Real Life

I've been solo parenting for close to a week now as Dadd-O is away for work. Evenings have been pretty uneventful- pick up from daycare/preschool, play outside, eat dinner, playtime, Harrison watches TV while I put Jaxy to bed, I fight with him to brush his teeth and go to sleep... And repeat.

Yesterday, I thought I'd mix it up a little, and decided last minute to stop at the local playground. I wasn't really dressed in playground attire, but I figured, What the heck? Live a little! (yes, this is my life now). As we pulled in to the school parking lot, I realized how busy it was- and I also realized that I had to pee BAD. If you've given birth to a child (or more than one) you know how that can take a toll on your bladder. So when I say I had to pee, I had to pee NOW.

I'll be right back, I said.
I wanna come, screamed Harrison.
No, I'll be right back. I just have to pee.
So do I!

Of course... of course you do. I can't leave screaming children in my car in a school parking lot with 100 witnesses people nearby. I didn't see a porta-potty and I'm not familiar enough with the school to know if it was locked, or even where the bathroom was, and things were getting pretty urgent. I took the boys out of their car seats, held their little hands as we crossed the busy parking lot, and walked carefully into the "woods". (By woods, I mean five feet of trees between the parking lot and some one's backyard.)

Sssshhhh, I said. I'm just going to pee really quick. Luckily I was wearing a skirt, so I squatted down and went to work.

Are you pooping? Harrison yelled.
No! Ssshhh!

And that's when Jaxy squatted down to check out what I was doing right up close.

Bubbles! He exclaimed.
Yes, there are bubbles... from my pee.

Harrison then proceeded with a less than accurate anatomy lesson on how girls pee differently than boys and "baginas" are grosser than penises.

I finished up, drip dried and stood to head out of the "woods". That's when I realized that the back of my skirt was wet. Not just a little wet either, the back of my skirt was soaked in urine.

Shit!
Shit's a bad word, Harrison reminded me.
Yes, it is, sorry.
Can we go play now?
Yes, just a second. I need to get something out of my car.

Thankfully, I'd been driving my gym bag around, unused, for the past two weeks. I reached in and found a pair of yoga pants, slipped them on under my skirt and voila. But wait... I can't wear my dressy work shirt with yoga pants.

Boys, stay right there on the edge of the grass.
Why are you getting in the car?

I stealthily slipped one shirt off and the other one on, while the boys threw rocks onto the grass (apologies to whomever mows). I'm telling myself that no one saw a thing.

Why did you change your shirt? Did you pee on your shirt?
Who wants me to push them on the swing?!?

I can't make this shit up, people.

Mother’s Day

My mama and Me, Circa 1984

I prepare myself for people who don’t know me well to ask, well intentioned, if I’m doing anything special with my mom on Sunday. Then there’s the awkward moment where I explain that she’s gone. I hear coworkers talk about their plans to get a pedicure or have a fun day of shopping with their moms, and I feel envious and just a little lost.

Thankfully, I only had to endure one Mother’s Day after losing my own mom before I became a mother myself- and even then, I was a few months pregnant and already a mother at heart. I am grateful to have children of my own now to shift my focus from feeling sad and lost, to hopeful and happy. Not a day goes by that I don’t find myself doing something that reminds me of her…

Snuggling my boys to sleep, and waking them in the morning with gentle smooches

Dancing like a freak to make my boys laugh… or sometimes just to bug them

Calling Harrison Love Bug

Blasting age-inappropriate music, dancing and singing my heart out in the car

Sitting patiently with my Harrison, on his bed, as he works through difficult feelings of anger, stress, and anxiety

Saying I love you about a million times each day

Treating my children like people, truly valuing their feelings

I realize that I was raised by an amazingly, patient, kind, hardworking, selfless mother who taught me what it means to love unconditionally. There are so many times on this crazy road called parenthood, where I wish I could call her for advice... or just a good cry. But by trying to mirror her mothering style, I can almost feel her presence.



The way I remember her



I showed Harrison this picture the other day and he said, You look like your mudder.

Thanks buddy, I sure hope so.