As I approached the playground sandbox, I spotted my six- year-old marching away from it with purpose. My husband followed close behind. “We’ll find it!” he proclaimed.
“Find what?” I asked.
“The ball! We don’t know where it went,” my husband responded. Oops.
“I, uh, gave it away,” I admitted.
“He’s so smart!” said the man sitting next me on the plane, referring to my older son. “I can tell by the questions he’s asking.”
“Uh, thanks,” I replied. To me, intelligence is a bit like physical beauty – nice to have, but not something I as a parent can take credit for, per say.
“I want daddy,” my older son (nicknamed Sprout) responded when asked who he wanted to read bedtime stories with. In the past, I would have been choking back tears. These days, I feel differently.
“Mama, [kid’s classmate] told me he was stronger than me,” said my five year old, nicknamed Sprout. “But I’m faster than him.”
“Well, you can tell him that you’re faster than him,” I responded, then immediately regretted it. “Actually, no. That wouldn’t be a good thing to say.” One, I had no idea if my kid was actually faster than the other kid. Two and more importantly, starting a comparison war was going to lead to nowhere good very quickly.
“I’m going to tweet that!” I proclaimed after my older son did something so very kid-funny.
“No. Don’t tweet that,” my five year old son replied, frowning.
“Oh,” I hesitated. “I guess I won’t then.”
“Mommy would never post anything you don’t want her to,” my husband chimed in.
I almost said, “Well, I didn’t say that.” Instead, I nodded.
“Noooooo!” my older son yells at the screen as a giant seal almost swallows the penguin protagonist of Happy Feet.
“I know it’s scary!” I affirm. “But do you really think they’ll kill off the main character in this type of movie?”
“No,” he admits.
“Trust me. Trust the characters that they’ll get out okay,” I assure him. He sits back down to watch the movie.
I get his fear because I’ve experienced it myself. Like him, I get deeply immersed in fictional worlds, caring about the characters as if they’re people I know.
Beyond stories, I also know that fear of not being able to trust that everything will be okay. How often have I had his “noooo!” in my head, albeit internally? How often have I not trusted the people who surround me to pull off some form of a happy ending for everyone?
36 isn’t what I expected it would be.
When I was 10, I knew I’d have a book published before I was 20. In fact, I expected to be a famous author in the winter and a marine biologist in the summer. I would be so famous that I’d use my maiden name for my writing so I wouldn’t get mobbed when I traveled.
“Thoughts and prayers for me as I face one of the biggest challenges of parenting (and yes, I’m very lucky I’ve never done it before) – having the kids for the weekend by myself,” I posted on Facebook two weeks ago. For the first time, I had the kids to myself for more than a day.
In the past, my husband Chris, has always been back by dinner. While I’ve gone on several work trips over the years, he’s never gone on a trip on his own. But two weeks ago, he was headed off to Las Vegas to visit his sister and her new baby.
He deserved it. I owed it to him.
I was also scared shitless.
“An 12, huh,” I muttered to myself, looking at my computer screen. I had just taken the “Are You a Sensation Seeker?” self-assessment on the Highly Sensitive Child website. I finally had a word to put to something I’ve known for a long time about myself. And more importantly, I also had a word for something I realized much more recently about my older son.
No, it’s not a gate fence!” I giggled. As we drove to one of our favorite yearly events, the Maryland Renaissance Faire, we passed the time playing Twenty Questions. It had taken a turn towards the silly, with my then four-year-old guessing the animal I was thinking of was a fence. Even though we were stuck in traffic, we were all laughing hysterically. While the Faire itself was great fun, that half-hour playing 20 Questions is what I remember the most.