It was a morning like any other morning… the kids had been roused from their beds, with much poking, prodding and body armor on my part, and were now settled comfortably in front of the heating vents in the kitchen, happily munching on their breakfast of, ooh so nutritious, toaster strudel and chocolate milk. I, as was also typical of this time in the morning, was rushing around gathering ingredients to make the standard questionably nutritious bag lunch of PB & J, chocolate chip granola bars, juice box, some sort of fruit item and filler snack (normally pretzels or chips). Sounds simple, but it’s a trying task which I hem and haw over every morning thinking to myself about how I could come up with ways to make their lunches more nutritious (while at the same time yummy and enticing) that would actually stand up to the battering of the long bus ride, being stuffed into lockers and manhandled by my young.
It was as I was liberally spreading peanut butter (Aiden, my self proclaimed vegetarian needs protein so I put it on thick) on a slice of (ye gods, enriched white bread, I sent up an apology to my own mother) that Aiden, having had a pseudo cold for the last week, got up and grabbed a Kleenex and went to toss it in the garbage.
“WOW COOL!!!”
I glanced over. His face had lit up like a Christmas tree with the discovery of a red splotch of gooey mess on the lid of the trash can and I thought to myself (already anticipating just where this might lead)… this is what I get for putting things off.
I feel the need for a side note here, and a bit of an explanation. You see, I knew exactly what that red splotchy gooey mess was, of course, and I knew just how long it had been there. Dinner, two nights ago, had been another not very nutritious meal of chicken nuggets (the one meat Aiden will eat, his philosophy is that if its breaded it’s not really chicken… its nuggets and that’s ok), tatter tots and yes, that’s right, canned green beans. For those, my mother, cringing as you read that last line my excuse (hey, I’m a mom, not an army grunt) is forthcoming… Tim hadn’t been home that evening, trying to make up for an afternoon dentist appointment, and I, running around frantically trying to finish some pre-Christmas chores, had coped out on not only dinner, but had also allowed them to eat it in front of a movie and given them all gobs of ketchup for dipping. Amazingly both furniture and child escaped the wrath of smooshed tomatoes and corn syrup that evening since as soon as the ravenous consumption of chicken and beans had abated and the noise, other than movies and munching started to ensue, I’d collected the plates that still held a good amount of ketchup and tots (they only really like their potatoes in fry form) and hastily scrapped them into the garbage.
Side, side note: You will note I said I did this all hastily. From experience I have learned that to postpone picking up leftovers is like an invitation to Aiden, and his cohorts, to indulge in all sorts of mischief. It seems that once the edge of hunger is taken off he resorts to his more basic boy instincts as his mind turns to just what he could do with the rest of his unused meal and more often than not drags any associates that do not hold a measure of responsibility into his dark world of self indulgence. See what excellent parenting skills I can display? Anticipation? Cutting them off at the pass? Eh? Eh? What’s that? NO?!?! Oh come on now, no need to refresh my memory on ‘not so nutritious’ meals and slack parenting skills… let me pat myself on the back a bit here. I too like to succumb to self indulgence upon occasion and everyone needs a pick me up in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary and just because I consider chocolate chip granola bars healthy, routinely feed my kids chips and nuggets and run my house with a ‘good enough’ attitude on cleanliness… wait, I’m getting ahead of myself, go ahead, read on…
Now I could claim here that I didn’t notice that a healthy glob of red goo had been slopped onto the lid of the garbage can as I raced to scrap stack and scrub the dishes before hurrying the kids off to bed, but that would be a lie. And really, what is worse on a mother’s conscious, to pen ones lie to timelessly be read over and over again as this story is shared amongst all my known family and friends (and possibly some strangers besides) or to just readily admit to my less than noteworthy, enough to get by, housekeeping skills. So yes, with all the hustle and bustle of the season (hey, I need some excuse here, right?) I saw that big ole splotch of goo hit the garbage lid, quickly contemplated the time and effort involved in cleaning it right then, and left it instead, with a growl of disgust, for a later date when I wouldn’t be so rushed, cranky or tired. Yeah right, like that is ever going to happen. Aside done… back to the story.
“What is it Aiden?” Kaitlyn, sitting in front of her own toasty warm heater across the room, and always eager to share in her brothers ‘adventures in life’, craned her head to the side in an attempt to see just what had captured his attention.
“Ketchup!” Aiden exclaimed jovially. “Look at it! It’s sticking to the top of the trash can, it went like shwat and stuck there and now it’s like way cool.”
I inwardly rolled my eyes, going back to my spreading. Kaitlyn, seduced by the laughter in her brothers voice as he went on to describe the sheer perfection of the gooey sticky glob sprang up to take a closer look. I spread the jelly.
