Absolutely Bananas: Seattle mom blog

Mamma said there’ll be days like this

We all have deep dark secrets and I’ll confess one of mine if you don’t judge me.

Sometimes I feel superior and smug. Like I’m a GOOD mom and I have my life all sorted out and my child is well behaved. Until the inevitable cosmic smack-down puts me firmly back in my place, reminding me that I am NOT such a good mother and my life is NOT so very in order and my child is DEFINITELY NOT well behaved.

I’ve had this feeling the past few weeks that I don’t want the summer to end. It’s going so well and CJ and I are getting along and it’s warm and I love not having to keep a schedule. Other mothers bemoan the fact that school doesn’t start until the 9th (so late!) and secretly I disagree. Until today.

I’m whipping up homemade pancakes like one of those “good moms” on an after-school special. Fresh! Healthy! Fluffy! The pancakes are a lot of work but that’s the kind of mom I am. I mentally pat myself on the back as I set out a plate of hot cakes with a side of neatly chopped fruit and a frothy glass of milk.

I turn back to the kitchen to clean up my mess (because that’s what GOOD MOMS do.)

ZING! Just barely, out of the corner of my eye, I see it… something flying through the air.

I whirl around, spatula in hand. CJ Is eyeing me warily. His eyes nervously jump from me to the wool rug where a freshly cut piece of syrupy pancake lies face-down.

“CJ!!!!!!!!!” I bellow and immediately he’s up and negotiating,

“But mom I was just feeding Bella!”

“YOU KNOW YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO FEED BELLA FROM THE TABLE!”

He smiles nervously. slyly. “But mom, I DIDN’T know that.”

“THIS IS DISRESPECTFUL TO ME TO THROW THE PANCAKES I MADE FOR YOU ON THE FLOOR! IT IS DISRESPECTFUL TO OUR HOUSE TO MAKE MESSES LIKE THIS! AND IT’S BAD FOR BELLA!”

CJ’s smile has gotten smaller, but it’s still there. Hopeful. Amused.

“GO TO YOUR ROOM!” I howl and pick up the piece of pancake, sputtering obscenities.  CJ vanishes.

I pick up his plate and dump the freshly prepared breakfast down the drain. I stand by the sink, fuming.

Time goes by… enough that I’ve calmed down and told CJ in no uncertain terms what I think about his behavior. I pull out my to-do list.  I’ve been meaning to wash Bella for a week now, and there’s no more putting it off.

I heave a sigh and drag her into the bathroom. Bella hates having a bath as much as I hate giving her one. She looks at me with doleful eyes as if to say, “do you really hate me so much?”

This is the time when I wish I had a tiny dog that could fit in my purse and which I could dunk in a bowl of water to clean.  Washing Bella is an arduous task and painful- kneeling on the hard bathroom tile. But finally I finish and get to work blow-drying and brushing her long white coat.

It’s such a pain but she is awfully nice and fluffy at the end of it.

It feels GOOD to get things done! I mentally pat myself on the back. So on top of it! Checking off boxes!

It’s lunch time and I decide to make sandwiches.  I open the door to let Bella into the backyard and start smearing mayonnaise on bread.

Somewhere between the lettuce and the ham Bella slips through the fence into our neighbor’s yard. Our neighbor’s yard that was just excavated yesterday. Our neighbors yard that is covered in mounds of fresh loose dirt.

Bella is leaping and prancing with plumes of dirt filling the air around her. She prances like a whirling dervish. Like a BAD BAD BAD DOG. A VERY VERY BAD DOG.

“BELLLLLLAAAA!” I howl.

She rolls on her back. Her freshly cleaned and brushed coat… still slightly damp… is brown.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

CJ comes running. He looks at Bella and shakes his head.

“She’s in TROUBLE.” he says.

And so I catch the dog. I haul the dog downstairs to be bathed a second time, muttering obscenities under my breath.

And it’s only 1:00.

Yesterday

Today was CJ’s last day of kindergarten.

Tomorrow he turns six.

Wasn’t it yesterday that I walked my little boy to school the first time, his hand clenched tightly in mine?

Wasn’t it yesterday that he turned five?

What happened in between yesterday and TODAY?

For the thousandth time I renew my committment to being present in this moment.

Because this moment is zooming by.

Thanks, I think…

I’m folding laundry in the bedroom when I hear him shout from his seat atop the toilet, “MOM!”

“What CJ?” I holler back.

“Mom!  Come here!” 

“Just a minute!”  I continue folding clothes.  Just a few more…

“MOM! COME HERE!” his voice is getting more demanding.

I don’t answer.  Almost done.

“MOMMY!  I SAID COME HERE… THIS MINUTE!”

There’s a pause, and then, “I AM GOING TO START COUNTING!  1, 2, 3…”

Wearily I walk into the bathroom.

As I enter the doorway, CJ blasts me with a big smile followed by a rousing, 

YOU’RE A GRAND OLD FLAG

YOU’RE A HIGH FLYING FLAG

AND FOREVER IN PEACE MAY YOU WAVE

YOU’RE THE EMBLEM OF

THE LAND I LOVE

THE HOME OF THE FREE AND THE BRAVE…

Well, yes I am, CJ.  And don’t you forget it.

The perfect Mother’s Day weekend brought to you by mother-haters everywhere

Whoever came up with this idea was either a man, a monkey, or just plain mean. Camp Orkila on beautiful Orcas island with all the other families from CJ’s school? Ok, sure, that could be fun.  But Mother’s Day weekend?  In MAY? In an OPEN-AIR CABIN that lacks WINDOWS and DOORS?

The only answer possible is that whoever organized this trip hates mothers.  

I’m lying in my bunk with my sleeping bag pulled over my head to shield against the freezing night air.  I strain my ears to listen for movement above me where CJ is sleeping; poised to leap out of bed and catch him in my arms at the slightest hint of falling.

