Death by Flatware

FacebookPinterestLinkedInStumbleUponDeliciousTumblrShare

(Previously posted in 4/2010)

One day I was sitting at my laptop in the kitchen concentrating on meeting a deadline and somewhere in my subconscious I heard Munchkin #1 yelling for me from the upstairs office.

“Mom, I need you to come here,” asked my daughter.

Out of habit, I bellowed back, “What’s the matter?”

“Just come here,” she replied.

Calmly I asked, “Is anything on fire?”

“No, but I need you,” said girl wonder.

Now in hindsight, I vaguely remember hearing her say there was a spider on the wall in the office, but between my concentration on my article and her not truly answering my questions, I did the bad mommy trick, tune out your overly talkative child.  I try very hard not to do this, for I hate it when people do it to me, but there was this deadline, and…

Needless to say, I did not go upstairs. And after asking several times for me to come help her, she gave up on me.  This is what I heard next.  STOMP, STOMP, STOMP (x13) down the stairs, a loud exhalation of frustration, the kitchen silverware drawer opening, rustling around for the right utensil, another exhale, and a slam of the drawer.

Now she had my attention.  “Honey, what ARE you doing?”

“I need a fork,” she said irritated.

“What do you need a fork for?”

“I TOLD YOU THERE WAS A SPIDER IN THE OFFICE!!” she snapped, turned around and started to run up the stairs with flatware in tow.

Yes, my 4.5 year old daughter was going to fork that spider to death since her lazy mother wouldn’t do it for her.  I ran upstairs, apologized for not listening to her and removed the silver weapon from her hand.  Then with one razor quick move, I removed my flip-flop, smashed the bug proudly and said, “That’s how you do it!”

“I would have used the fork,” she claimed.

©2012, Hatton. All rights reserved.

FacebookPinterestLinkedInStumbleUponDeliciousTumblrShare

Growing a Girl into a Woman – just add Lemonade

FacebookPinterestLinkedInStumbleUponDeliciousTumblrShare

I always knew traveling with children would be bad for my health, but the stress of traveling pales in comparison to the geography lessons they pick up and the realization that the grass can be greener on the other side of the fence.

Today was an especially low-key day with little stress and happy children roaming through our home.  And some of them were mine.

We decided to invite a neighbor girl over to play. I didn’t even hesitate to have her join the fun.  After all, everyone was on Spring Break vacation, the sun was shining, the birds were twittering, or is that “tweeting” now?  I’m not hip to the lingo yet…still have preschoolers.

After setting up a lovely picnic/snack under the fir tree for a “kids only” party, I retreated to my chair perched high above on the deck, so I had a full referee-view of the yard.  However, the list of demands started up right after I opened my book.  I was watching the children closely WHILE reading my book.  It’s a gift – don’t challenge it.

The remaining dialog for the next 40 (condensed)  minutes follows:

“Mom, we’re thirsty.  Can we have some more lemonade?”

“We ran out of lemonade.  How about some water?” I said smiling.

“How about some apple juice?” the other child asks.

“How about some water?” I repeated.

“We don’t want water. I’ll make some more lemonade,” says my oldest sassy one while heading for the kitchen.

“If you are truly thirsty, water is the best thing for you.  I’d love to get you all some water.”

The youngest of my sassy-pants adds, “I’m not thirsty, so can I have some apple juice?”

**inhale, exhale, inhale…”

By this time, the eldest and most brazen of the group, is huffing past my perch and dragging a kitchen chair over to the refrigerator with a package of lemonade in her hand.  Apparently, when you turn five you are able to do what you want and prepare anything in MY kitchen.  My fault…I hadn’t let her know in the last hour who is the BOSS in this house.

Not looking up from my book, I holler into the kitchen, “What are you doing?”

“I’m making lemonade and it will be the PINK kind,” she boldly announces.

The next 5 minutes is comprised of  inane  bantering about who is allowed to do what, where, and when – until a crazy woman screams, “YOU NEED TO GO TO YOUR ROOM, SO I CAN COOL DOWN!”  Don’t know where that woman came from or why she can project so well into the neighboring county, but it worked.

