Normal

Did you know that I used to be normal? That I used to not yell, "Stop licking the step stool!!" That I used to choose clothes based on how they looked (well, let's be honest, how comfortable they were), not on how accessible my lactating mammaries were? Did you know that my husband and I used to not argue about where the Brita pitcher belongs on the counter, or him readjusting the G.D. strap on the diaperbag EVERY STINKING TIME he used it!! For God's sake man, just pick it up and carry it, stop screwing with the strap!!!........*ehem* As I was saying...I used to be...normal.

This is the part where I'm supposed to say, "Yes, I'm a raving lunatic obsessed with raisins and poop, but my life is full and happy, I have small human beings who love me more than anything...blah, blah, blah..." All of that is true, but...when Big Girl is splashing gallons of water out of her bath while Little Girl is getting her adrenaline fix because I forgot to buckle her into the highchair (again!), I just want to send them both to a new family, and be normal again.

I want to put on makeup and some heels (I know there are some buried in my closet somewhere). I want to make a QUICK run to the store (any store....just so I can experience the rush of getting out of my car and walking into a building in under 7 minutes). I want to drink a fresh HOT cup of coffee, sing to the songs on my favorite CDs (Big Girl doesn't like it when I sing with the radio, it fills me with a deep and abiding sadness), and for the love of all that is holy, I want to experience solo bathroom time!!

So yes, blah blah blah, I love my kids, they are great, I can't wait to see who they become as they grow, but sometimes (ok, one might even say often), I can't WAIT for them to fly the nest so hubby and I can get to know each other again, and I can get to know myself again. As much as I want to see who they become, I want to see who I become over the next 17 odd years! Will I still have the uncontrollable urge to pack a variety of tidy, finger foods everywhere I go? Will I still have pockets full of hankies and stray barbie shoes? Will I feel naked without a Mary Poppins bag containing EVERYTHING I could possibly need for EVERY emergency, except the one that we're currently experiencing? Will I still lie awake at night, after the house is quiet, reliving every moment of the day, cursing myself for not knowing the right way to handle each insane scenario cooked up by these little versions of me? Probably that last one...yeah...definitely, that one, because, this is my new normal.

I am no longer that "normal" me, I'm this mom-me (get it, Mommy???). I do obsess over bodily functions and the day's sticky substance. I do want to neck punch the office manager who offered my 3 year old a blasted lollypop at 5pm....FIVE PM!!! And even though, I miss all of those "normal" things, I signed up for this, and it's my job to help my daughters find their normal, and try my hardest to show them what a healthy normal is.
 

Baggage

I'm back...to sum up the last 15 months or so, we had a baby, sold a house, sold about half of what we owned, moved across the country, endured a Minnesota winter (brrrr...) and are JUST starting to slow down, which means it's time to start looking for a new house so we can move out of our apartment.

So, what spurred me to rejoin the world of the mom-blogger? One word...baggage. Here's what happened.

It's spring(ish) in Minnesota, which means that any day that is over 45 degrees F calls for outdoor activities. So on Sunday, as the mercury soared over 53, we packed the girls up in our bike trailer, slapped on our helmets, and pedaled our little loves over to the park. What a delight to see a gaggle of little 4 and 5 year old pink-doused girlywigs careening around the playground! It's always great to have windfall playmates!

Big Girl immediately leaped from her nest in the trailer and dashed across the wood chips to join her insta-pals in all their screeching glory. Dada and I installed Little Girl in her favorite baby-swing and settled in to watch the miracle of a 3 year old making friends with strangers. Then it happened, the moment every parent truly dreads, the first perceived peer-rejection, this wasn't the standard 2 or 3 year old's "NO!" when asked to play, or share, and it was certainly not an intentional rebuff, but as the slightly older girls all mounted their bikes and started racing around the walking path, I saw what was coming.

"Take her..." I said to Dada, absently handing Little Girl to him, my Big Girl needed me.

I started walking across the playground towards Big Girl, as she stood watching her friends race away.

"Please let her not care, please let her not care, please let her not care..." I chanted in my head, hoping that her little brain hadn't yet developed whatever medulla, or cortex holds the rejection-processing center.

Then she turned and I watched her sweet, round, still-baby, face crumple in total and complete heartbreak. I scooped her up as she wailed, "Theeey leeeeeft meeee!!!"

"They didn't baby" I said, "They didn't know you wanted to go" I explained, "I'm sorry we didn't bring your bike" I bemoaned, and on she sobbed.

How do you explain to a 3 year old that 4 and 5 year olds aren't grownups, that they aren't much further along in learning to consider others' feelings, and the consequences of actions? How do you deflect the hurt that inevitably bombards a little heart that can't conceive of NOT being the center of another person's consciousness? I did the only thing I could. The only thing any parent can when a bandaid won't help, I cuddled her and held her while she cried and tried to help her understand.

The girls returned, dropping bikes in favor of slides and swings, and I cajoled Big Girl to rejoin the fun, "Go play baby, they're back" I said, "They don't know you want to play" I explained, "Just ask them to play with you" I coaxed. Her "They don't even caaare" just about tore my heart from my chest. Finally another mom noticed and asked her daughter to invite Big Girl to play, which of course worked.

As I mouthed "Thank You" to her, I wondered at the utterly visceral agony I had experienced along with my girl. Not only was I empathetic towards her pain, as anyone would be, but I felt as if I'd experienced it right along with her, that's when I realized that I have. Well, not ALONG with her, but as soon as I saw the situation unfold, I was instantly transported into my own 9 year old self, as my best friend said she didn't want to be my friend anymore.

I realized that all that baggage is still there, and part of parenting is watching your child collect her own satchels and valises as she grows, knowing that they are all rights of passage.

She was fine within minutes of course, and probably won't remember the incident, but I probably always will, as I will all the heartbreaks I witness (God HELP the first boy to hurt her!!!) All I can do is try and help her drop the bags that aren't worth carrying, and help her be strong enough to carry the ones she can't let go of, because, no matter how much I wish I could, I can't carry them for her.