I wonder what time it is. How much longer till morning?  It could be any time at all… I’ve lost all sense for hours and the pitch blackness makes it impossible for me to see my watch.  

From across the cabin I can hear Pete snoring.  I don’t know Pete except for his name and who his child is. Before this trip we’d said hello once or maybe twice.  

And here we are, sleeping together. 

Let me just say right now that when it comes to shared sleeping arrangements with almost-strangers, I am not a fan.

(Almost-strangers are worse than COMPLETE strangers because you will see them again.  Except next time they’ll know about the night farting.)

I didn’t realize how much I took doors for granted, I think,They really keep out a lot of nasty things.  Like COLD and bugs and raccoons and other creatures of the night.

I shift in my sleeping bag.  I’ve heard stories of midnight visits by raccoons and that’s one experience that I really, REALLY don’t want to have.

I hate this doorless cabin.

Slowly my eyelids close and I drift off to a fitful sleep. 

I’m jolted awake by the sound of CJ crying.  Jay is standing beside the bed, trying to comfort him.  

The snoring from across the cabin has stopped.  Great, everyone’s awake.

CJ is unhappy and still mostly asleep, which means he hollers and caterwauls and won’t listen to reason. Finally I hiss, “Just take him to the bathroom!” and Jay obliges with me stumbling after them.  The night air is cold and damp. I focus my flashlight beam on the trail in front of Jay’s feet.

“This is ridiculous,” Jay is muttering. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“It’s freeezing!” I moan, “I can’t SLEEP!”

Jay deposits CJ on a bench in the bathroom and peels off his wet pajamas.  I pull out the only pair of pants I could find and we try to manhandle them over his sticky legs.  CJ is crying and incoherent. I’m tempted to join him.

I look at my watch.  It’s 2:30.

“That’s IT,” Jay says, “We’re going to a hotel. I can’t take any more of this.”

We make a fast stop at the cabin on our way out to get the car keys and Jay’s wallet and head for the parking lot.  When we get to the car CJ is crying, “But I don’t WANT to leave our cabin I LIKE IT HERE Please can we go baaaaaaaaaaaaaack.”

I hold my hands in front of the heater vents and moan in pleasure as the hot air sends goosebumps of pleasure up my arms.

“We should probably call around first,” Jay says, “these small hotels might not have someone at the desk all night.”

We drive a couple of miles until I have cell phone reception and I start making calls.  After the third answering machine — “Our business hours are 8am till 9pm…” — I look at Jay and sigh. 

“I think we’re out of luck.”

Two deer saunter across the road in front of us.  Jay looks weary as he turns the car around.

We’re in the parking lot with the heater running, looking at each other.  We’ve been sitting like this for fifteen minutes. “We should get out,” I say.  ”Or… should we sleep in the car?”

Jay thinks about this and shrugs. “Maybe.  It’d be warm.”

I shake my head. “But wouldn’t we die from toxic fumes?”

Jay laughs.  ”No, that’s if you’re in a garage.  We’d be fine.”

Still I’m not convinced. We climb out of the car and start the trek back to our cabin.  CJ is delighted. 

“I’m SO glad we’re going back to our house,” he says. “I won’t cry any more I PROMISE and Hey! what’s that by that tree!?”

I have forgotten my glasses and all I can see beside the tree is more darkness.

“It’s a raccoon!” Jay says, “a big one.  And it’s standing on its back legs.  See it?”

No. I don’t see it. And I really don’t care.

I hate raccoons.  

My eyelids ache from tiredness and the cold is beginning to creep down my neck and into my very soul.

And now I have to pee.

Jay takes CJ to the cabin and I head for the bathroom with the flashlight.  I’m keeping it pointed down and just in front of me, which is how I completely miss the GIANT DEER that is standing in the trail. I would have walked directly into him but at the last possible minute he LEAPS! out of the way sending my heart directly past my stomach into my feet while adrenaline surges through my veins. 

Add stupid deer to the list of things I hate.

And then I get lost and wander through a dark and cold campground where everything is blurry and I can’t see a thing.

Finally I find our cabin and I’m so relieved that I want to kiss the door but there isn’t one so instead I climb into my sleeping bag and fall asleep to the sound of gentling snoring strangers.  Tomorrow night I’ll get to do it all over again.

Happy Freaking Mother’s Day.

***

Now stop laughing at my misery and go on over to Nickelodeon’s Parent’s Picks and vote for Absolutely Bananas as Seattle’s best local blog. Because it IS the best or at least not the worst and also because I have an embarrassing 0% of the votes and my pal Kathryn is spanking the pants off me in her evil quest for world domination and also she’s a mean and nasty gloater and must be stopped.  You can vote every single day and probably should… not for me but for THE GREATER GOOD.

The Easter Man

CJ: So mom, did you buy any easter candy when you were at Target?

Me: Nope. You’ll be getting all the easter candy on Sunday from…

CJ: The Easter Man!!

Me: The Easter Man?!  Who is the Easter Man?

CJ: You know… the man who dresses up like a bunny and brings you stuff.

I hide my face, which has contorted into an expression of abject horror.  Easter Man?  Clearly I’m failing in my motherly duty to perpetuate fantastical myths at the cost of all reason.

Me: Oh NO CJ, the easter bunny is NOT a man in a bunny costume.  The easter bunny is a real bunny.

CJ is shocked. 

CJ: A real bunny?  Like… a big one?

Me: No, it’s a cute little white bunny.  It hops around and brings kids treats.

CJ: But… but how does it CARRY them?

Me: Well, it’s magic.

CJ: Wow.  A real bunny. (he pauses)  You know mom, magic is real.

And just like that I’m back on my A-game.