“EHhh! It’s sticky!” Kaitlyn cried out as I cringed inwardly, thoughts of stains and germs dancing in my head. Aiden, of course, had to touch it as well, and gave a high pitch rather girlish (he’s still young… hopefully he’ll grow out of this when his voice changes) squeak of glee. Partners in crime looked at each other with wide eyes and opened mouthed ‘Oh’s’ of delight as, I’m sure, their infinite little minds filled with all sorts of ideas of just how cool it would be if and what else they could do with a sticky pile of ketchupy goo.
Ok, it was now time to draw the parental line and put a stop to this before it got ugly.
“Leave it alone, sit down, and eat your breakfast. You have five minutes before it’s time to brush your teeth.” I dictated, inflicting just the right amount of ‘don’t mess with me’ authority into my voice.
They settled, amazing, but not without a lot of back and forth banter involving that glorious splotch of red. This is where I should have held my tongue. But I didn’t…
“Here is the philosophical difference between us bud.” I said, not chidingly, to Aiden as he’s the one that had started it all and he’s the leader when it comes to the discovery of red goo, mud puddles and other such things. I was actually in a good mood that morning (Christmas was coming after all) and although I found the whole sticky ketchup thing rather disgusting their reaction to it was kind of funny (and probably similar to what my own reaction would have been as a child). But that not withstanding, I felt this was a perfect time to open the lines of communication between mother and child, to let them see what wearing my shoes meant, to gain new understanding on life and responsibility and just why a mom is sometimes, ok often, inclined to ‘raise her voice’ when her offspring stumble upon such wondrous discoveries as this.
“I look at that ketchup on the lid,” I went on, “and see something totally different. Not only do I see a gooey sticky mess that needs cleaning, one that has probably stained that lid, but I see a perishable food item that after a couple days has already started to grow a plethora of mold and germs that could very well make you sick if you poke and prod at it. Especially since neither of you bothered to wash your hands before going back to eat your breakfast.” I let that sink in a moment. I didn’t even have to define plethora. I’m going with the theory that they understood, I use the word enough, not with the theory that they were toning me out. Hmm… Aiden was, however, giving me the devilish wide eyed, open mouthed look again. I hate that look, it puts my mommy hackles up on edge. “You, on the other hand, my dear boy, look at it and go ‘Cool! Look at that!’ and make it sound so neat and new and exciting that all the kids around you are crowding around the trash can poking at the sticky mess, getting themselves dirty, picking up germs, and spreading them around!”
“Wha?” Aiden shook his head at me and gave me that goofy mouthed grin of incredulity. That said… Like, wow mom, you’re really nuts aren’t you. That’s kind of funny that you’re so nutty. Or possibly it was simply… So what? And I care because… I ignored it and continued dispersing my supreme knowledge.
“So there it is bud, a little taste of my life.” I was met with another ‘ok whatever’ look. Obviously I wasn’t getting through. Plan b was quickly formed.
“Maybe we can, like, trade?” his mouth skewed up into a twist, his chin drawn in as he looked back and forth between me and his sister. Think goofy written all over his face and add a twirling finger at the side of his head and you’ll get what he was not so subtly saying about me to his sister. “Don’t you want to let me sit there in front of that nice warm heater while you make breakfast, pack lunch, hustle your children along and worry about them poking at ketchup and getting sick?
“Uh no. That’s ok.”
Sometimes I wonder if he’s only six. I remember using the same lines when I was a tween and beyond.
“Please?” I begged. “I would love to sit there. My feet are really cold you know. And I’m so tired…”
“But you don’t sit here mommy.”
Touché. Good point. When I sit down in the kitchen for a minute to relax it is always on the rug in front of ‘Kaitlyn’s heater.’ Hey, I’m entitled to my moments of self indulgence too, and those heaters, oh those heaters… they’re so warm and inviting…
I turned to Kaitlyn, the light of enthusiasm in my eyes as I tried to convince her that she, did in fact, not only want to, but truly desired to trade positions with me.
“How bout it Kaitlyn. Can I sit there? You can pack the lunches while I sit where you’re sitting now, goof around and get nice and toasty warm?”
She gave me a big smile… and shook her head no.
“But I’m tired of working!” I whined petulantly as I pulled the juice boxes from the fridge. “That’s all I do. Work, work, work. Why can’t I just sit in front of the heater and relax while someone else takes care of me. I want to be a kid again!”
“But you can’t!” Aiden piped up from across the room.
And that’s when it happened, when all my lazy housekeeping, fumbling parenting, and grand scheming came back to bite me in the pattutie. Kaitlyn, the kind hearted child that she is, had been affected by my ‘woe is me’ ranting and wanted to make me feel better by dispensing her own words of wisdom…
She got up, coming over to give me a pat on the shoulder, and said in a voice filled with sympathy, “that’s ok mommy. Someday you’ll die and you won’t have to work anymore.”
