It is that time of year again. The time when we send our children out to gather thousands of pounds of candy. So, let’s vote. What is your favorite candy that you are hoping your kid(s) bring home? Which ones will magically disappear out of their pumpkin bucket before they have a chance to eat it?
And have fun trick-o-treating … but don’t forget the hand sanitizer.
Normally, I love the Pumpkin Patch. But this year the phrase “pumpkin patch” should have been accompanied by a warning sticker…or at least background music that went “dum dum dummmm!” In years past, our beloved trip to the patch was at this lovely little working farm. We were the only school there, there was a worm barrel, a few animals to look at, and small little pumpkins to pick. It was, well like I said above… lovely. So, when our beloved farm closed its door to school pumpkin patch visits, our school was forced switched to another venue. A venue known as THE FARM — que music… “dum dum dummmmm…”.
With my previous paradigm in place of the lovely local patch, I decided that taking Emme (age 19 months) on Ty’s kindergarten field trip to THE FARM… dum dum dummm… was going to be just fine. It became immediately apparent after our 30 minute drive on fog infested country roads that this was not a farm. This was an amusement park. Designed by Stephen King. Luring peace and pumpkin loving parents to their doom.
The rundown looks like this. First of all, we were there with about 20 other preschools and kindergartens — so about two billion children under the age of 5. Making it a chaotic melee of children moving from station to station on THE FARM…dum dum dumm… while being shouted at by the “farmers” to keep moving, folks. The hayride scared Emme. While all the kindergarten girls picked out cute little purse pumkins, Ty picked out what felt like the world’s largest pumpkin. So I had to enlist our neighbor to carry it because with 28 pound Emme on one hip, the 30+ pound pumpkin was too freakin heavy and it didn’t fit in the grocery bag the school provided. Some may say, why did you let Ty get such a big pumpkin. I DON’T KNOW is the answer. It make sense in the intial nano-second and then I was committed. The picture doesn’t do it justice.
After the hayride and pumpkin search, there was a hay maze which ended in a slide from the top of the barn. The attendant asked for two parents to “man the slide.” After the first kids went down the slide, it became obvious that “manning the slide” was code for “try not to let any kids kill themselves while shooting off the end of the world’s fastest slide into a pile of hay.” These kids were like wellie-clad bullets coming off that thing. Ty stood at the top of the slide for quite some time before risking his life to exit the hay maze.
I can now feel my sanity exiting THE FARM.. dum dum dummmm… along with my sense of humor and the spring in my step.
We then went to the animal area. Emme loved the giant pig. Ty loved to climb on the tractor –which resulted in a perilous fall where it appeared that he cracked his head on the cement. After barking clone-trooper-esque orders at our neighbor to GRAB EMME, I ran to Ty’s rescue — all the while going over the signs of concussions in my head and calculating how far we were from the nearest ER. As it turns out he miracously didn’t hit his head, only his elbow … and his bum. But his bum was okay, he said, because he was “wearing really tough pants.”
We finally get to the picnic area where Ty is enjoying a POPSICLE of all things. I din’t even care that now we were injecting the kids with sugar, I was just relieved we had made it to a chair. It is at this point that my friend Kristi considers texting our friend Kim (who will be attending the afternoon session at THE FARM..dum dum dummm…) that THE FARM is almost as bad as Chuck E. Cheese. Now, I have a deal with my husband about Chuck E. Cheese. I will carry the children in my uterus for 9 months, undergo surgery to bring them into the world, and then nourish them off of my breast. But HE HAS TO GO TO CHUCK E CHEESE. And from now on he is on THE FARM.. dum dum dummm.. duty as well.
It is at this moment that some yells, “Hey come watch the PIG SHOW!”
Enough said.
Because he loves going to pubs to watch sports games… not with the boys, but with ME!
He rubs my feet every single night.
He carries the kids from the living room to the bedroom every single night at bedtime. Even though I am sure he is in ample amounts of pain by the time he gets to kid #4… or maybe even #2…
He loves all kids.
He loves all vampires.
He cannot follow even the simplest plot line on a TV or Movie. This makes me look like a freakin’ genius — especially if I actually PREDICT the ending, which I have taken to writing down and putting in an envelope to be opened after the finale so as to not ruin it for him.
He can do Calculus but struggles with dividing up a single quesidilla amongst 5 kids.
He never ever yells… at anyone.
He calls Emme “Sweet Girl” and there in no one she would rather be with than him.
He has amazing blue eyes, killer biceps, and a sexy jawline.
He tries harder than anyone I know.
He loves 80′s power ballads. Especially, “My Heart Will Go On” from the Titanic soundtrack. Could I even make that up?
He can turn the simplest conversation into a science lesson.
He learned to love baseball just for me.
He is deeply kind.
He works two demanding jobs so I can stay home with the kids.
He loves me not in spite of my cantankerous side but because of my cantankerous side.
His favorite students are the ones on the fringe, the ones who have lost hope in school… and then he wins them over.
That even though he turned 39 yesterday, he thinks he can pull-off looking like he is in his mid-20′s by donning a hat and baggy shorts.
Happy Birthday, honey, I love you!
I am the mother of pirate.
That same pirate is also a jedi, a superhero, a secret agent, and a paleontologist.
Before Ty was born I knew that becoming a mom would be transformative. I knew that in my head but I didn’t know it in my heart until I had this little baby in my arms and I knew… knew… I would never be the same.
My mom describes motherhood like this. When your child is born there is a rope (I am speaking metaphorically here… I would never advocate giving a rope to a newborn.) The mommy holds most of the rope and the baby has a grip on just the fray at the end. Slowly, slowly we start to hand over more of the rope to our kids — giving them more control, more say, more of themselves. And, in turn, we get less control, less say, and less of them. Until one day we see that they have the whole rope and we are gripping the fray at the end.
The first time this was put to the test was when Ty was about 18 months old. The older girls had been living with us for a few months and Ty chose Jade INSTEAD OF ME to read him his afternoon book. My first thought was to recoil and start reeling in that rope… but luckily I got ahold of myself. There have also been times when Ty has tried to grab so much, no, TOO much of the rope for him to handle. Like the time he was 2 years old and used a variety of household items — fire poker, stool, hanger — to try and break into Grandma’s car.
Last week Ty turned five. Before his birthday I thought I would be terribly depressed and blue at the thought of his turning five. I thought I would have “rope burns” as a bit more of the rope was yanked through my hands. Instead, I found myself willing handing it over with a quiet peace of mind that although my boy was growing up, that he was exactly where he was supposed to be and so was I.
I teased him by saying, “When you turn five, will you still hug me?” “Yes!” he said. “Will you still wanna cuddle?” “Yes!” he yelled. “Will you still climb into bed with me when you have a bad dream?” “Yes, MOMMY,” he said, “I will always hug you and kiss you and wanna sleep with you and cuddle you and love you and give you MARATHON kisses!” And, I know that all of this is not exactly the truth. He will, afterall, go on to love other people — his wife, his kids, his grandkids. And I will almost for sure be the overbearing mother in law that makes everyone’s eyes roll. Showing up with my color coded calendar of activities and still licking my finger to wipe a smudge off of his cheek. But, I do know that my love for him is a gift. That NO ONE will ever love HIM like I do. No one. Because no one loves you like your mom. And, I get to be “mom.” And that is a good thing.
So, avast the sails, me hearties. May the force be with you. Up, up and away. Get out your decorder ring. Dig up some T-rex bones. And have a very Happy Mother’s Day!
