Me, Myself and I
Azul has always spoken very well and has a very good vocabulary for a five year-old. I hear this is common among only children, and since I am just around my only child, I don’t know if this is true or not. But, for some reason, and I am going to blame this on school, every bad habit he has developed comes from school, he has started using “me” instead of “I.” Now, “I want ice cream for dessert,” has turned into, “me want ice cream for dessert.” And “I want to go to the park” is now “me want to go to the park.” It is driving me crazy, so I have resorted to repeating his sentences back to him correctly. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and said, “You sound like a caveman. Why are you saying me? You know it is I.” Staying a step ahead, he then started yelling, “Help I! Help I!” Me couldn’t stop laughing!
Lego Mom
Pregnancy does a crazy thing to a person. All of your thoughts, ideas, and worries turn into irrational fears. And my irrational fears, or “crazies,” at times have been a little misguided. One of my fears when I found out I was going to be a mom was eventually having that position turn into being a Soccer Mom! The stereotypical image of wearing gym clothes in public, with my hair cut in an asymmetrical bob, driving an SUV and screaming at my child every Saturday, while he was running across a grassy field and I ate chips, sounded like a nightmare to me. Of course like all fears, I exaggerated this to the umpteenth degree, and not to mention the hormones flowing through my newly pregnant body like a dam had broken, it scared me!
Now, in order to compensate for my “crazies,” I focused on it, repeated it, and constantly made fun of myself about it. I guess it’s kind of like following the instructions on a Shampoo bottle: rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat; and that’s what I did, believing the more I repeated it, I would be able to cleanse myself from my thoughts (I will say I have always done this — even before I was a parent. True or not, this just seems like the best way for me to deal with things). So for years I said that my only fear of being a parent was someday I would have to be a Soccer Mom. Rinse, repeat.
Well, five years later I got soap in my eyes!
In the mail we received one of those super glossy, extra-large post card advertisements for the local indoor soccer field. They were soliciting for their “little kickers” group which is the beginning class for soccer. Not even thinking about it, I asked Azul, “You want to join a kid’s soccer team and play soccer?” Azul looked at me like I was crazy, rolled his eyes and said, “Ugh! I thought you wanted to be a Lego Mom not a Soccer Mom!” Rinse, rinse, rinse!
All I could think was, Well, I guess I have said that a time or two before. I replied, “Good call my love, I forgot. Thank you for keeping me on track!” Azul is a card-carrying member of the local Lego Club, but sometimes I still think, My hair wouldn’t look so bad in a bob!
Sink or Swim
From September 1, 2012
This is the unabridged version of the story that started it all. My first Rude Awakening Parental Moment, not the first time I experienced a rude awakening, just the first time I documented it.
It happened when Azul and I were taking “parent/child” swimming classes at UNM. We took this class every Saturday morning for five weeks, which meant we had to get dressed in the women’s locker room after class so we could run errands that day. Never a fan of locker rooms, they have always created an uncomfortable feeling for me. But I’m an adult now with a child, so I can be mature about it, right? It can’t be like middle school where everyone is making fun of you, so just get over it!
Well, following our last class, I was toweling myself off as quickly as possible and reminding Azul to keep his eyes to himself. “Mommy, that little boy is getting dressed too,” Azul noticed. “Don’t worry about him, just worry about your own business. I’m almost done and then we’ll get you dressed,” I said in a hurried tone, trying to get dressed while still damp.
There was one other mom from our class with her son getting dressed too. With both of us with our backs to each other, the other little boy said to his mom, “Mommy, your underwear is much longer than hers.” Standing there in my thong underwear and shirt, I kept repeating to myself in my head, “don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh.” And it took everything I had not to turn around and look at her granny panties. I don’t ever want to look her in the eyes again. Oh, I’m so glad swim class is over.
Carmelina Hart 