“Mommy? Your heart’s not small…it’s big!
That’s what I learned on Ruby’s Studio!”
“Funny, I learned that at about your age too!””
5.) The last time someone called you a name.
I sat on the couch outside Kainoa’s room listening to him scream. I wouldn’t let him stay up past his bedtime to put stickers on his polka dot wallet. When he threatened to do it in the dark anyway I removed the sticker book from his room. My job at this point was to sit there and make sure he stayed in his room. Kainoa happens to be a talking crier and I really enjoy listening to all of the things he has to say mid-hysterics. After I listened to him call me “horrible of him” I decided to go ahead and jot down all the things he had to say. This is not the first time he’s called me a name but it is the last time (for now). I believe I’ve been called an “Icky Bobbi”, a “foo foo” and other similar things, but here’s what he had to say about me this time,
“She’s not the boss of me!
She’s horrible of me!
She doesn’t take good care of me!
Nobody takes good care of me.
I only take good care of me on my own!
Everybody hates me.
Even everybody’s mean to me.
And I’m never gonna listen to anybody…anybody that’s mean to me!
And mommy’s being mean!
So I’m not listening to her!
…..Annnd I need to be covered up. Sighhhh….I need to be covered up.
And people are mean to me, I’m not listening to anybody.
Anybody accept me.
I hate her.
Cause everybody’s mean.
Even it starts with a m-o-m and a d-a-d.
Even mommy and daddy are mean to me.
I’m starting to have bad dreams. I can’t sleep! I’m gonna have a bad dream!
Comes out of his room to hug me, “Mommy? I think I can’t sleep cause I’m gonna have a scary dream…can you come cover me up?”
Looks like maybe I’m not so horrible of him after all!
1.) Write a blog post inspired by the word: ring.
He cried when I picked him up from preschool. “I want to go to Emma’s today mom!”
I said we didn’t time and he cried. Three days a week. Every time I picked him up.
When we saw her at a theme park the following summer he insisted on following her to the train, “but Kainoa, we’re not going that way…let’s stay with our group”. He looked back at the train. She was already in line with her family, “NO Mom! I have to go to the train!”
Without waiting for my okay he ran to it.
When he couldn’t squeeze into the space next to her he moved to the next caboose down and waved at her the entire time.
As we walked away he said, “I’m gonna marry her someday mom. I’m gonna put a ring on her finger. Someday, when I don’t have you anymore and Emma doesn’t have her mom? We will have each other and we will be happy.”
I looked at my boy, this excited little goof ball I clean up after every day. He has a good heart. I wonder if Emma will appreciate his good heart when she starts cleaning up after him.
My girl is shy.
I understand her because I see myself in her but I found myself apologizing for her for years.
I’m sorry she doesn’t want to hug you. I’m sorry she shrivels away when you speak to her. I’m sorry she doesn’t shout her “thank yous” when she opens your gift, I’m sorry she bursts into tears when you step in to gently redirect her.
It’s not you…she’s just shy. She’s sensitive. She’s thrilled to see you, she just doesn’t express it so much but I swear she’s excited right now!
I had an aha moment when Maile’s third grade teacher once listened to one of my apologies and instead of nodding in an “oh I understand your daughter is different” kind of way she rather looked at me and said, “You realize this is her gift don’t you? What a beautiful little girl to have that quiet space in her.”
And it kind of took my breath away.
I had known it, but there was something about hearing someone say it out loud that made me feel a mixture of shame for allowing myself to be influenced by what I felt like other people expected of my child…and also gratitude. That this woman understood it almost better than I did in that moment and that we were lucky enough to have her teaching my daughter for the year.
My little girl, with that quiet space in her, what a gift she is to me.
Happy tenth Birthday Maile!
For Maile:
Happy Fourth Birthday
Happy Fifth Birthday
Happy Sixth Birthday
Happy Seventh Birthday
Happy Eighth Birthday
Happy Ninth Birthday
On Fridays my kids homework packets are due.
Every Friday morning I quickly flip through the packets to make sure they’re signed before I send the kids off to school for the day.
The other week I realized Kainoa didn’t actually DO much of what was in his packet and because I’ve turned his teacher into one of my new best friends I felt pretty comfortable completing the portion of his packet that wanted him to draw a picture that tells a story for him.
