Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Awkward Mom vs. Little Things

Dearest Pearls-

You're probably gonna do big things. I can see it in your eyes and the way that gravity has trouble holding you. That's cool. They're your lives and I want you to do whatever you want with them. But could you maybe consider doing the little things too? Could you please:

Be polite to your friends as well as their parents.

Smile at strangers. (not the candy-wielding alley-dwelling ones with creepy vans; those you can kick in the shins)

Remember birthdays.

Forget stupid stuff people say when they are angry or hungry.

Grow some plants.

Be kind to all the animals you have the pleasure to share the earth with.

Learn to spell.

Listen to different types of music with an open mind.

Read all of the books. Even the big boring ones with no dust jackets; gems are everywhere.

Try it at least once. (It being anything, except hanging with the aforementioned alley candy givers)

Get the big box of popcorn.

Always celebrate Halloween, Christmas, and an occasional unbirthday.

Call Grandma.

Take up yoga.

Keep a journal.

And make your bed; it just makes the room look put together.




You are all so unique. And not that lameo everyone-is-special-so-no-one-is-really-special unique. And not Elsa-on-a-mountaintop-angry-singing-all-alone-because-no-one-understands unique either. You are full of gifts and you are surrounded by people who understand; you are loved and cherished. Be unique in the middle of all of it and share your specialness with everyone around you. Your mere presence makes the world a better place to live in, so make sure that you stay in it as long as possible. You can do big things and little things because you are everything. You're my everything but you're also just plain old everything too. Go be everything.

I adore you,
Awkward Mom


Monday, September 8, 2014

Awkward Mom vs. Music Choice


Today I dropped off my baby girl at preschool for the first time ever. The feisty one, the daring darling, the firecracker who is most likely to break a bone before all the rest. It was traumatic; for me. She half-waved at me with a look that radiated "why haven't you left yet? I have trouble to cause." I'll blog more about it later, if I am feeling strong.

Point is, at 9:32 this morning, I had groceries to buy, an hour and a half to kill, and only 2 kids. I tucked those 2 into their car seats, got in my own seat, and turned the engine on. The Frozen soundtrack, that is on repeat in our van at all times, sprang to life and Elsa continued to bellow for me to let it go. I did and promptly burst into tears. And then this happened:

Super Preschooler: Hey Mom!
Me: Sniff, sniff. Yes?
Super P.: Since Super 1st and Super T. aren't with us this morning, do you think we could change this to something else?
Me: Sure, Honey.
Super P.: Don't tell them, but I really don't like Frozen.
Me: OK, that's cool. I don't really love it all the time either. What would you like?
Super P.: (whispered conversation with Super Baby)
Me: You guys decided?
Super P.: We would like something with a beat.
Me: A beat?
Super P.: Yes, we have some drumming to do.
Me: OK. (I turn on the radio and hear that Johnny would be working on the dock but the union's been on strike.)
Super P.: Yes, this will do, what is this?
Me: This, my love, is Bon Jovi.
Super P.: So much better than Frozen, Mom! So much better.

So much better.

Well, well. It looks like our Monday and Wednesday morning are gonna be rockin' from now on!
That should get me through missing Super Toddler just fine!
That face in the rearview isn't hurting things either.....

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Awkward Mom vs. 1st Grade

I thought I had this. I mean, after all, 1st grade is totally misnamed; Kindergarten is really the first year of school, right? And then, there is preschool, which, depending on how many days and hours you opt for, can really be just as intense. Right? Right? Back me up here, Readers. Right?

No. It's all just words. I don't care what year we are on because in my mind he was born yesterday and why am I sending my little baby boy off in this line of children? I was fine at home. All business and healthy breakfast. Backpacks and bopping around like we do this everyday. I even merrily took a picture:

That's a legit smile. Mine was too. 

But then, we got here. Here in the parking lot in front of the school. Here with all the neat chalk numbers showing the children exactly where to line up. Here with the swooping parents and humming mini-vans. Here with the early morning mist being burned away by sunlight that only hints at its future intensity. It's going to be a hot day. I feel flushed and uncomfortable already.

None of the other children are holding their parents' hands, so Super K. drops mine and goes to stand in line. He slips his hand out of mine so easily, so naturally, but the absence feels anything but natural. I don't know what to do with my hand, so I do what all these other parents are doing. I pull out my iPhone and I take his picture.

