Sometimes I don’t feel like I’m that great of a mom. I find myself short tempered, tired, and wishing I was somewhere else—or maybe that the kids were somewhere else…like the moon. I don’t get to spend time with the boys individually very often, but every once in a while I do get that opportunity.
Recently, I had that opportunity with Izzy. The day was chilly, but clear, and the sun was shining. Izzy wanted me to push him in our red plastic airplane swing, which is, without contest, the highlight of the dilapidated swingset we’ve inherited from someone. I think I pushed him on that swing for half and hour straight—he was having such a good time! We talked about how we liked trees, and I tried to explain that he was going to have a cousin soon, that Aunt Katie had a baby in her tummy. He said he wanted a baby in his tummy, so then I tried to explain that boys don’t have babies in their tummies, but that maybe someday his wife could have a baby and he could be a daddy. Which led to talking about his daddy and how he likes his daddy (this can also lead to conversations like, “He’s my daddy. Not yours.”) I told him that his daddy loves him and would love to be there pushing him on the swing if he could, but that he had to work. Toward the end, he just wanted to enjoy the ride, and he told me, “Mommy, say ‘woohoo!’” So I pushed him and said “woo hoo!” and he would “woo hoo!” back like my little echo, and it was just pure joy on his face.
While he was swinging, I was thinking, “I hope this is what he remembers.” I hope they remember the times I pushed them on the airplane swing. I hope they remember when I read books to them and sang to them or spun them in the living room. I hope they will remember those times, instead of when I lost my temper or had no patience and yelled at them or told them “no” for the fifteenth time when they asked me to do something with them.
Realistically, I know they will remember both, the good times we have, and the bad ones, but I hope, and pray, that the good moments will outshine the bad ones.
Later, I was zipping Izzy’s coat for him to go outside and wrapping him in a scarf when he asked, “Am I superhero?”
“Definitely,” I said.
Recently, I had that opportunity with Izzy. The day was chilly, but clear, and the sun was shining. Izzy wanted me to push him in our red plastic airplane swing, which is, without contest, the highlight of the dilapidated swingset we’ve inherited from someone. I think I pushed him on that swing for half and hour straight—he was having such a good time! We talked about how we liked trees, and I tried to explain that he was going to have a cousin soon, that Aunt Katie had a baby in her tummy. He said he wanted a baby in his tummy, so then I tried to explain that boys don’t have babies in their tummies, but that maybe someday his wife could have a baby and he could be a daddy. Which led to talking about his daddy and how he likes his daddy (this can also lead to conversations like, “He’s my daddy. Not yours.”) I told him that his daddy loves him and would love to be there pushing him on the swing if he could, but that he had to work. Toward the end, he just wanted to enjoy the ride, and he told me, “Mommy, say ‘woohoo!’” So I pushed him and said “woo hoo!” and he would “woo hoo!” back like my little echo, and it was just pure joy on his face.
While he was swinging, I was thinking, “I hope this is what he remembers.” I hope they remember the times I pushed them on the airplane swing. I hope they remember when I read books to them and sang to them or spun them in the living room. I hope they will remember those times, instead of when I lost my temper or had no patience and yelled at them or told them “no” for the fifteenth time when they asked me to do something with them.
Realistically, I know they will remember both, the good times we have, and the bad ones, but I hope, and pray, that the good moments will outshine the bad ones.
Later, I was zipping Izzy’s coat for him to go outside and wrapping him in a scarf when he asked, “Am I superhero?”
“Definitely,” I said.
very good, Tammy. I hear you, sister.
ReplyDeleteThank you Tammy for this post, this made me smile and be teary eyed all at the same time. You are an amazing woman I love you... and I miss you.
ReplyDeletewooohooo
ReplyDelete