From Devotion to Loathing

Kids say the most ridiculous things.  Bigs went through a whole phase of using words incorrectly as his vocabulary expanded.  Weeks went by where he would tell me that he didn’t want “scrumptious” eggs.  The miscommunication continued until I stumbled on his disdain for scrambled eggs.  The most epic misuse of a word occurred when my husband was working and I was frantically trying to get dinner ready for the kids.  Littles was being a little sister and annoying Bigs.  Bigs who loves to be dramatic using his loudest voice said, “Littles, stop masturbating me.”

Nothing stops you in your tracks like your four year-old using the term masturbating.  I’m not cool, but I try to play cool so that words aren’t repeated.  In this case, I went fishing for more information to better understand what word he was trying to come up with, because that wasn’t actually happening and I’m certain he has no idea what that is.  Bigs says, “She just keeps pestering me and won’t leave me alone.”  My mind is racing through the sounds-like dictionary in my head and words he might have heard before.  I pull out exasperating.  He says, “That’s what I said, Mom, Littles is so exasperating.”  Huge sigh of momma relief. Good use of vocabulary, Bigs… errr, maybe not.

When we have a dinner together and I’m not a mad woman in the kitchen, we ask the kids what the best part of their day was.  When they aren’t being totally goofy, they sometimes surprise us.  Tonight the first response from Bigs was, “Diapers.” Then Littles chimed in with, “Microwave.”  I was annoyed… yep, I said that… out loud.

Trying to dispel my aggravation, I used my manners (Sunday I was sent to timeout for not using manners) and asked, “Please, dear children, share with us the best part of your day?”  Bigs pulled on my arm so I would look in his eyes to say, “The best part of my day was being with you, Mommy.”  Heart melting, waiting for him to ask for the next giant Lego set, but he just let it marinate.  He is like my husband in almost every way.  Littles then shared that drawing pictures at school was the best part of her day.  I asked her what she drew pictures of, but couldn’t tell what she said.  It sounded like ladders.  I’ll take ladders.

Now all our dinner time conversations aren’t so sweet or funny.  This weekend Littles was telling a story about our summer vacation.  It, like many stories from my children, weaved a variety of facts in non-chronological order, but somehow started veering into fiction based on real life events.  Then she busts out, “Momma, you were not on vacation with us.  You were at work.”  I’m still reeling from this non-fictional revelation.

There you have it, the two ends of the spectrum: devotion to loathing. I’d like to think that I happily live floating in a middle ground of affection and maybe occasional annoyance.  In most facets of my life, I bob in the middle.  With motherhood, I will take the occasional repulsion for the deepness with which I can feel my love for them.

 

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