Between birth and one year of age, my kids:
Rolled over, crawled, pulled up and walked by 9 months
Ate solid food
Said all family names
Eventually spoke in choppy sentences
Followed book pages with their eyes and hands
Always toddled toward Mama and Dada.
Between 16 and 17 years of age, two of my three kids:
Got their driving permit
Secured a job
Began independently driving a moving vehicle (a.k.a. license)
Brought home a significant other
Attended high school parties and dances
Began walking a little farther away from Mama and Dada….
Whenever I don’t laugh at something my 16-year old son thinks is funny, he asks me if I was EVER a kid. Just last week he told a friend that he believes Grandma delivered me as a “grown up”.
The truth is, somewhere along the parenting-teens years, I have admittedly grown more serious.
Why my son doesn’t think I was ever a kid:
1.) I am too much of a deep thinker, and not enough of a laugh-er.
2.) I am humor-challenged. This is the residual of my ever-running, analytical mind.
Example: Last December, my daughters and I were at a Christmas craft fair. They told me a joke. I didn’t get it. They laughed even harder watching my eyebrows furrow, my head tilt, and my blank stare prevail. I asked them deep, thoughtful questions, attempting to understand. They rolled their eyes. 25 minutes later, I burst out laughing in front of several cashiers. I finally “got it”, and because it took me so long, I laughed even harder, until my daughters were both mortified at how I was carrying on.
3.) I don’t play like they do. When my kids were little, I was out the door every summer day by 9am, rollerblading behind a triplet stroller, and days were packed with play time. For years, I played all sports with them, swam, acted out pretend shows and participated in hours of hide-and-seek. They don’t remember much of it. Now that they are older, my kids think my idea of play time is reading a good book or visiting a museum.
4.) I believe my children should be somewhat-versed in American history and current politics. I argue that knowledge makes us better citizens, and me a wiser teacher and parent. History and politics in teen language: BORING.
5.) I like order. Labels. Symmetry. Clean counters. This makes my kids crazy.
How I’m becoming a little “lighter” this year, and getting in tune with my “teenage-self”:
1.) Instead of reaching for a book because “I should” read (when I’m in the mood to watch something mindless on television), I turn on the TV.
2.) I’m on the lookout for funny things and, I purposely began my year in January by going with my family to see Tim Hawkins. If you have not heard of him, you must follow him on Twitter, look him up on YouTube, and see his comic show asap!
3.) My son dressed up in his street goalie pads the other day and I took shots on net. We played basketball for an hour (limping around on my bad ankle). I’ve been playing games and swimming (even after rain cools down the water!).
4.) I’m watching less national news (I’m an admitted news junkie). I’m still informed, but I’ve (almost) completely ceased spouting remarks at the screen.
5.) I close my son’s bedroom door when company is coming. I tell myself the floor is a great place to keep freshly washed clothes. Who needs drawers?
Throwback Thursday from 7/29/2013
Well, our pre-Mom lives certainly didn’t always look like the photo to the left, and our post-Mom lives certainly don’t always look like the photo to the right. But, wow, sometimes it does get crazy, right?! (Photo courtesy momtastic.com.)
Stuff Moms sometimes say out loud, but more often, we don’t:
Is this what I signed up for?
How did I ever like cooking?
Does my husband seriously think he does more than me in this house?!
Did I really like this guy when I married him?
Who am I?
I don’t like my teenager right now. I hate myself for even thinking that in a bubble thought.
I’m lonely. Yes, I know I’m NEVER alone, but I feel lonely.
I need to get out of this house!
Is anything I’m doing of value at all?
Is this kid absorbing anything of what I’m saying?!
This is freaking hard.
I thought I was more than this.
Cleaning no longer feels like “home-making”. Now I feel like I have a PhD in maid.
What happened to my wardrobe? 😦