The lesson, as taught to me by my five year old…. It is not that we work hard to play before we die… it is that we play… then work until we die.
Hope my suffering has given you all at least a laugh or two! I’m off to the grocery store with a half-a$$ed list of necessary ingredients for the next five dinners…
p.s. for those of you who are curious… the ketchup is still there…
It was as I was liberally spreading peanut butter (Aiden, my self proclaimed vegetarian needs protein so I put it on thick) on a slice of (ye gods, enriched white bread, I sent up an apology to my own mother) that Aiden, having had a pseudo cold for the last week, got up and grabbed a Kleenex and went to toss it in the garbage.
“WOW COOL!!!”
I glanced over. His face had lit up like a Christmas tree with the discovery of a red splotch of gooey mess on the lid of the trash can and I thought to myself (already anticipating just where this might lead)… this is what I get for putting things off.
I feel the need for a side note here, and a bit of an explanation. You see, I knew exactly what that red splotchy gooey mess was, of course, and I knew just how long it had been there. Dinner, two nights ago, had been another not very nutritious meal of chicken nuggets (the one meat Aiden will eat, his philosophy is that if its breaded it’s not really chicken… its nuggets and that’s ok), tatter tots and yes, that’s right, canned green beans. For those, my mother, cringing as you read that last line my excuse (hey, I’m a mom, not an army grunt) is forthcoming… Tim hadn’t been home that evening, trying to make up for an afternoon dentist appointment, and I, running around frantically trying to finish some pre-Christmas chores, had coped out on not only dinner, but had also allowed them to eat it in front of a movie and given them all gobs of ketchup for dipping. Amazingly both furniture and child escaped the wrath of smooshed tomatoes and corn syrup that evening since as soon as the ravenous consumption of chicken and beans had abated and the noise, other than movies and munching started to ensue, I’d collected the plates that still held a good amount of ketchup and tots (they only really like their potatoes in fry form) and hastily scrapped them into the garbage.
Side, side note: You will note I said I did this all hastily. From experience I have learned that to postpone picking up leftovers is like an invitation to Aiden, and his cohorts, to indulge in all sorts of mischief. It seems that once the edge of hunger is taken off he resorts to his more basic boy instincts as his mind turns to just what he could do with the rest of his unused meal and more often than not drags any associates that do not hold a measure of responsibility into his dark world of self indulgence. See what excellent parenting skills I can display? Anticipation? Cutting them off at the pass? Eh? Eh? What’s that? NO?!?! Oh come on now, no need to refresh my memory on ‘not so nutritious’ meals and slack parenting skills… let me pat myself on the back a bit here. I too like to succumb to self indulgence upon occasion and everyone needs a pick me up in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary and just because I consider chocolate chip granola bars healthy, routinely feed my kids chips and nuggets and run my house with a ‘good enough’ attitude on cleanliness… wait, I’m getting ahead of myself, go ahead, read on…
Now I could claim here that I didn’t notice that a healthy glob of red goo had been slopped onto the lid of the garbage can as I raced to scrap stack and scrub the dishes before hurrying the kids off to bed, but that would be a lie. And really, what is worse on a mother’s conscious, to pen ones lie to timelessly be read over and over again as this story is shared amongst all my known family and friends (and possibly some strangers besides) or to just readily admit to my less than noteworthy, enough to get by, housekeeping skills. So yes, with all the hustle and bustle of the season (hey, I need some excuse here, right?) I saw that big ole splotch of goo hit the garbage lid, quickly contemplated the time and effort involved in cleaning it right then, and left it instead, with a growl of disgust, for a later date when I wouldn’t be so rushed, cranky or tired. Yeah right, like that is ever going to happen. Aside done… back to the story.
“What is it Aiden?” Kaitlyn, sitting in front of her own toasty warm heater across the room, and always eager to share in her brothers ‘adventures in life’, craned her head to the side in an attempt to see just what had captured his attention.
“Ketchup!” Aiden exclaimed jovially. “Look at it! It’s sticking to the top of the trash can, it went like shwat and stuck there and now it’s like way cool.”
I inwardly rolled my eyes, going back to my spreading. Kaitlyn, seduced by the laughter in her brothers voice as he went on to describe the sheer perfection of the gooey sticky glob sprang up to take a closer look. I spread the jelly.
“EHhh! It’s sticky!” Kaitlyn cried out as I cringed inwardly, thoughts of stains and germs dancing in my head. Aiden, of course, had to touch it as well, and gave a high pitch rather girlish (he’s still young… hopefully he’ll grow out of this when his voice changes) squeak of glee. Partners in crime looked at each other with wide eyes and opened mouthed ‘Oh’s’ of delight as, I’m sure, their infinite little minds filled with all sorts of ideas of just how cool it would be if and what else they could do with a sticky pile of ketchupy goo.
