Sometimes, like this morning, I realize my conversations
with Pumpkin have gotten out of control.
She is such a great conversationalist that sometimes I find I get myself
in over my head with an explanation that is just a little more than a
three-year old can handle. For example, this
morning I started discussing the 4th of July with Pumpkin. Simple enough – it was on the agenda for
summer camp this week so I figured if they can talk about it so can I.
It started out simple enough – America’s birthday; red,
white, and blue; fireworks; parade; grilling out; cake. Well, cake turned into a question of who was
going to blow out the candles, which led to my attempted explanation of America
as a country and not a person. Despite
the obscurity, Pumpkin resolved that one fairly easily – “I will blow out the
candles for ‘merica.” Okay, good enough.
Then the talk turns back to cake and I start explaining how
we will make a red, white, and blue cake but we won’t use blueberries or
strawberries (which she advised me on Friday she does not like when I packed
her blueberries in her lunch – when I picked her up she immediately asked “were
those blueberries ‘posed to be for me – I don’t like blueberries OR
strawberries.”). Duly noted. So, logically, she wants to know what we will
use instead of blueberries and strawberries and why we have to use red and
blue. This leads me to start explaining
the American flag. I even stop dead in
the middle of the road when we pass one to show her. I still feel like this conversation is going
relatively well and that some bit of learning may be taking place.
At some point during this conversation we exit the
Interstate and she sees the I-10 sign at the bottom of the ramp. It’s red, white, and blue. This is where things go south (pun sort-of
intended). Excitedly, she exclaims “Mama,
I see red, white and blue.” Instead of
just letting it go, as I should have, with a “good girl” or an “okay baby,” I
seize this non-opportunity to try to teach her something way beyond both of
us. Smarty-pants mama says “That’s
right, do you know why it is red, white, and blue? That is because it is a sign
indicating the interstate system that lets you drive across America.” I see the light in her bright eyes dim. She immediately points to the Highway 90 sign
right next to it with a quizzical look on her face (we are sitting at the
longest red light known to man), “mama, why is that one black and white?” What had I started? Was I going to try to explain the difference
between the intrastate and interstate highway systems? Was I even capable of explaining it? This conversation quickly devolved beyond my control. Luckily the light turned green and we passed
a church with another American flag.
She’s smarter than me.
One day I will admit it. For now,
I will just continue trying to find places to hide from her when I get in over
my head. Literally. I did that.
Not my proudest mama moment but I heard her coming to “tell me sumfin’”
and some mentally-exhausted, sleep-deprived part of myself pressed my body
against the wall of the water closet in the master bath and held my breath. I heard her come in and then run out shouting
in surprise “daddy, mama’s not in the shower!!!” All I could do was laugh. Hard.
And then go find her and give her a big hug and tell her the truth –
mama was hiding! The confused look on
her face only made me laugh harder. I
had hit a new mama low.
Hiding isn’t as easy as I had anticipated in the new house.
Despite adding significant square footage and an entire story, I’m still way
too easily found. This past Saturday
morning all mama wanted was to sit down and drink one cup of coffee. Typically I’m sipping while I do any number
of other morning things like dressing, cleaning, picking up, playing, etc., but
on this particular morning after a rough-ish night with the teething Bug, I just
wanted to sit down and drink a single cup of coffee. Everyone seemed situated so I poured a cup of
joe and headed for an arm chair. Well
before my rear hit the cushion someone needed juice, then someone was stuck
halfway between a crawl and a sit, then someone needed breakfast, then…you get the
picture. And of course, only mama will
do in these situations. For some reason
when I pour the juice, cereal, pick up the toy, or whatever the chore may be,
it’s somehow much different than when daddy does the same darn thing.
And it’s not just sitting there in plain view that is a
problem. I have had the darndest time
finding anywhere in that house to have a single moment alone. Now don’t get me wrong, I love our family,
our life, and our new house but sometimes mama just needs a breath and to sit
down for literally one second. Now, in
this beautiful new home of ours we have a bar room overlooking our oasis pool
with the waterfalls in our palm-tree lined back yard. It even SOUNDS relaxing. Unfortunately, that lovely room with the
gorgeous views and the plush seating just so happens to be Pumpkin’s favorite
room to dance in (see attached video and do note that I am just waiting for a
call from child protective services once she tells someone at school that she “dances
in the bar with mama” which I have heard her ask to do verbatim). So, bottom line is, while there’s fun to be
had there, there is no relaxing in the bar.
The new house also has a wonderful, spacious master bath
with the rain shower and the Jacuzzi tub.
I would be lying to say I didn’t envision bubbles, wine, candles, and a
good book when I first saw that tub. The
first evening I tried to make that dream a reality the questions started almost
simultaneously with the running of the water – “mama, why are you taking a
bath;” “mama, why are you lighting candles, can I blow them out, is it your
birthday, are we having cake;” then, once I actually got in, her little face
was perched right on the edge of the bathtub and she asked incredulously “mama
why are you READING IN THE BATHTUB” before she broke into hysterical laughter. I drained the tub and hopped in the
shower. At least there was a door there
and the water beating down on my head would drown out the sounds of the world
for a few minutes. But just a few. Before I knew it, Pumpkin was knocking on the
door needing to tell me “sumfin’” again.
I poked my sudsy head out to be informed matter of factly that Pumpkin “needed”
to go to the beach and build a sand castle.
Yeah, me too kiddo!I won’t even begin to explain why the game room, the kitchen, and the living room are not relaxing. But I may surprise you when I say that this weekend I finally found my quiet place in the new house. It’s the laundry room. I did a little experiment and while I cannot totally explain the phenomenon, it appears that my family seems to stay far away when I’m in the laundry room. Whether it be the threat of work or the lack of toys, I’m not sure, but I can stand there for several uninterrupted minutes and mindlessly fold towels, hang shirts, and breathe in the calming scent of detergent. I emerged a revived mama with fresh towels to boot.
So next time you can’t find me or that I get myself in a pickle trying to explain the Pythagorean theorem because my three-year old drew a triangle, check the laundry room.
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