Amy's Mama Drama

Aquarium Dreams

Boo watches the cars passing as we drive to school. She sighs heavily and turns to her sister and says simply and without angst, "Peanut, I always wished you were a baby brother."

I snort, "Boo, that's not very nice!"

But Peanut is also feeling wistful this morning. She replies, "It's okay Mom." And turns to her sister and says, "I understand Boo. I have always wished you were a fish."

It's All in the Tail

The Daddy is held up at work, so I have homework duty tonight while the casserole is baking. How hard can it be?!

I read the directions out loud to Boo, my Kindergartner, "Circle all the pictures that rhyme with CAT."

Boo looks at me, looks at the paper and starts circling with a pencil. When she is done, she turns to me, "Am I done now, Mama?"

I review the circles. "Well, how about this one, Boo? Does it rhyme with CAT?"

Boo looks at the picture, "Yep!"

I smile patiently, "Well, let's sound it out. Mmmmm, mmm, oww, ssssssssssss. M-ow-sss. Does that rhyme with CAT?"

She doesn't bat an eye, "No, that doesn't rhyme with CAT. But Rrrrr, rrrr, aaaa, t. Rrrr-aa-t does." She gets up, pats my shoulder and says, "Thanks, Mom."

I look at the homework sheet again. Crap. It IS a rat.

I turn to Peanut, who has been quietly doing her homework, "What can I help you with?" I ask.

"Uh, I'm good mom, thanks. I think you've got your hands full with Boo's homework," she says kindly.

God help me, it's true.

A Peek Into the Future: The Body Talk

Oh, how I dread it. The beginning of sex education. It's not that I don't know how it all works, or that I don't want to discuss it. It's more about, oh, the times are different! What will my girls think? What will I say? What if they don't say anything?!

But my dear friend B shares this story below, and it comforts me and reminds me of my take on the whole thing at 10. Despite the passing of 30+ years, girls are girls and boys are boys and not much has changed over the years...

This conversation took place after school, on Body Talk day.

B (the Mama): What's the matter E, why are you so mad?

E (the 10-year old daughter): Mommy, Nurse Carol talked to us today. And talked and talked and talked! It was like, for an hour! But you know what? The boys! In 15 minutes the boys were told they had to start wearing deodorant and then they got recess for 45 minutes! It's just not fair!

B: Yes, honey, I know. It isn't fair. And this is only the beginning...

And Mama Goes, "Huh?"

Yeah, I know, I never write anymore. Sigh. It's not laziness. It's confusion.

Forget toothpaste, I've entered the, "Dazed and Confused Years." And I'm referring to me, not the kids. My father, bless his heart, gleefully says that this will continue for years. Heaven help me. I don't "get" anything. I'm in a perpetual state of "Huh?"

Case in point: Peanut's homework. She's written directions on her homework guide. I stare at it. It's some kind of acronym, WTDFB or some such nonsense. I say, "What does this mean?" And she just looks at me with that cool, dispassionate stare tinged with sympathy - a look only an 8-year old can pull off. 

"It means I have to practice my spelling, the words I missed, and then finish my reading comprehension," she states. There is no attitude, only distracted nonchalance.

"Well then, let's practice spelling, then you can finish the comprehension questions," I say, girding my loins.

"Okay," she says, and BANG, I'm confused again. Where is the battle, the groaning, the "this isn't fair and I hate it all" speech? But hey? Who am I to look a gift-horse in the mouth. We're not fighting about homework - take it and run with it!

"Okay, then!" I chirp, and repeat the words missed in her practice test. She aces the spelling (another change) and we move to reading comprehension. The Man gets involved. "How is this supposed to work? She can't fix the sentence by moving around the words. The words are WRONG!" I grab the sheet back and stare at the sentence. He's correct.

"Huh. I wonder how's she supposed to do that."

Peanut puts her hand out for the sheet and her father and I look up and hand over the paper. She peruses it.

"I don't have to move the words around. The directions say, "Fix the sentence." I need to write new words. 'Tommy and me helped the teacher with the project' isn't right. It should be 'Tommy and I'."

"Wait," her Father says. "I thought it was supposed to be "me". But that doesn't sound right."

"No," I say to him, "You take the other person out of it and use whatever sounds right when it's just the "me" person. So she's right, it should be 'Tommy and I' because it would be right if it was 'I helped the teacher with the project.' I look away from The Man and smile at my daughter, feeling like I solved a tough riddle. She looks bored. "You guys got it now? Can I write it down?" 

"Ah. Guess you didn't need our help on that one, huh?" I feel a little sheepish.

"Thanks Mom. I've got it," she quickly writes it all out, correctly, and with lovely penmanship, I might add.

Her father and I look at each other. We're proud, sure. It's nice to have her in command of her homework. But there is fear. This is only third grade - there is shorthand we don't understand, and a 9-word sentence almost kicks our butts? 

So, can I still be funny when I write about parenting now? I'm not sure, but I know Mr. Berglund is laughing his ass off, wherever he is. As my 11th grade English teacher, he was quite clear about the limitations that occur in life for those who can't diagram a sentence. I just figured since I made it this far, can pay the mortgage and all, I was out of the woods.

Maybe not quite yet.