt evaporate into the hazy early summer atmosphere. I don’t think there is adequate vocabulary to describe the sensation washing over me as my son rests his head on some portion of my upper anatomy…never able to squeeze quite close enough to me. Even if he is harboring a fugitive in his diaper with a smell that allows me to push off waxing my facial hair for the near future, I’ll hold him tighter. He won’t always ask these moments of me…probably sooner than I want to admit.

Image result for seagulls

(Even The Telegraph seagull looks dubious of Little Man’s diaper findingssavvy bird.)

Sometimes he’ll snuggle for ten minutes in a clip, sometimes have me read to him. But, sometimes they are quick, jerky stretches like this morning when he leaps from my marriage bed to retrieve his Minnie and Mickey stuffed animals. He carts them in tandem, but expressed overt preference for the former. My husband or I have to tuck her in every night. But, this morning he scampers down the hall subsequently returning with full arms…the stuffed animals are at least half his expansive height. Naturally, his heinously diseased dog mushed among the plush mice. I watch as my husband’s child removes the top of the two pillows because my husband does not sleep on it, and organizes his friends on the designated sleeping pillow. Shaking laughs erupt in spilling tears knowing the queasingly grotesque doggie is sprawled where my husband lies, and in moments he will discover it exiting the restroom. Sure, I could have instructed my son to move him, but such things are a losing battle in our house; Mr. Man insists in caring for all who mean the most to him…Besides, often that horrible dog is on my side of the bed. My husband is obligated to take one for the plague exposed team. Had I foreseen such events, I’m sure we would have managed it in our ketubah or marriage vows…just in case.

Image result for worn stuffed animal

(Neatorama agrees nothing tops such a toy resting peacefully on your pillow.)

Little Man was oblivious to my behaviors, concerned only for his friends as he climbs the bed to adequately cover all three with sheets. Satisfied all of us are warm, my son completes the remaining pieces of his typical bedtime routine, which includes the reprimands I give him nightly for dragging his feet through the teeth brushing/changing transition and haunting outside our bedroom door for entirely too late into the night.

My son is a good sleeper, but goes through waves of having difficulty settling at night. It’s likely because I allow him to sleep too long for his nap, but since I’ve been starting his naps earlier, the evenings have been a bit smoother. Last night, however, it was a long nap that started much too late. I suppose I’ve never sweated such things, as Mr. Man almost never sleeps past seven regardless of when he is finally down for the count. These days, however, I’m lucky to squeeze in exercise before both kids are up by six-thirty.

Amused I’m watching him turn on the light because he prefers a low lit desk lamp at night. He reiterates the conversations I have with him during his tuck in and room exit. He enters and exists the room repeatedly, closing the door gently. It’s all so familiar, but decidedly less amusing when it’s my turn. I’ve learned to love a “snuggle, hug, kiss, and smooch” as much as the next Mommy, but at some point, the kid needs to go to sleep.

Shocking Accolades

It’s been a swirling time in these parts. I continue to be fairly consumed with the hope I will have relief in the next couple weeks, but it’s hard to say. I hope to share a bit more than cryptic commentary at some point, but for now it’s been on my mind the sparse entries of late. I’d love to say I will be able to resume the frequency I’ve mostly maintained for some time, but in all likelihood I won’t have the intellectual capacity for a while yet. I can’t promise anything particularly profound within this post, but an incident happened the other day that compensates for the sheer doucheydom of which Mr. Man is capable these days.

It was a birthday party for another three-year-old. To say he is an acquaintance of my son is generous. Little Man has seen this boy a mere few times in his life; the last was a year ago…at this boy’s last birthday party. The establishment creating the party merriment is good with this type of thing…oodles of stuff on which to play and a formal program that shepherds the children through an hour-and-some-change variety of stuff in which we tired parents can chill in the background, kibitz, and watch our kids combust. Plus, they have a trampoline…Mr. Man loves a trampoline.

Image result for enjoying trampoline

(This has to be how my son sees the prospect of trampoline festivities.)

But, in true fashion, my extraordinarily active son met his fill of the bubble fog…jumping, climbing, and swinging within thirty minutes, choosing to avail himself of the food assortment while his peers maintained a steady flow of ruckus and ruach.

Related image

(Dailymail must have caught a glimpse of my son at the party.)

We cut him off just as he asked for a fourth slice of pizza, but he also ate the entirety of a fruit cup first and without prompt. I think that earns me some kind of parenting award. Interestingly he opted to forgo the juice box. That is often the case, and it surprises me every time. We don’t really give him juice. He adores it, yet passes whenever it is offered outside our home. That should earn me some kind of parenting award as well…or not. After his fruit and pizza, he scarfed an impressive slice of cake. But, to be fair, it was pretty incredible cake…certainly worth ripping a hole in my stomach after consuming delectable homemade Indian food. No wonder my friend’s son refuses to eat anything else, his mommy is an absolutely amazing cook. Warrior Queen also couldn’t get enough of the vegetable samosas.

But, before the dining my family fully enjoyed, there was one activity of note…for a couple reasons. It struck me as odd, but maybe I’m too sensitive…or whatever the correct label would be. It was creative play with a thick rope led by the two young women in charge of the mayhem. A cluster of three-year-olds like my son surrounding them eagerly awaiting what was in store. All of the children were instructed to rub their hands on the carpet in a false attempt to generate static electricity. The express purpose was for each child to grab the rope and “electrocute” one of the women. It just seemed so macabre…maybe scary?Image result for electrocuted woman

(It might be that I have an overactive imagination, but kinda weird, right?)

As each  of the children took their turn, she danced and jumped around, feigning the shock of an electric charge. She, fortunately, was not all that convincing. I halfheartedly urged my son to participate. Immediately from the explanation my sweet boy refused, anxiously shaking his head almost backing away with slight watery eyes. He was under the impression that he would be harming the woman, and couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Related image

(My son would blow Milgram out of the water…)

I don’t know if something like that comes from my influence or if it spontaneously generated from his natural constitution, but I think I’ll go ahead an accept that as some type of parenting award.

%d bloggers like this: