Phone Phight!
“I think I broke my brain,” Azul said looking down, rubbing his six year-old head with his little hand.
“Oh my love, maybe you should stop playing on the phone,” is what I said. What I meant was “get off my phone.” Much like old men say, “get off my lawn,” just not as old or angry.
In a defensive move he replied, “You say the phone is bad for my brain and you’re on it all the time!”
“I’ve done enough harm to my brain, I think I’ll be okay.” You are witnessing my brilliant parenting skills at work right there in that response. Eek!
So, he asked, “Why is it bad for my brain?” Oh, the fight is on!
“I’ll tell you what, when you finish Grad School, you can play on the phone all you want,” I answered.
Azul loves to bargain and make deals, so intrigued he asked, “How many schools is that?”
Holding up my hand and raising a finger for each one, “Well, you’re in Elementary School now, then there is Middle School, High School, Undergraduate School in College and Grad School in College. That’s five.”
“Noooooo! That’s too many. I was thinking when I was eight or nine,” he said, throwing his right-hook in the negotiations.
I laughed and gave in to the winner. “Okay, we’ll talk about it when you’re eight or nine.”
Treat Your Children With Tenderizer
My little partner Azul and I recently went to a casual happy hour ping pong tournament to do some much-needed visiting and mingling with other adults. And yes, of course I took him, I take him everywhere with me, plus he really is a good little date and is now six years old. On the way home I said, “Thanks for being my date this evening.”
He replied in his high-pitched little kid voice, “You need to pay me.”
I said, “What? I need to pay you for taking you out? I’ll pay you with love and caring and tenderness.”
“I’d rather have a hundred dollars,” he announced.
“Yeah?” I said giggling and scrunching up my face in the rearview mirror so he could see my displeasure with his reaction.
Azul decided to change his tune and said, “Okay, I’ll take the love, and what else?”
“Caring and tenderness,” I answered in the sweetest mommy tone I could muster up.
All of a sudden he shuddered in his booster chair in the back and grabbed on to his seat belt as if it was the only thing he could find that would save him. “Ahhhhhh! No!” he said through his teeth and smiled fearfully.
“Why not?” I asked in confusion, while I turned around to look at my cowering child.
Still holding on to the “belt of life” (a.k.a. seat belt), he asked, “Doesn’t that mean to eat someone?”
“No, Babies” (I call him that sometimes), “not to tenderize in order to eat you. To be tender, which is to be soft and gentle.” And I touched his knee that was closest to the driver’s seat.
He relaxed, laughed and agreed, “Okay, love, caring and tenderness.”
The Big 6
Now that the party, presents and celebratory eating out is over, reality is setting in — I am the mother of a six year-old. Whaaat?!
Getting used to saying I was someone’s mom in the first place was surreal to me. I was a first time mom at thirty-six and up to that point I was just “me.” For years there was no other title I held which connected me to anyone else other than myself.
I am convinced the reason we keep track of babies ages in months is so parents can slowly get used to being a parent, month by month. Once I was familiar with responding to being “Azul’s mom,” it was easy, I was his and he was mine, and like most parents, I wore my title with pride. I had no problem admitting I was a mom, not to mention I had an infant on my teat most of the day, so that kind of gave it away.
The transition from being a parent of an infant to toddler is an easy one, saying “my one year-old” is just as easy as saying “my two year-old” or “my three year-old.” Then there is four. This is the point where you realize that your baby is a little person and a personality starts to show (or rears its ugly head). Personality warps into budding independence and all of a sudden you have a “five year-old.” Looking back, this all seems to happen in the blink of an eye, but the fact remains, your connection to your child is still there, they are still just little guys who need you and you need them.
Your parenting grows with your child and both of you are still experiencing something new together. When you are five years into parenting, that’s exactly what it is, five years, a parent of a five year-old, and you think, “not bad, I’ve done this for five years,” with some sense of accomplishment. I’m not sure if it is the number or age or both, but at six something changes. Your baby is going to Kindergarten and is SIX! And the real kicker, not only is your child now six years old, you are six years older too. Ugh!
Azul is six and in school all day and I am forty-two! What happened? Is this what a mid-life or mid-parenting crisis feels like? Where did the time go?
I am sure there are more mid-parenting (although “mid” is deceiving) crises to come, but right now all I can do is let it sink in…I am the mother of a six year-old.
Carmelina Hart 