growing up right in front of our eyes

Lots of people have been commenting on how tall our kids are getting, but they are growing in other ways too. Sometimes it’s the smallest things that happen in an average day of parenting that remind us of this. For example, on the day our older son returned from camp he started calling me “mom.” Before that it had always been “mommy.”

And sometimes their attempts to sound grown up leave us stifling a laugh. “You look handsome,” I told my younger boy as I helped him button up his shirt on Sunday.

“Handsome is not cool; it’s wimpy,” he informed me.

I start wondering whether I’ll have to change my tactics because my tried-and-true strategy for making owies feel better does not work either. Our soon-to-be first grader slammed his finger earlier this week when he was fiddling with a shopping cart. He let out a loud howl and so I attempted to distract him by saying “Let me kiss it.”

After I did he said, “That didn’t help at all.”

Then there’s the endless, “Let me help” or “I can do it.” They’re feeling the need to assert more independence. They want to be helpful. I get it. But I’m usually just thinking about being efficient, a word that even my three-year-old knows and uses. And it does take a lot more time to let a child stuff the money in the machine when we’re in the self-check out line at the grocery store. Or to buckle himself into his car seat, knead the bread, open the door with the key, wash the produce, or roll out tortillas. I’m left to supervise. Sometimes to redo it after they are “done.”

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I guess I’m often so busy rushing to the next thing that I forget to pay attention to what is right in front of me. So yesterday when we were making homemade tortillas for dinner I ignored the clock and shifted my attention to the cute three-year-old hands holding the rolling pin. They have probably nearly tripled in size since we first became acquainted. The rolling pin seems a bit unwieldy in those hands, but they’re determined to make it work. So I hover – and offer to sprinkle flour as needed. The boy takes delight in using his hands to help make dinner. And I take delight in his delight.

 

how it goes when the mom who rarely leaves home is gone for the weekend

My sons both protested about my leaving them for the weekend. Even though I explained Aunt Clair wanted to celebrate her birthday with her sisters – with no children, and no guys either.

“That’s the worst party ever,” my five-year-old said.

“That’s the worst party ever,” my two-year-old repeated.

But I gave each of them a big hug and left them in the capable hands of their daddy. He got a hug too.

Turns out my three guys created their own fun. They were well rested and happy when I got home Sunday afternoon. My older son reported, “Daddy gave us the foods we like to eat.” (Goat soup, yogurt, ice cream and grapes, in case you’re wondering.) My younger one said, “Daddy took me to the zoo.”

I was relieved that I am replaceable, at least for a few days at a time.