Mothering: Not for the Weak or the Proud

Today is setting up to be a a little hectic, so instead of writing a new post, I dug into my old correspondence. This letter was written in 2003 to my dear friend Deanna whom I've known since high school. She has an amazing way of making me feel normal. God bless her for it. This story is for every woman who has been or will ever be a new mother. God bless them for hanging in there. And for any man who loves them. God bless them, too! You know they need it.

Dear Deanna,

I thought you'd get a kick out of the day I had. We've all been there--or at least I hope we have--if not, I may have a demon child. Logan has begun a new phase in her life; she has learned the power of fit-throwing. I am not happy about it, but it does make for a good story. Here goes:

I went to Target--you know, that easy little errand trip that used to take just a few minutes unless you had time to kill and browsed the whole store? Well, those days are long, long gone. Logan won't sit in the cart. If I even try to approach it she screams like a banshee and does the back arch thing that drives me nuts. It's really amazing how strong she is for her size! But I try to get her in anyway, which simply results in a lot of looks and arched eyebrows from passersby. So, I let her walk, which means running most of the time--away from me. "Uh, lady, your little girl..." Yeah, half way down the aisle before I can just grab that book I came in for. Another arched look from a fellow customer, which assures me that she thinks I'm a bad mother.

By now, I have given up the idea of getting anything I really came in for, but I figure we'll grab some food so there is one less thing to do when I get home. I'm pretty tired by now, you know. In the next moment, I'm sitting in the food court of a Target thinking, "I am now one of those beat-down, tired, disheveled mothers that let their kids run back and forth across the bench because I don't have the energy to say no one more time. I'm the mothers I used to walk by and think, 'Wow! It's too bad they can't get their life together!' Yup! That's pretty much the way it is today...and strangely I'm okay with that."

That is until an older gentleman walks over to set his hotdog down on the table next to us and totters away to fill his drink. Logan takes one look at that dog and makes a bee-line for it before I can grab her. It's like a nano-second and she has it in her hands. I begin to say, "Logan, no!" but that sucker is tossed in the air, does a half-gainer and lands with little aplomb on the grungy floor. It was one of those moments when the other shoe has actually dropped but no one knows it yet; no one except you anyway.

Across the food court is that poor little man with his back to us, just finishing with his drink and looking forward to a simple hotdog that is now lying bunless on the black and white tile floor. How tempting it is just to put it back on the table! He hasn't seen a thing...but that guy in the corner would probably rat me out! Oh, face it! I could never do that anyway. But wouldn't it be nice if he never had to know! However, right at that moment he is walking toward us.

I stop him before he sees for himself what has happened. How does a person start this conversation? "Hi, you don't know me, and it doesn't really matter, but I need to buy you another hot dog. My little girl just threw yours on the floor. I'm really sorry. Oh no...Please...I'd feel a lot better if you'd let me take care of it....really. Was it the regular or all beef hot dog?" Somehow I stammer through it and try to behave as if I have some shred of dignity left.

That impression is soon shot, however, when we attempt to leave and she throws a screaming fit and hits me in the face, leaving a short bleeding scratch on my forehead and a longer red scratch down my nose. There are days when you really should not leave your house.

Fortunately, these outburst of Logan's are few and far between. Unfortunately, they seem to happen in the most public of places! Motherhood is not an occupation of pride.

If you have any good stories of your own, I'd love to hear them. Hope you are well and happy, and I can't wait to hear from you; it always brightens my day.

Love,

Laurel
Proud Mommy and Friend