I particularly enjoyed the note she left on the assignment:
“Not sure, I’m kicking the ball at my mom maybe?”
I was disappointed to see Kainoa’s interpretation of the story because I WAS THINKING OF HIS SISTER WHEN I DREW IT.
4.) Describe your first pregnancy…piece of cake or terrible experience?
One of my newly pregnant friends recently mentioned how awful her first trimester sickness has been. I was all, “ugh! You poor thing! That’s the worst!” quickly followed by, “I mean I never actually had morning sickness, but it just sounds awful!”
And then I talked about how even though I was never actually sick I WAS really tired. Really really tired. Fatigue sounds more serious, I was seriously fatigued.
Any woman who has ever experienced morning sickness typically wants to slap me when I talk about how some mornings I just wanted to cry because I felt too tired to work.
Luckily for me my job as a school teacher ended when summer started and I was able to stay home and rest up.
And this is where I’m actually miffed at the life I led back then. I had no other kids so I just incubated my baby and dreamed of our future life together.
I distinctly remember talking to Pat about how I hit the wall everyday during Oprah. Oprah was my girl and I just could NOT make it through an episode without falling asleep.
And if I was sitting down to watch Oprah you can bet I didn’t miss Dr. Phil the hour before that. And if I’m being perfectly honest…I definitely watched Days of Our Lives and Passions before that.
Did I actually watch four consecutive hours of TV everyday? In the middle of the afternoon? I know I was on the computer a bit trying to figure out how to start a home business. Did we have dial up? Certainly I spent some time reading. I have a memory of a scrapbook. I think I quilted a blanket. I definitely did not clean the house.
What’s more is that if you had asked me back then, I FELT busy. I would get annoyed by people who asked what I did all day now that school was over, “PLENTY…I do plenty!”
And by “plenty” I meant, “nothing…literally nothing.”
Sadly it wasn’t until I had the baby, built the daycare and added new additions to the family that I realized how good I had it back then! Granted, we were depleting our savings every month I spent on the couch watching Oprah…but still, my goal in life is to one day become the lady of leisure I was meant to be.
Football is big in Seattle right now because the Seahawks are actually good and nothing brings a city together like a reason to drink and a winning streak. I don’t watch football and for a long time have been convinced that there is no way women enjoy the game. I honestly believed that women who claim to love football were only trying to be attractive to men.
The problem is, some of my very good girlfriends really get into football and I know they don’t care enough about men to fake their interest in the game, so MAYBE I WAS WRONG. It’s possible. I mean, it’s never happened before but maybe this one time.
And at the very worst, what if I was right and women really DON’T like football. Maybe they’re just in it for the hot wings and celebrations and the camaraderie. Where’s the harm in that? Who cares? I love hot wings. Why have I been depriving myself of football and the hot wings?
We had the game on yesterday and I sat there thinking about how those men beat themselves up for a living. I wonder if any of them ice their injuries in the morning and seriously second guess their career choice. “Professional football? What was I thinking…should have been an accountant like my father…”
You would have to get tired of getting tackled by other giant men right? Sometimes I wake up and think about all the cleaning and cooking and household managing I need to do and I just don’t have my act together. I wonder if these players ever wake up and go, “Ughhhh…so NOT in the mood to get tackled todayyyyy…”
Personally, I just can’t imagine how someone might get themselves in shape for the kind of activity that occurs on the football field.
Me: How long do you think I would last out there if I suited up for a game?
Pat: What do you mean…like…playing professional football?
Me: Yeah, like if they were like “we need one housewife to suit up for this game and participate with us today”.
Pat: *insert laughter* Kat…you would pee your pants on the SIDELINES of the game.
Me: Really? You don’t think if I was all suited up like that…I could last a few plays?
Pat: You would be running so scared. *insert Pat doing his best impression of a high pitched woman screaming ‘please don’t hurt me’*.
Me: You think even just one hit would take me out of the game?
Pat: Yes.
Me: Even with the gear?
Pat: Yes. Kat have you ever been hit like that before?
Me: No. But look at them, they just get tackled all day and keep going.
Pat: You would need an ambulance.
I guess I’ll stick to daydreaming about the players personal lives when I watch the game. Which one is the closet accountant? Oh, and the hot wings. Go Hawks!