Mom. More Competent Than They Think...

A flashback to Mother's Day, May 10th, which occurred in conjunction with the Kemper Reunion and "Farewell to Ann & Kyle".

And a few thoughts about my motherhood. For me, nothing fantastical typically occurs on the day that the card companies have designed to celebrate my role as a woman with children. This year was no different; however, Sam did make a wonderful clay castle turret in art class that I now have proudly displayed on my dresser, and Jack brought home a folder of creative artwork and handmade cards. These simple, but carefully made items are all I need to fill my heart with joy.

Last night, I served as pitcher to Ben, with his chunky plastic bat and wiffle ball. In between pitches and dodges (trying to avoid line drives at my face), Ben would holler at me that I just didn't know how to pitch---because he often swung wildly, or the wind caught the holey ball and sailed it into his chest. I almost got offended, as he growled at me and tried to instruct me on proper ball throwing using his four year-old logic. I used to play pitcher for little league every summer for almost four years...I know how to pitch! Then I thought, "Do these kids really realize what their Mommy can do?!"

That thought hung with me as I pitched a few more and then swung Lydia. I pondered, "what do my kids really think about me? who am I to them? do they think I can do anything worthwhile?" I really thought about what a mommy is to a little kid. To them, I'm a gal that can make tasty mac-and-cheese and rockin' chocolate chip cookies; I can wipe up blood (and other unmentionable messes) without becoming queasy; can pull out splinters without batting an eye; and am a fairly cozy security pillow when they are scared in the night; and a pretty tough drill sergeant about their schedule/obligations. Other than those basic things, they don't have much of a clue of WHO I really am. This left me thinking, "will they ever?"

That is sort of depressing---a mommy with no identity, but taking care of everyone's basic necessities. Actually, I understand my identity...it's not like I don't have one. But, the people I care about most don't get it; that's the issue. I continued to think about this into the night as I dutifully got p.j.'s, teeth brushed, and fetched endless avoiding-bedtime drinks. Then my thoughts drifted to a few recent occurrences that made me pause and smile, realizing that my children ARE understanding who I am...it just takes time and a bit of cognizant effort on their part.

For example, a couple months ago, the older boys came to work with me. They hung out in my office, did their homework, and watched videos. As the afternoon came to a lull, I offered to test their hearing in the Audiology booth. I described the process and noticed that they seemd unimpressed as I led them to the sound-proof booth. In fact, I think they complained. We completed the hearing test and tympanometry with a few "cool" looks and smiles...and then it came....I said, "Do you want to see inside your ears?" "What!?" they said, wide-eyed. "Sure!" Finally, some oohs and ahhs as I pulled out the video otoscope which allows you to view the ear drum on the computer screen. I described their middle ear anatomy on the screen and they each took a turn, smiling giddily that they could see inside their head (somewhat). We printed out some pics, and then I heard it, "Wow Mom, I didn't know you knew how to do that! Where did you learn that?" I recall giving a matter-of-fact explanation of my training and they practically gawked at me all the way back to my office, with a somewhat proud look that their Mommy looked a bit more accomplished than a Mac-N-Cheese maker.

The next example is not as exciting, but still offers the point. Grandpa was watching the boys shoot baskets one afternoon when I drove up to the house. As I walked up the driveway, I could hear my Dad telling them how I used to shoot baskets all the time and played a lot of basketball. They seemed to doubt it, but Grandpas can be pretty convincing (with a bit of exaggeration) as he explained how "good" I was. Now really, I was not that great...but he's my Dad :)) For the first time ever, my nine year-old ball hog tossed me the ball and invited me to shoot baskets with him. Sure, we've done that before; but usually because I ask for a turn (and I only get one shot). This time, after Grandpas description, he felt that I was competent enough for an invitation. I enjoyed that so much as we took turns taking shots.

So the point? As my kids get older, they are realizing WHO I am. They are more able to think outside of themselves and understand that I had a life before them and continue to do things that they are totally oblivious to---things beyond filling their underwear drawer and spreading peanut butter on slabs of whole-wheat.

The next time my 4 year-old bosses me about pitching, I'll remember that soon, he too, will know that I can shoot some mean hoops, can wrestle with the strongest of them, AND can help him see inside his ear! Until then, I'm content to be his Mommy-slave with "no identity" :))))