What's he thinking about? He looks so serious. 
He looks so grown up and yet he looks so tiny! 

I can't take this. Why can't I touch him? Why do all these other parents have to have such great restraint? Come on. Come on. Someone lose it and bear-hug your child so hard that everyone stares at you and won't notice me sneak in another quick kiss and hair tousle! 

But no one cracks. So I call him, softly. I don't want to mess up his reputation by being the clinging mom. Plus, I'm maybe 3 feet away, so yelling would be kinda overkill. He turns and gives me this:

That is NOT a legit smile. 

Then it hits me. He feels just like I do! He's nervous and excited and scared and happy and feeling tiny and big all at the same time. He wants to leave me and he doesn't want to leave me and probably wishes I would just go away so he could get on with the band-aid ripping already. But I don't leave because none of the other parents are leaving and plus I can't really move. I seem rooted to this little square of blacktop by a force far greater than the logical one that is telling me this would all feel a lot easier if I just went back to the van. Plus, no one would see me cry in there. But I stay. And I stay. And he avoids looking directly at me. And I stay. And he avoids me. And we hang like this forever. (It's about 2 minutes.)

Finally, the teacher starts to corral the kids and talk about going inside. Super K. turns and gives me this:

This seems a little more legit.

They shuffle a bunch, and then head off into the school. A swell of parents on iPhones moves and whirls around me but I stay rooted on my little square of blacktop and watch his blond head get smaller and smaller as they walk away. He does not look back once. They turn a corner and then he is gone.

I can feel the crash of tears coming, so I turn. And nearly collide with a fellow 1st grade mom. "Erin! How are you doing? Oh, why am I even asking? You look great and you have 3 more at home anyway!"

She leaves me and I continue to stand there for a minute. Wait. What? I have to do this 3 more times?!?!?!



We aren't doing a whole lot of shuffling around this year, Readers. Most of us are keeping our names. Super Baby, Super Toddler, and Super Preschooler are all still remaining the same. Super K. is going to become Super 1st grader, which we are shortening to Super 1st. As the oldest, we think he will appreciate this title greatly. I would just appreciate pick-up time coming quickly today. Tomorrow it can come when it likes, but today it needs to come fast.


Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Awkward Mom vs. Seasonal Good-byes

Awkward Grandma, who celebrated her hated August birthday with us this past weekend, also hates good-byes. So, she has developed a nifty little trick to avoid them. When we are standing around the car, awkwardly, hands-in pockets, kicking at the curb, not looking at each other directly lest we start to cry, she starts to loudly talk about the next planned visit. If there isn't one planned, she'll just make one up, right then. Everyone focuses on their calendars or just starts to plan the menu (food matters greatly to the Awkwards), and we all leave in cheer, with many waves and shouts about not forgetting the clam dip. Awkward Grandma is a genius.

Summer is over. It wasn't the greatest summer ever; it was kinda cool and rather too busy, but it was fun and now it is leaving. It's hard to say goodbye, but we must.

Good-bye Summer!
Shuffle, shuffle, sniffle, sniffle.
Wait. 
What is that over there on the horizon?
Could it be? I think it might be.
It is!


HELLO FALL! 


Stay tuned, lovely Readers! Super Kindergartner started 1st grade today, and that means we have name changes in the works!! Name changes and Awkward Mom freak-outs........always entertaining. 

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Awkward Mom vs. Summer Binge

The last week of August is my traditional summer binge. In a blind panic, I try to stuff every single summer thing that I failed to do during those long leisurely days of endless sun and time. It's a good time. OK. No, actually, it's not. It's incredibly stressful and tense, and it usually ends with me shouting at the children, "Get in the van, we are gonna have some fun! I don't care if you're tired; get in the van! It's your last week of summer! Hurry! Hurry!" Then, I dissolve into tears, usually on the front lawn, for all the neighbors to enjoy. Super Kindergartner, ever thoughtful, will bring me a Freezie-Pop and we will sit out there and watch cars until I calm down.

