My buddy Kim wrote a post that got me thinking about all the crazy stuff I have experienced since becoming a mother. Don't get me wrong - I had crazy experiences before becoming a mother, I'm just not going to go public with them.
It's probably a great thing that I didn't know how many loops I was in for when I buckled in for this roller coaster. Had I known that someday I would peruse the aisles of a grocery store oblivious to two large wet space conspicuously placed near my, you know, bosom, I might have gone to the back of the line. I really do believe that motherhood sets you up for humiliation, thus making the whole experience quite humbling, and character building.
I have had pretty serious preparation for fearlessness, after all my youngest brother is mentally handicapped. I'm not trying to be crass, here. I reveal this not to gain pity but to give you insight into what it takes to actually humiliate me. Growing up with Erik has made me almost (but not quite) immune to public embarrassment. Once you've lived through knocking on someone's door to ask if it's okay if you get your little brother, who is staring at their air conditioning unit as though waiting for the second coming, the bar is kind of up there.
The grocery store has been a hot-spot for embarrassing moments for me. I once made it through a fairly long shopping trip, while my two daughters were 5 and 3, with my sanity still intact. I felt good about that. I wrote my check (we did that back then) and as I was leaving the clerk said, "Sweetie, you got something stuck to your shirt." This lovely lady leaned over the counter to remove the offending adhesive. I was thrilled to see that it was a pantyliner with my daughter's name written on it. Lovely.
Clearly, that incident was not enough to keep me from revisiting Food City, as the store was called. On another excursion I started a conversation with a total stranger - a tradition my mother began and I accidentally picked up - and as we parted ways she said, "You've got a string. Let me get it." This woman was tenacious and the string was fairly long. I expected it would end at the cuff of my shirt. No such luck. As she worked to find the end of the string I felt the tug. At the waistband. Of my underwear. Apparently, my Hanes Her Way had seen better days. We quickly parted ways, after all, I needed a gallon of milk.
My son has upped the ante considerably as to what I can handle in public. I've become quite quick with a comeback or cover-up - which ever is necessary. Spencer asked for a shovel last summer. I was thrilled. He wanted to learn how to do 'man stuff' or garden with me, or whatever. I just thought it was great that he wanted a shovel. So off to the local mega-home-improvement store we went. We picked out the perfect boy-sized red shovel and got a rose bush to go along with it. I wanted him to able to plant something with that shovel! As we stood in line Spencer examined his new prize with wonder and delight. He looked up and me and proclaimed, "This is awesome! Now I can have a real outhouse in Hobo Land, Mom!" The couple behind me coughed to cover up their laughter. Hobo Land, by the way, is the politically incorrect name for a huge forsythia bush we have in our yard where Spencer has drug everything from old tires to broken chairs. It's pretty sweet. I did put an end to the outhouse, however. I'm still working on getting him to flush. Little steps, right?
We have taught our children that 'R' rated movies are inappropriate. I always liked hearing a 4 year old say, "That's inappropriate!" I thought it was funny until one of the kids announced that mom and dad like to stay up late watching inappropriate movies.
This leads to a brief sampling of sentences said while waiting in line or at the doctor's office, always said in a loud voice so that total strangers have no excuse not to hear:
"Hey, mom, why does that woman have a beard?"
or
"Hey, mom, if the baby is in your belly why is your butt so big?"
or
""Hey, mom, do you think that mole is ugly?"
or
"Hey, mom, your mustache is back!"
Well, I could go on and on, but I think the point has been made. Parenthood is not for the fainthearted or people who are afraid to look dumb or cry hysterically in public places. That's why my motto is:
It's probably a great thing that I didn't know how many loops I was in for when I buckled in for this roller coaster. Had I known that someday I would peruse the aisles of a grocery store oblivious to two large wet space conspicuously placed near my, you know, bosom, I might have gone to the back of the line. I really do believe that motherhood sets you up for humiliation, thus making the whole experience quite humbling, and character building.
I have had pretty serious preparation for fearlessness, after all my youngest brother is mentally handicapped. I'm not trying to be crass, here. I reveal this not to gain pity but to give you insight into what it takes to actually humiliate me. Growing up with Erik has made me almost (but not quite) immune to public embarrassment. Once you've lived through knocking on someone's door to ask if it's okay if you get your little brother, who is staring at their air conditioning unit as though waiting for the second coming, the bar is kind of up there.
