Saturday, September 29, 2012

How my 7 year old son tricked me into buying him a car

This probably doesn't come as a shock to you, but I enjoy taking care of people.  Including and especially sick people.  Tonight, Colin has the stomach flu.  In between fetching him Ginger Ale (no ice, purple straw) and water (crushed, not cubed ice, blue straw)  I came to the realization that when I'm taking care of my kids like this, I'm almost...happy?

Please don't call Child Protective Services or throw around phrases like 'Munchausen by Proxy'.  It's not like that at all.  I just feel really, really super duper useful when my kids are sick.  They're outgrowing their need for me minute by minute.  I've changed my last diaper, bathed my last baby and sooner or later, I'll never struggle to match a sippy cup with a lid again. I hate that shit.  So why am I so sad about it?

I guess what brought this on was Facebook.  Not Facebook, Facebook, but the Facebook that lets you look at all the videos you've posted over the last 5 years or so and get a good look at what your life looked like then.  I found a video of the biggest Baby C when he was a little over 2 years old.  He's 7 now.  Five years doesn't seem like a lot, does it?

In grown up years, 5 years is practically nothing. But in littles years?  5 years is long enough to forget what the landscape of my life looked like on a certain spring morning when Baby C and I discovered a little tree frog hopping around our porch.  I had forgotten the way his eyes lit up when he got excited. How he smiled from the inside out.  (I swear that kid sparkled.  In the best possible way)  I had forgotten his voice.  That sweet, soft voice that I heard so much I actually hoped and prayed for laryngitis.  The way he loved to perform- singing, dancing- anything- that made me laugh. 

And of course, I also forgot the way he would pretend to fall asleep beside me during nap time and then wreak havoc on my bedroom with a sharpie.  How he meticulously lined up all my pots and pans so he could pee in them.  The time he hit me in the head with a boot the day I tried to stop cussing.  I guess that's one of the beautiful things about parenting- the good things fade a little, but then again, so do the shitty things.

I was talking to Stacy tonight and I told her that I thought the best part of parenting happens when there are no bad things happening.  That all that is required for good times to prevail is the absence of bad things.  And that's totally true.  But also?

Tonight as I was fetching the Ginger Ale and water, rearranging the covers, fluffing the pillow, kissing the warm cheek, Colin looked up at me and said 'Mommy?  You're the best mom ever because I can always count on you.  You ALWAYS take such good care of me. Thanks for that.'  Damn.  He totally knows how to work me. He's getting a car tomorrow.