For some reason, people think I drink a lot and that my kids
drive me batty. Maybe it’s my oft-dejected demeanor, stemming from trying to
raise responsible people with manners and bladder control, only to have it all
fall apart in a public space when one of them belches enormously and laughs
hysterically, while another has damp pants. Maybe it’s the hopelessness that
other parents recognize, knowing that raising children and herding cats
probably are probably about the same experience in frustration. Or maybe people
think this about me because I always say that my kids drive me batty and that I
need a drink.
Whatever the reason, I feel I need to set the record
straight. Do my kids drive me batty? Fo’ shizzle. Do I love them hopelessly?
You know it. Do I often think they are delightful people who, in time, will
likely grow up to become productive members of society? I do; I really do. Is
who am I – not just the negative wine-guzzling side, but also the positive – a direct
result of being their parent? Yes, inextricably. Is this an intensely
complicated and emotional job? Ummm….does a bear crap in the woods?
I have been a fan of Erma Bombeck since I was a pre-teen.
She was a parent of three and I, intensely ignorant of the subject matter at
the time, rolled in hysterics at her descriptions of domestic servitude and
parenting. Little did I know, little did I know…. One of my favorite pieces she
wrote was love letters to each of her children, explaining why they
were her favorite. She wrote to the oldest, “Dear firstborn, You’ve always been
my favorite because...,” and then went on to describe why. Her letter to the
second-born began, “Dear Middle Child, You’ve always been my favorite because...”
And then there was the letter to the youngest: “Dear Baby, You’ve always been
my favorite because…” It was a wonderful set of letters and moved me, even in
the days when I had no kids, was a
kid, and didn’t know beans about this domestic life I navigate daily.
A few days ago, Nadia did a series of things in a short
period of time that I found to be absolutely enchanting. It caused me to sit
down and iterate many of the reasons that make her so delightful, which
reminded me of Erma’s letters to her kids. So, to combat the image I inspire of
a drunken, frazzled mother, I wanted to spend some time focusing on some
of the wonderful qualities of the small people who drive me to madness.
Here is
part one of four, dedicated to my second born.
Dear Nadia,
I love you the most because you are a little girl with a big
imagination. You randomly do things like build a rocket ship out of a large
styrofoam cup, install a bucket seat (a Dixie cup) and a seat belt (a stretchy
bracelet), and send your duck to the moon. Recently, you had Duck participating
in his own ultimate sport while rolling in a hamster ball down the driveway. I
love that you’ve made Duck an adventure junkie.
I love you because of the funny things you say. You recently asked for if you could do something and I said, “Probably not, Nadia.” And you said, with bright eyes and an infectious smile, “So that’s a maybe?!?!?” Sometimes, you assume the role of the Queen of “What If?”
Nadia: “What if a hurricane and a tornado happened
at the same time?”
me: “Nadia, I don’t think that’s possible.”
N: “But what if, Mama?”
me: “Even if it’s possible, I’m sure the
statistical odds are so low that it’s not something you’ll ever have to worry
about.”
N: “But what if it happened, and you were sitting
on the toilet and only wearing one sock?”
me: (deep sigh)
I love you for your self-proclaimed “way with
animals,” as you proclaimed to your brother once, as he was petting a kangaroo,
“Liam! You don’t know what you’re doing! I have a way with animals, not you!!” You
want a firefly as a pet. You recently spied a loose dog, which ended up in our
backyard while we tried to find its home. In the hour or two we had the dog,
you’d named it, fed it and worked on training it. I’ve seen you catch four
butterflies at a time with one swoop of your net. You recently wrote an ode to
Mr. Nut Nut, a squirrel you spied from afar,
once, that you identified as your “best friend.”
I love you for your love of the natural world. You
collect it in all forms and your room is a bone yard of rocks and feathers. On
a first grade field trip to the zoo, you proclaimed (with lots of dramatic
flair), “I FINALLY got to touch a REAL feather attached to a REAL peacock!” It
was about the best day of your life (that week). One time, in your bed, I found
a flamingo feather, a hawk feather, a peacock feather and some random,
unidentified feathers. I have half-jokingly said, many times, if there’s
another worldwide, avian-induced malady, there’s a good chance you will be
identified as patient zero.
I love you because you’re full of kindness, but a
firecracker when required. Recently, at a wave pool at a water park, you
emerged from the pool with a two-year-old boy in a life jacket, who you had
found alone in the wave pool. If someone or something needs help, it’s Nadia to
the rescue; but if someone starts a fight, you won’t hesitate to fight back. You
are small, but mighty.
I love you for the snapshots of childhood you burn
in my memory. The other night you ran by at warp speed, shouting, “Flying toads!”
You are startlingly fast. Your white hair floats around you like iridescence as
you streak by.
I love you for your joy – that which fills you,
and that which you spread to others.
