Today I let Plum attempt to eat a dandelion.
I've been answering questions about death ever since that sweet bird went and croaked right in front of them. Of course, that includes the most awful question of all. "You gonna die, mommy?"
Gut punch. I really suck at this.
In unrelated news...a few weeks ago Pants made the connection that meat is an animal and he is devastated that people would do that. Dev-a-stated. It's like before this week he instinctively knew but now his brain totally knows and we are all on his shit list for it.
Let's see... what else? The word "hate" has found it's way into the mouths of my angels. So that's awesome.
Plum has fallen about 76 times this month and is scratched and bruised and she could care less but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried she will be visiting the ER before summer is out. Jinx.
Pants is sick.
Plum wants make-up. Get the hell out. No way. Make-up? Thanks a lot YouTube.
Pants is venting his frustrations with hitting and Plum is venting hers with breaking his toys.
They are both getting all grown-up and independent and smart and mouthy and more awesome and absolutely terrifying and real non-baby people with opinions that they can now tell me about.
They are suddenly so tall and hungry, too.
Me? Oh I'm in there somewhere. I'm trying to find the balance between "Work it out yourselves. Rub some dirt in it." vs sitting right on top of them 24/7 with a roll of duct tape, some bubble wrap and a shrink ray .
Basically, I have no idea. Here's Plum thinking about eating this dandelion.
Then, last night, in a moment of quiet surrender before bed, Pants and I came full circle. He looked me in the eye (that's when I know that what is coming is very serious) and said to me, "i jus scared, mama"
"Scared of what, love?" "At school. There too much kids. Is scary to me."
Two years in that school. Same building. Same teachers. Same routine. And he's still scared.
Gut punch. I'm fucking this all up. I'm ruining them with my poor decision making skills. I am never sending my kids to school again ever! Let's get an RV and travel the world like that one family did. We can live off the land and...
So I've been thinking about all the ways we mess up our kids. And by "we" I mean me and the voice that fights with me over all the things I'm thinking about. I've been thinking about this parenting cyclone. And I am desperate to quiet my heart by telling it to shut the truck up and power on without all that extra waffling that I am known to do.
I start wondering if every single decision I have ever made for all of time was the wrong one. I think about this stuff especially when my kids are fighting or my house is so destroyed that I need to call A&E to pitch my series about a mom who got buried under half-broken toys and wasn't seen for days but eventually clawed her way out to freedom having survived on stale wheat thins crumbs mashed into the playroom carpet and a long lost apple juice sippy cup that had mercifully turned to wine. Yeah...that's when I think about these things.
And that's a really dumb time to think about these things.
Calm down, mama. You are fine. They are fine.
So for now, I am duct taping the mouth of the voice in head. There is change brewing over here and my grip needs to relax. My brain needs to stop yelling at itself. My heart needs to blow it's nose, calm the ferk down and keep guiding us.
When I write it down, I am reminded that my heart is a smarty pants. My heart knows what it is doing. When I write it down, it doesn't seem so huge and heavy. So yeah, that's why I just barfed all of that into the internet. It's my process. It helps me to get back to knowing that we will be ok. Because we will.
We will be ok and I am not screwing this up.
Neither are you.