"Mommy, can you play dollhouse with me?" With his sister napping upstairs and brother still at school, my three year old virtually oozed boredom.
I had been working on the computer for about twenty minutes while he ate lunch. We were sitting side by side, but I will tell you honestly that I wasn't talking with him very much. My attention was mainly focused on our current housing search, which intensified today when I was told by the preschool in our neighborhood-to-be that there is a waiting list of 13 children for one spot in their 4 year old class in the Fall... but that if we decided to have him start school there right away, a space is currently available and he would then become an automatically accepted "returning" student next year.
Understanding that time is truly of the essence with this move, I have redoubled my efforts to find the right home ~ which may have paid off this afternoon, I'll let you know. This (feebly) explains why I was almost totally ignoring the cherubic three foot high creature munching on peanut butter and strawberry jelly next to me.
When he asked me to play dollhouse though, it brought back reality and I accepted his invitation. He ran to the dollhouse with me following him leisurely, and we began to play.
"Look mommy, all of the children are upstairs." (The 'children': a blue bear and two My Little Pony dolls)
"Oh, what are they doing upstairs?"
"They are in time out. They have to sit in their rooms."
"Oh dear. That is very sad. Why are they in time out?"
"They were hitting each other and fighting. All of the children are in time out."
"I'm very sorry to hear it. Fighting is not good. If all of the children are in time out, who is that downstairs?" (Another bear - this one fluffy and purple - sat in the kitchen.)
"That is the mommy."
"Why is the mommy downstairs if the children are upstairs?"
"She is cooking. She is cooking their dinner."
"Will the children be able to come down and play with her soon?"
"No, the mommy is busy. She is cooking and working on the computer. She is too busy to play with them. The mommy is always busy."
...At which point, my heart sank into the floor and I once again nominated myself, won and accepted the award for worst mother of 2011. I've been so busy washing the laundry, cleaning the house, cooking meals and trying to figure out this move to another part of the city, I've managed once again to emotionally neglect the three little people I love the most. Has it come to this? My son is now acting out his sense of isolation and the desire to have me more fully present, using pink plastic ponies.
I was about to ask him what the mommy could do with her children that they would really enjoy, when the telephone rang. I could see on Caller ID that it was the agent for the property we are hot to rent... so rather than offering my child love, solace, creativity or understanding, I ended up walking into another room to take the call. Strike two.
Here is the worst part: He didn't even try to follow me or continue playing with me after I got off of the telephone. He is so used to being sidelined by his mom, he just pulled out some toy race cars and went about his business.
I keep telling myself that just as soon as I have the move in hand, things will calm down and I will be the mom of all of our dreams. As a fantasy mother I will play and talk with them for hours on end, take them on fun outings, cook them only organic meals, teach them how to read, and ferry them to sporting activities and lessons.
Realistically though, I don't know how or when my behaviors are ever going to change. I am not a patient person by nature. I have a very hard time sitting still to play make believe for twenty minutes when I know how much organization our house needs, when I know how far behind I am on the content writing work I do for my husband's company. I may be the stay-at-home part of our parenting team but I am generally *not* the fun parent... I typically have a list of chores that need to be accomplished and a mindset to tackle and get them done.
I have become the parent I always swore I would never be... dragging my children around town on errands that they hate, cajoling them with promises of parks and ice cream if they will just give me a half-hour of good behavior.
All the while, my three children are busy watching my every move, soaking up my every postponed promise, noticing my worst qualities and - perhaps most humiliating of all - sharing them openly with the world.
Seriously. The world. Every teacher, friend, babysitter, grandparent or random shopkeeper that my children decide to confide in at any given moment has been apprised of my many failings. I'll never forget the time my sons told the cashier at Kinkos that I don't like driving across the bridge near our house because I am scared of how high it is and that living in our house costs too much money. (As I turned beet red she came to my rescue by confiding that she too hates the bridge and thinks this town is too expensive.)
Our babysitter laughs about it and agrees that, "Oh yeah, they definitely share all the stuff with me that you would NEVER want anyone else to know". Ugh. This makes me fret even more, wondering just what kind of information they are sharing. My bathroom habits? My snoring or talking in my sleep? I wonder which strange tidbits of information about our family my children divulged to their teachers today! Just the other day the three year old told his teacher, "My brother says you snort when you laugh." Which she then relayed to me at pickup time, laughing. OMG! Yet another 'I could have melted into the ground' parenting moment.
Just this week, my other son's teacher approached my husband and said, "So, I hear you guys are moving and checking out kindergartens in other parts of town?" My husband was a bit flustered by the question seeing as he hadn't even told his own father yet that we were seriously looking for a new home.
"Oh?" he responded.
"Out of the mouths of five year olds."
I guess I should be grateful that my children wear their lives (and ours) on their sleeves. They are open, trusting, communicative little people who have not yet learned to self-censor. It's awesome that neither of them have gained an EDIT button yet. I always know what they are thinking and feeling, and if I don't know, I can simply ask and they will tell me.
"What are you hiding buddy?"
"It's a secret!!!"
"Oh yeah? What's the secret?"
Giggling hysterically... "I have candy in my hand! I stole candy from Daddy's secret candy! Heeheeheeheeheeheehee!!!"
This exchange is almost beautiful in its innocence. I adore the honesty, and while I know that it isn't likely to stay like this forever, I am grateful for every single moment that I am still invited into the inner circle of their thoughts and secrets.
With this privilege of peering within their hearts, though, comes the responsibility to view myself through their sometimes painfully accurate lens. My children see the real me ~ all the good, and all the bad. The fact that they are brave enough to tell me openly about my flaws makes me feel truly good about the level of trust between us.
I just hate seeing my flaws through their precious, perceptive eyes.
Photo by D Sharon Pruitt
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