I Swear, I Used to Be.

Posted by Duff

Some people are awesome.  You’re probably one of them–the kind of person who remembers the birthdays of people with whom she went to elementary school without the help of Facebook reminders and sends actual postal cards that arrive in a timely manner. My aunt is one of these people. So is my sister-in-law. I swear, I used to be one of these people.

Some people are festive. They go out and get real Christmas trees (some chop them down themselves from planned tree farms) and they come home and bake cookies and listen to carols during the trimming. I used to be one of these people. Some people go out and about in the holiday season wearing reindeer antlers. These people, I have always thought, despite an often low tolerance for the corny, are doubly awesome. And yes, I used to be one of these people.

Some people are patient with children–some even work with them, daily, and come home cheerful and affectionate and ready to give their own family their full oomph. These people are rock stars. I am not now, nor have I ever been, one of these people.

I just wanted to say, if you’ve ever told me your birthday, there is a very good chance that I remember it, and on the days I’m sure of the date (not as common now that I don’t write/type/see it nearly as much as I used to), I DO think of you. Several times. I hope you’re doing well. I’m wishing you a good year. I’m thinking of funny things you said, or songs you loved, or times we spent together that no lack of my sending you a birthday card or Facebook wall posting can erase or lessen the importance of. I swear.

And I’m festive. It’s just that since I had kiddos, someone is always running a fever (or something else) at the mere mention of the Christmas tree, and I know those days will pass. As I type this, I’m drinking coffee out of a snowman mug next to a recovering Dervish watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I swear.

The patience, I think, is overrated. Someone who was born with it, please come over and help me, now that my SECOND child is pushing chairs all over the house and trying to singe himself on the stove or canonball into the toilet and scattering everything that was once out of reach EVERYWHERE. Before I swear. Too late.

 

A Dervish Scorned

Posted by Duff

My Mom Genes will be taking a holiday break until December 29th. Wishing you and yours happy celebrations!

But before we go, I didn’t want to forget this: Baby’s First Expletive(s):

The Dervish says and does a variety of incredibly sweet things. She offers her food to everyone (and everything), including the cats, the trash can and her napkin.

She inquires as to our well-being: Mommy, you tired? You still hungry? She kisses our boo-boos, tucks us in, and hugs her stuffed animals and dollies with surprising tenderness.

Oh, dear, she says softly as she drops something. She breaks into broken versions of her favorite songs so self-assuredly, I wish I could bottle that confidence for her tween years.

However, the other day, she got so venomously angry at me that I was actually taken aback, accused.

I was trying to remove her newest obsession: a polka dot coat, to get her into her snowpants and out into the snow with her father, where she was begging to go.  She was beyond worried she wouldn’t get her coat back, and I tried several times to explain the series of events that would get her out the door the quickest. Most importantly, that she would get the coat back after the snowpants.

Well, she’s two.

About seven minutes (and as many attempts) into this debacle (since The Dervish would not surrender her coat but was growing ever impatient to get outdoors), she ripped my hands off her, backed up, and with one hand on her hip and the other pointing and claw-like, she screeched:

YOU! Don’t you &^*^&*&*^. $#$  %%& and $#$%&**()*!

I don’t know what she intended to communicate toward the end of her rant -whatever awfulness she spewed was completely submerged by hysterics – but holy cow was that Dervish ticked off. She wanted me to know that she had had it, with me, specificially.

It was the first time I was really afraid of her capacity for rage, which is saying a lot, because she can throwdown with the best of them – but it was never personally directed before.

The good news is, we made up. However, there is a blur in my memory from the moment she pointed until she was successfully dressed for the snow and out the door and I went to deal with myself.

I just know that it happened, amid sweat and snot and tears.

Please know that I didn’t lay a hand on her, other than to get her dressed.  I was just about as angry as she was. The difference is I believed in her anger. Per usual, she was unfazed by me and mine.

Surprisingly, I consider her standing up to me an important milestone — one I wish I had on film. Because as challenging as she proves to be (and I hope she will remain when she begins dating, sometime in her 30s if she has my orthodontic problems), she is impressive.

I may have to make her do (many) something(s) for her own good, but I’m certainly not going to change her mind.

I am so proud of her.