Because you see, I'm trying to carry all the legos. Have you ever tried to carry all the legos, Readers? Well, there are a lot of them and they are weird shapes, so when you try to carry them all, they tend to fall and then you step on them and one rolls under the radiator and a baby eats one and it pretty much sucks. Each lego, by itself, is amazing. Unique and fun. And all put together and looked at from a couple steps back, they are pretty amazing too. Strong and solid. But in a big messy pile that I am trying to carry across the room? No, that's just a big messy pile. Summer binge is a big messy pile of legos and I'm not doing it this year. Nope. This year the summer is just gonna have to end quietly, with me and the Supers, eating Freezie-Pops on the front lawn, watching cars. No lego carrying at all.

Plus, I have school-supply binge, school-shoe-binge, and a full-on Super-Toddler-is-going-to-preschool freakout to have this week. I just don't have time for summer binge this year.

Stop carrying all the legos.
It never ends well!

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Awkward Mom vs. 6 months

So, we love half-birthdays in this house. (Mostly to get more cake.) Anywho, Super Kindergartner's half-birthday is next week and Super Baby just had his first one ever a few days ago. So, to celebrate, here are all my 6-month-old angels! Wonder if things have changed at all over these many 6 months......

First 6-month-old Angel.
Professional Picture.
Sent out in the Christmas cards that were on time that year.


Second 6-month-old Angel.
Taken by Awkward Mom on an actual camera.
Snapped during a stimulating session of
let's work on stacking blocks and sitting up.


Third 6-month-oldAngel.
Taken by Awkward Mom on a phone camera.
Quickly taken to show Awkward Dad this crazy onsie that I found hilarious. 
(While texting Awkward Dad the picture,
this angel might have fallen off the couch.....)


Fourth 6-month-old Angel.
Taken by Awkward Mom on a phone camera. 
I just took this picture for the sole purpose of this post. To take it, I had to remove the blanket from this angel's mouth. I also had to move 13 different toys that this angel's siblings decided to place on him. 



Yes, it appears that there have been a few changes 
over these many 6-months......
more babies to kiss, more half-birthdays to celebrate, and much much more cake!

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Awkward Mom vs. Band-aids

"Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker!"

Actually, I'm not a doctor either. I'm just a stay-at-home mom with questionable homemaker skills and a lot of self-doubt about my adequacy as a mother. But that's not the point. OK, well, it becomes the point eventually, but right now, the point is that Super Kindergartner has a new lovie.

OK, here's what happens: Super Kindergartner is very compassionate. It's one of his 5 main super powers. Therefore, it was no great shock that, while at the Reptile Zoo today, he fell in love with a gift-shop stuffed turtle with a tear in the leg. I normally say no to gift shop purchases, but because inconsistency is one of my 5 main super powers, I said yes to the lame turtle. I mean, are you gonna say no to the combination of "But Mom, he needs extra love; he has a broken leg." and this face?

No. No, you are not. 

Super K. lovingly carries this turtle all the way home, tucking him under his shirt so he won't get wet in the freak rainstorm we encounter and gingerly placing him on a pillow upon arrival. He is sitting next to his new friend, explaining the plot of Rio 2 (rain calls for lazy movie days), when I causally mention that I might be able to sew up that tear.

Super K.'s eyes grow huge and solemn. He looks at me with new respect and whispers, "You can fix him?!"

"Ummmm...sure. Well, I can try."

And I try. And I do. And, well, I fix him.

Super K. is ecstatic. "Mom, you are amazing! Could you fix Chuck? He has a rip on his nose. I put a band aid on him, but you are much better than a band-aid!"

He rushes away while I ponder being "better than a band-aid." Could I actually be better than a band-aid? Do I actually have some worth and skill and ability to offer? Maybe I am halfway OK at this whole stay-at-home-mom thing. Maybe I am more than OK. Maybe being just a stay-a-home mom is something I could rock, rather than merely survive. And maybe there is no just in "just a stay-a-home mom" or, if there is, maybe it's more of the morally right kind and less of the only kind. Maybe I don't have to be a doctor or lawyer or even work out of the home at all for my children to respect me. Maybe what I do is just as good. Maybe I am good.

Holy cats, that's a lot to take in; I am gonna have to brew on this for awhile. But one thing is certain, Readers. I am currently floating on air because my son thinks I am better than a band-aid. Better than a band-aid!

No, I'm not a doctor.
I'm a god-damn miracle worker.