Ok, it was now time to draw the parental line and put a stop to this before it got ugly.
“Leave it alone, sit down, and eat your breakfast. You have five minutes before it’s time to brush your teeth.” I dictated, inflicting just the right amount of ‘don’t mess with me’ authority into my voice.
They settled, amazing, but not without a lot of back and forth banter involving that glorious splotch of red. This is where I should have held my tongue. But I didn’t…
“Here is the philosophical difference between us bud.” I said, not chidingly, to Aiden as he’s the one that had started it all and he’s the leader when it comes to the discovery of red goo, mud puddles and other such things. I was actually in a good mood that morning (Christmas was coming after all) and although I found the whole sticky ketchup thing rather disgusting their reaction to it was kind of funny (and probably similar to what my own reaction would have been as a child). But that not withstanding, I felt this was a perfect time to open the lines of communication between mother and child, to let them see what wearing my shoes meant, to gain new understanding on life and responsibility and just why a mom is sometimes, ok often, inclined to ‘raise her voice’ when her offspring stumble upon such wondrous discoveries as this.
“I look at that ketchup on the lid,” I went on, “and see something totally different. Not only do I see a gooey sticky mess that needs cleaning, one that has probably stained that lid, but I see a perishable food item that after a couple days has already started to grow a plethora of mold and germs that could very well make you sick if you poke and prod at it. Especially since neither of you bothered to wash your hands before going back to eat your breakfast.” I let that sink in a moment. I didn’t even have to define plethora. I’m going with the theory that they understood, I use the word enough, not with the theory that they were toning me out. Hmm… Aiden was, however, giving me the devilish wide eyed, open mouthed look again. I hate that look, it puts my mommy hackles up on edge. “You, on the other hand, my dear boy, look at it and go ‘Cool! Look at that!’ and make it sound so neat and new and exciting that all the kids around you are crowding around the trash can poking at the sticky mess, getting themselves dirty, picking up germs, and spreading them around!”
“Wha?” Aiden shook his head at me and gave me that goofy mouthed grin of incredulity. That said… Like, wow mom, you’re really nuts aren’t you. That’s kind of funny that you’re so nutty. Or possibly it was simply… So what? And I care because… I ignored it and continued dispersing my supreme knowledge.
“So there it is bud, a little taste of my life.” I was met with another ‘ok whatever’ look. Obviously I wasn’t getting through. Plan b was quickly formed.
“Maybe we can, like, trade?” his mouth skewed up into a twist, his chin drawn in as he looked back and forth between me and his sister. Think goofy written all over his face and add a twirling finger at the side of his head and you’ll get what he was not so subtly saying about me to his sister. “Don’t you want to let me sit there in front of that nice warm heater while you make breakfast, pack lunch, hustle your children along and worry about them poking at ketchup and getting sick?
“Uh no. That’s ok.”
Sometimes I wonder if he’s only six. I remember using the same lines when I was a tween and beyond.
“Please?” I begged. “I would love to sit there. My feet are really cold you know. And I’m so tired…”
“But you don’t sit here mommy.”
Touché. Good point. When I sit down in the kitchen for a minute to relax it is always on the rug in front of ‘Kaitlyn’s heater.’ Hey, I’m entitled to my moments of self indulgence too, and those heaters, oh those heaters… they’re so warm and inviting…
I turned to Kaitlyn, the light of enthusiasm in my eyes as I tried to convince her that she, did in fact, not only want to, but truly desired to trade positions with me.
“How bout it Kaitlyn. Can I sit there? You can pack the lunches while I sit where you’re sitting now, goof around and get nice and toasty warm?”
She gave me a big smile… and shook her head no.
“But I’m tired of working!” I whined petulantly as I pulled the juice boxes from the fridge. “That’s all I do. Work, work, work. Why can’t I just sit in front of the heater and relax while someone else takes care of me. I want to be a kid again!”
“But you can’t!” Aiden piped up from across the room.
And that’s when it happened, when all my lazy housekeeping, fumbling parenting, and grand scheming came back to bite me in the pattutie. Kaitlyn, the kind hearted child that she is, had been affected by my ‘woe is me’ ranting and wanted to make me feel better by dispensing her own words of wisdom…
She got up, coming over to give me a pat on the shoulder, and said in a voice filled with sympathy, “that’s ok mommy. Someday you’ll die and you won’t have to work anymore.”
The lesson, as taught to me by my five year old…. It is not that we work hard to play before we die… it is that we play… then work until we die.
Hope my suffering has given you all at least a laugh or two! I’m off to the grocery store with a half-a$$ed list of necessary ingredients for the next five dinners…
p.s. for those of you who are curious… the ketchup is still there…
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