And for once I was SuperMom

Tuesday, December 4, 2012


What do I feed the child?
It's not that she's picky.  She'll eat anything at least once.  Or she used to.  She's just not fun to feed.  I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and proffer it to the goddess.  It's not my firstfruits, I will eat those, because I know they will get eaten, instead of just stabbed and ignored.
A moment later I look over and she has pulled it apart and is scraping out the peanut butter and jelly with her fingers.  She does this with grilled cheese as well.  Any time she asked for a grilled cheese I am tempted to just microwave a pile of cheese and place it in front of her.
Gross? Completely.  Honest?  Totally.
Children are just more honest.

"Ow, I didn't know I had extra skin underneath my chin," I look over and the baby has grabbed my husband's neck and is holding on tight.  He pries off her clamp and goes about his business.  I find myself pulling away from her little hands all the time, they hurt.  She pulls at my hair, my clothes, my shoulder, anything she can grab.  By the end of the day I am so tired of being grabbed.
I hear a shriek, high pitched and terrible. I look down and the baby has a handful of Emma's hair.  She is breathing heavy out of desperation, but not lashing out at the baby.  I lean down and untangle the hair from  tiny tightly gripped fingers.  I do shout when Carys grabs my hair and skin, but I always feel bad about it.  Like I should be able to put up with the pain just because it isn't really her fault that she's grabbing me so hard.  I'm sure that Emma has no added guilt when she shouts because the baby is pulling tender hairs.
Pure, simple, and honest.  Not wrapped up in a million emotions, like their adult interactions will become.

We are at preschool co-op, I look over and Emma is throwing a tantrum, she doesn't want to share the sand box.  We sit in the hallway and wait until she is calm.  Upon re-entering I look at the other girl's mom,
"Does she need to apologize to Hazel?" I ask, nervous there was striking involved.
"No, I think that Emma just didn't want to share," she shakes her head and gives a generously diplomatic answer.
I was thinking about it, is there a situation where you throw a bunch of adults in a room and make them share their toys?  The only thing I could think of was women cooking together.
"Oh, where you using that knife?" You ask, snagging your favorite knife.
"Oh no, it's okay, I'll go get another one," it's not, you can tell, but you're just glad to have your knife.

Maybe that's all we want to do, just rip apart the sandwich and eat the middle, but we don't.  We wander around munching on sliced bread pretending that we like it when we don't.  The middle is the best part.    Maybe we just want to scream,
"That's my knife!  You can't use it!"  But we don't.  We pad our interactions with niceties, to keep things rolling.  We eat fiber, to keep other things rolling.

Let's just take a moment to be thankful that we grow out of preschool behavior....

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