Mommy Moments, and a Plug
My favorite mommy moments have not been on Mother's Day. Although I LOVE the cards, framed pictures, poems and crafts the kids make for me at school, along with the cards from hubby, and eating whatever I want for dinner (Chinese take out this year), as much as I love buying climbing roses in pots for the two women we're lucky to call Mom, the times that I have felt most loved by my kids - thereby making everything else worth it - have happened randomly and unpexpectedly. This makes perfect sense.
When my son Alex was two years old, he put my pasta strainer on his head and pronounced himself "Strainer Man." Strainer Man walked around the house playing his first "guitar", and sang a song of three chords with these lyrics...."Momma....is my....Momma." Very inventive, don't you think? A little guy in the kitchen serenading his Mom while she cooked dinner. Barely tall enough to surpass my knees, with big brown eyes and a gift for timing, he had me at "Momma."
Last summer, as my girlfriend Krissy pitched wiffle balls to her kids and mine in my parents backyard, I, in my bathing suit, climbed walls and hills of iceplant - although this makes me break out in hives - to retrieve the wiffle balls they hit. Alex, reeling from swimming-ball playing-summer evening-Mom let me have 2 (count 'em) Cokes!-type happiness, got into his hitting stance but before he swung, pointed at me and said, "Look at my little Momma,", so endearingly, it made me almost teary. It takes a lot to make me teary.
So I stayed in the iceplant most of that night, retrieving wiffle balls for my son, even though I itched from that damn iceplant for three days thereafter.
Two nights ago, my littlest girl, Melia, who we call Boo-Boos, came out into the kitchen where I was finalizing my son's report. "Come to bed, Momma," she said, but so into what I was doing - pounding away at my laptop like usual - I didn't even look at her when I said "Go snuggle with Poppa, honey,". "No," she replied softly, in babyish diction yet very persuasively, "Boo-Boos wants you," if that wasn't enough, she added, "Boo-Boos wants Momma." I finished Alex's report the following morning and snuggled with my little girl. I was tired anyway, and little kids talking about themselves in third person is irresistible.
My proudest Mommy moment with Zoe, my middle child, is undeniably this; at age 3 - not even very close to age 4 - Zoe jumped off a 3 meter diving board at a nearby recreational pool. In her turquiose green tankini with white flowers, Zoe climbed that tall ladder to the top, tender little feetsies I was afraid would slip, but once at the top, she noticed people with hands over their mouths, "Oh my gosh, look at that little girl," and "You rock, kid!". So she stood on ceremony, ten feet high and twelve feet of clear water beneath, and waited until her cheering section got as loud as possible. She even faked a bit and walked towards the ladder as if to climb down, at which point people yelled "No, jump! We gotta see this!" So she did. Fearlessly, she jumped, and did so every chance she got for the rest of the day. True story.
What would I be without these moments? These are moving pictures I frame in my mind and look at when my kids really, really piss me off. Or just when I want to smile. Or just when I want to know the meaning, and continuum, of life.
I know my mother-in-law has memories like these of my husband, so when I hear her yell at him in Greek and smack him, I let it go and laugh. I know my Mom has memories like this of me, so when she hugs me and says "You are still my baby," I don't fight her. I just hope no one else is listening.
Someone has listened though, and heard me ask for things I never knew I wanted.
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SIDEBAR:
Here is a pic from Parenting Magazine of my hubby, Alex and Melia. He's gonna kill me.
http://www.parenting.com/gallery/-/Hot-Dad-Alert!-1000021500/3