There is stomping up the stairs, door slamming, and then…SILENCE.  Ahhhhhhhhh.  Glance over to the other kids.  They are happy as clams and have started another game of find the best pine-cone.  Back to my book…

Fifteen minutes later oldest child exits her room, dragging a heavy suitcase down the stairs.

Bump, bump, bump… “Good-bye, Mom!”

“Where are you going?” This mama has cooled down and that crazy woman has thankfully left the deck.

Stating matter-of-factly, “I’m moving to the beach!”

“When did you decide to go on a trip?” I ask.

She kicks out her 5T hip to the side and glares at the enemy, “You sent me upstairs, so I packed. I’m tough now and I don’t need you.”  Oh, where did she find that dagger pierced deep into my heart?

Then my daughter dramatically gasps, drops her suitcase and twirls around, “Oh, I forgot my beach umbrella and my sun block!”

“Don’t forget to pack your lemonade!” I call out to the wind she left behind.

Needless to say, we patched things up with hugs and kisses, and apologies followed.  My first borne  announced she would miss her family and her lemonade…such a touching epilogue.

Isn’t it amazing how these events form our children into the type of adult they will become?  It’s satisfying to know my beautiful daughter, who I absolutely adore and cherish, is slowly growing into a self-sufficient young woman, who will take care of her skin, be well traveled, and will have her PINK lemonade no matter what people think!

FacebookPinterestLinkedInStumbleUponDeliciousTumblrShare

A Mother’s Worst Church Nightmare

FacebookPinterestLinkedInStumbleUponDeliciousTumblrShare

(To all my Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist and Agnostic friends…keep reading – you will feel the pain if you have children!)

Well, the big day had arrived!  The first performance of the preschool choir (aka The Cherub Choir) in the history of my church was to commence and I was to direct them. These four and five year-olds had been preparing for months and were pumped to sing for the church on Sunday; and if you have them motivated that is 80% of the battle.  The rest is … just singing.

The nice part of having a preschool choir is that no matter what, they are going to be cute.  Just the walking up to the front of the altar in their favorite outfits and the hand waving to their parents is enough to make you “ooh” and “ah!”  And right on cue they started grinning and waving, and pulling at clothing and picking various bodily crevices.  Great stuff!

One of the female Reverends was going to give church announcements while the kids were getting in place.  Note to Reverend Gail…not to be disrespectful, but you might want to send out an email because no one was listening to you!  Gail is very cute herself, but you just can’t compete with this age group. Sorry.

So they get through the song and there is applause and laughter.  I just figured people were laughing because the kids were so darling that they were filled with joy and that was an appropriate release.  However, that was not the case.

As I was cueing the guitarist to finish the last song, on the other side of the choir a little dancing was going on.  One of my students was shaking her bootie in quite a noticeable manner.  Guess whose kid it was?  Yep.  Mine!  She felt the rhythm and couldn’t control her hips.  I am doomed.

The songs are over and the children go back to their parents to finish the service; and afterwards one of the other Reverends, a male that was wearing a long white robe – traditional for Episcopalians, came up to congratulate my children on a job well done.  It was also at this time, that I was informed by the clergy that my daughter could “really shake it.” A mother can only be so proud.

This wasn’t the “dinger” though.  My daughter started dancing again and the Reverend lifted the hem of his robe and did a dance similar to a low-key Rockette’s kickline.  Very cute and bonding with my child.

Then it happened…my darling cherub shook her head back and forth at him and disapprovingly said, “Oh, Jesus!” When I awoke from unconsciousness, I looked at all persons surrounding us to see who heard her.  No one.  We were in the clear!

It is one thing to get in trouble in school, but to take the Lord’s name in vain in FRONT of the Reverend, is way too much for this Mama.  After all, when my kids do something squirrely, I shake my head in the same fashion and say, “Oh, (insert child’s name)!”

It was a few minutes later that I finally got it.  She wasn’t swearing in front of the altar, but she truly believed that the male Reverend was the real Jesus.  AHHHHH!  After I was able to start my heart beating again, I decided the story was precious, instead of devastating.

I haven’t corrected her yet because I don’t want her to be embarrassed, but we will have a little discussion in the near future about who is who in the church and discuss when it is appropriate to gyrate your hips in public.  Can I hear an AMEN?

Peace Out!

FacebookPinterestLinkedInStumbleUponDeliciousTumblrShare