The grocery store has been a hot-spot for embarrassing moments for me. I once made it through a fairly long shopping trip, while my two daughters were 5 and 3, with my sanity still intact. I felt good about that. I wrote my check (we did that back then) and as I was leaving the clerk said, "Sweetie, you got something stuck to your shirt." This lovely lady leaned over the counter to remove the offending adhesive. I was thrilled to see that it was a pantyliner with my daughter's name written on it. Lovely.
Clearly, that incident was not enough to keep me from revisiting Food City, as the store was called. On another excursion I started a conversation with a total stranger - a tradition my mother began and I accidentally picked up - and as we parted ways she said, "You've got a string. Let me get it." This woman was tenacious and the string was fairly long. I expected it would end at the cuff of my shirt. No such luck. As she worked to find the end of the string I felt the tug. At the waistband. Of my underwear. Apparently, my Hanes Her Way had seen better days. We quickly parted ways, after all, I needed a gallon of milk.
My son has upped the ante considerably as to what I can handle in public. I've become quite quick with a comeback or cover-up - which ever is necessary. Spencer asked for a shovel last summer. I was thrilled. He wanted to learn how to do 'man stuff' or garden with me, or whatever. I just thought it was great that he wanted a shovel. So off to the local mega-home-improvement store we went. We picked out the perfect boy-sized red shovel and got a rose bush to go along with it. I wanted him to able to plant something with that shovel! As we stood in line Spencer examined his new prize with wonder and delight. He looked up and me and proclaimed, "This is awesome! Now I can have a real outhouse in Hobo Land, Mom!" The couple behind me coughed to cover up their laughter. Hobo Land, by the way, is the politically incorrect name for a huge forsythia bush we have in our yard where Spencer has drug everything from old tires to broken chairs. It's pretty sweet. I did put an end to the outhouse, however. I'm still working on getting him to flush. Little steps, right?
We have taught our children that 'R' rated movies are inappropriate. I always liked hearing a 4 year old say, "That's inappropriate!" I thought it was funny until one of the kids announced that mom and dad like to stay up late watching inappropriate movies.
This leads to a brief sampling of sentences said while waiting in line or at the doctor's office, always said in a loud voice so that total strangers have no excuse not to hear:
"Hey, mom, why does that woman have a beard?"
or
"Hey, mom, if the baby is in your belly why is your butt so big?"
or
""Hey, mom, do you think that mole is ugly?"
or
"Hey, mom, your mustache is back!"
Well, I could go on and on, but I think the point has been made. Parenthood is not for the fainthearted or people who are afraid to look dumb or cry hysterically in public places. That's why my motto is:
Sharing stories comes as naturally to me as breathing.I write here so I can do that. Grab a cup of something and stay a while.
Posts
Oh, Kara, I am in tears -- from laughing so hard! You have a much greater capacity to "Keep Calm and Carry On" than I, hence your child count of 4 to my 2! We've all had these things happen. (Well, maybe not quite these.) My coping mechanism is to swiftly block them from memory to endure the embarrasment. Yours is to embrace your children's childhoods and to share these incidents - out of love and empathy for your fellow moms and dads. Thank you for this!
ReplyDeleteI so relate Like I said I love reading these You make my day!!!
ReplyDeleteThanks Kara for sharing. But I do have to add that as a Grandparent, you get to see the full circle and enjoy it more. Because then you can see your grandchildren humiliate their parents. What a joy that is....so yep, keep calm, but wait for the circle to complete itself.
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading, my friends! Makes my day to cause someone to smile.
ReplyDeleteBetcha he's still relieving himself in Hoboland even without the outhouse...
ReplyDeleteBradley, Spencer is such a gentleman that nobody would believe..., oh, what the heck, I would believe it. Kara, maybe you could tell the one in the grocery about Spencer not wanting his Mimi to come stay the night. It may be hard to tell without the proper voice inflections.
ReplyDeletehahaha let's just hope the kids don't start blogging about us bc they are children and can hide behind that we have nothing to hide behind and are doomed when their stories get out (:
ReplyDeleteI fixed it lol
ReplyDeleteoh I like this much better haha but I like you the most !!!
ReplyDelete