The Water Bottle

This morning everyone was ready to walk out the door by 7:15.  Kamryn’s lunch was packed, shoes were on, hair was done.  We don’t normally leave the house until 7:30 so a15 minute reprieve was nice.
Once we got to school, Kamryn went to her classroom and Rory and I went to fulfill some PTA duties.  After that, I stopped by the store to get a donut to reward Rory for being good and picked up the missing items from my dinner menu this week.
We were finally on our way home around 9:30.  The minute we walked in the door, I saw it.  Kamryn’s water bottle.  The sight actually gave me a little tingle of adrenalin.  It’s a water bottle for Christ’s sake, but I knew this was going to elicit one of two responses from my child.  1) She was going to be really upset and cry.  2) She was going to be pissed at me and I would have to hear about it the rest of the day.
I swear I’m not afraid of my child, but if you have kids, you know that they have certain triggers that throw them in a tailspin.  Kamryn’s trigger is not having something she is supposed to.  A pen instead a pencil, a red crayon instead of an orange, an apple instead of a banana…you get the picture.
I actually considered taking the water bottle to school.  What would the office ladies think?  They have water fountains all over the place.  It’s not like she was going to die if thirst in the 3 hours and 40 minutes that she was at school.
I decided that whatever reaction Kamryn had, she was going to have to learn that sometimes we don’t have everything perfect.
When it was time to go pick Kamryn up, I grabbed her water bottle and brought it along.  I saw her class walking out and I approached the gate with a little trepidation.  She took one look at me, smiled a big toothless smile and ran to me.  I told her I was sorry I forgot her water bottle this morning.  She looked up at me like I was insane and said, “That’s alright, Mom.”
Huh?  Forget that I was wrong about her reaction…what’s this “mom” shit?  What about Mommy?  With each tooth she lost, I lost a letter in my title.

Where Has The Time Gone?

I was thinking of how small Rory was when we moved back to San Diego.  He barely talked, was still in diapers, sleeping in a crib and taking 2 naps a day.  Now none of those things are true – especially the talking part.

As I’m trying to squeak out a quick little blog post, my Little Buddy is crawling all over me and trying to get a few of his own words typed out.  Trying to fight off a wiry little 3 year old while typing isn’t easy.

The picture above was taken less than a week after we moved back to San Diego.  I don’t know why, but when I see Rory in that picture, I imagine him acting just like he does right now, but I know it’s not true.

Maybe it’s because he can still fit into that shirt and I’m pretty sure he wore those pants less than 6 months ago, but they were on the shorter side.  Or maybe it’s because he was an ornery little boy at 20 months and he is still an ornery little boy at 3 years old.

The same thing goes for Kamryn.  Although a year and half has passed, I find it increasingly difficult to remember her as a freshly turned 4 year old.  She couldn’t ride a bike, swim or read any words and now those are all crossed off her bucket list.

I’m curious in 5 years if I’ll look at my 10 year old and 8 year old and think the same thing as I do now, but with updated accomplishments.  It used to be impossible for me to imagine Kamryn going to school, but she did and it wasn’t traumatic or strange.  I kind of feel the same way about Rory now that he is entering preschool age, but I’m sure that when his first day of school rolls around it will come and go just like Kamryn’s did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I Grew Up

A while ago, Real Simple had an essay contest where you had to write about the first time you felt like a real adult.  I always have these dreams of grandeur when it comes to participating in things.  I guess it’s the optimist in me; I always start off imagining the absolute best possible outcome, which in this case, was having my essay published in the magazine.  I was determined to write this essay and submit it, but for the life me, I could not pinpoint when it was that I felt like an adult for the first time.

I went back to when I technically became an adult at 18.  Did I feel like an adult then?  Nope, I was still acting like an immature moron.  I took a look at when I turned 21.  Yeah, I was pretty excited at being able to drink legally, but that alone was an obvious sign that I wasn’t feeling or acting like a real adult.  I got married when I was 27 years old and even walking down the aisle in the big white dress didn’t seem to mature me too much.  Afterall, my best friend and Matron of Honor, Sara and I sat giggling the entire time I was supposed to be signing my marriage license.  Three years later I was pregnant with our first baby – surely this was it.  Nope, I don’t recall feeling any more like an adult while pregnant or even after my little girl was born.  In fact, I think I may have regressed a bit after that.  A couple of years later, along comes baby #2.  Here I was, a mother of two children and I could not recall feeling like I was an adult during any of this!

A very happy mommy, but still not feeling like a grown up!

I gave up on writing the essay because I feel my best writing comes when I have a personal experience to draw on.  I couldn’t identify with being a real adult and therefore, felt I would have this forced, cliche filled essay that would suck.  There was no way I would win any contest writing like that.  (Yeah, that was the reason I wouldn’t win. *wink wink*)

The last date to enter the contest had come and gone, but I still kept trying to figure out when my magical grown up event occurred – if ever.  Could it be I was still living the life of a kid and only my facade was reflecting an adult?  Doubtful.  And when I say doubtful, I mean, my outside looking like an adult.  We used to live in a college town and whenever I was downtown amongst the 19 to 21 year olds, I truly felt that I fit in.

Try and tell me we don't look like we're in college.

I was in my early 30’s, highlighting my hair to cover the grays and actually buying face cream that spoke of reducing the appearance of wrinkles right on the bottle, but in my delusional mind, I wasn’t sticking out at all.  So sad.  I even told Ryan that I didn’t feel like I looked much older and he assured me that I did.  That’s nothing to mince words about.  I needed that little bit of grounding.

I finally had my moment in September.  My daughter, who is now 5, needed to be excused from school for a day because we were going out of town for a wedding.  I had to write a note to her teacher.  BOOM!  It hit me like a ton of bricks!  I was writing a legitimate letter to a teacher.  Not one that I forged for myself or friends, but a real, honest note to get my daughter out of school.  That piece of paper sat in front of me with only a greeting at the top for a good 5 to 10 minutes before I was able to articulate a simple explanation as to why my daughter would miss one day of her 1/2 day pre-k school day.

I can honestly say I didn’t really like the feeling of being all grown up.  It was confusing and strange – like puberty.  Luckily, the moment passed and I’m back to feeling like a kid again – maybe a college kid.