The other evening, I was reading through an ACS chapter for my residency curriculum when E sidled up beside me (in an attempt to avoid going to bed, which is what he was supposed to be doing), and leaned on my shoulder to peruse the article.
"Is this for a test?" He asked after a few moments of glaring intently at the page.
"Kind of," I replied. "My teacher is going to be asking me questions about it and I need to know the answers."
"Is this teacher a he or a she?" He demanded.
"A who or a what?!"
"A he or a she! A boy or a girl!" He exclaimed.
"Um, there's one of each, I suppose. Does it matter?!" I cluelessly inquired.
He shot me a look that said "well, clearly, it matters or I wouldn't be asking. Now do you want my help or not?" I cowered beneath his disdain.
"Well, what is this about?" He returned to the topic at hand, having properly subdued me, and gestured to the paper.
"It's about old people who need surgery."
"Ah..." He nodded knowingly. "That sounds like a crusty job."
I don't know where he gets these words. Or his usage of them. But it keeps my life full of laughter so I don't really care.
My slightly-insane life and times
8/20/10
Extraneous
He's not a baby. He hasn't been for a long time. My little boy who I didn't think would ever learn to walk because I never wanted to put him down strode away into the big world of second grade today. No tears, no backward glances, no fear, no second thoughts.
Last night, as almost an aside, he said "I'm scared about school, Mom. I'm scared because all those kids have known each other for a long time, and I haven't." But then he walked away before I could deliver my comforting speech that I had been preparing all evening, just waiting for the moment when he would ask for it, just knowing that eventually he would express his terror, and I'd be there for him. And he didn't need me. Or at least not in the way I thought he would. He didn't want my advice, or my hugs, he just wanted me to know what was on his mind. That he had something to overcome, but that he could handle it without me.
It's been a long time coming. He doesn't ask to sit on my lap anymore, he stopped asking me to carry him a long time ago, he insists on having his opinion and voice heard at every opportunity, even when he knows it's not going to get him what he wants.
He's not even a teenager yet. He's only 7 and I'm already bemoaning his transition into big-kidhood. But if/when you have your own kids, you'll understand. How your heart can break and yet rejoice with every passing day. Because while you're so excited to meet the people they're becoming, you're mourning the loss of the baby they knew so well. Sure, babies are needy, exhausting, and freaking hard. But it's a heady feeling, knowing you're the center, the pillar of someone's existence. And although sometimes you feel like they're controlling your life, the fact is, you control theirs. It's actually kind of nice. And when they're not babies any more, you lose that control, and they grow up with or without your permission. You lose your minion...
So here's to you, Mom & Dad, for letting me go. For letting me be who I am, despite the fact that nothing I've done with my life turned out the way you thought it would (yes, they advised against med school...). Despite the fact that having me meant the loss of that baby girl who relied on you so heavily. I hope it's been semi-worth it. I'll always need you. Like my son still needs me. Just maybe not as much as I/he did.
And that's okay.
Last night, as almost an aside, he said "I'm scared about school, Mom. I'm scared because all those kids have known each other for a long time, and I haven't." But then he walked away before I could deliver my comforting speech that I had been preparing all evening, just waiting for the moment when he would ask for it, just knowing that eventually he would express his terror, and I'd be there for him. And he didn't need me. Or at least not in the way I thought he would. He didn't want my advice, or my hugs, he just wanted me to know what was on his mind. That he had something to overcome, but that he could handle it without me.
It's been a long time coming. He doesn't ask to sit on my lap anymore, he stopped asking me to carry him a long time ago, he insists on having his opinion and voice heard at every opportunity, even when he knows it's not going to get him what he wants.
He's not even a teenager yet. He's only 7 and I'm already bemoaning his transition into big-kidhood. But if/when you have your own kids, you'll understand. How your heart can break and yet rejoice with every passing day. Because while you're so excited to meet the people they're becoming, you're mourning the loss of the baby they knew so well. Sure, babies are needy, exhausting, and freaking hard. But it's a heady feeling, knowing you're the center, the pillar of someone's existence. And although sometimes you feel like they're controlling your life, the fact is, you control theirs. It's actually kind of nice. And when they're not babies any more, you lose that control, and they grow up with or without your permission. You lose your minion...
So here's to you, Mom & Dad, for letting me go. For letting me be who I am, despite the fact that nothing I've done with my life turned out the way you thought it would (yes, they advised against med school...). Despite the fact that having me meant the loss of that baby girl who relied on you so heavily. I hope it's been semi-worth it. I'll always need you. Like my son still needs me. Just maybe not as much as I/he did.
And that's okay.
8/12/10
Oh yes, you are...
My favorite little sister is in town at the moment, so my family and I have been spending more time than usual at my parentals' abode. Which is not really saying much, considering that we spend...most...of our time with my parents. Hey, what can I say, that's what happens when one of us can't plan a dinner without consultation (sorry, honey, it's true), and one of us is both too busy at work to provide that consultation, and then too tired to cook when she gets home. Not that that's giving away who is who in this scenario. But regardless, my mom cooks. So we eat with her.
Incidentally, we've gotten into the habit of going home to the in-laws' farm every other weekend for homecooked meals there as well. It's a good life...
So we're all at my parents' house the other night, eating something delicious, and afterwards, we were all sitting around the table chatting. Which my less-gabby husband will tell you we are wont to do. Frequently. Much to his chagrin. But while the adults were talking, E had wandered off to jump on the couch cushions (one of the benefits of it being Nanay's house, instead of Mom's...), so I asked him to start clearing the table.
Now, to be fair, we used to be really good about making sure he was involved in chores around mealtimes. But recently, because our sit-down family-style mealtimes are sporadic and too-short (yes, he'll probably end up in jail because I don't make a balanced meal for him every evening. So judge me.), D and I have gotten out of the habit. More often than not, we let him escape for some playtime while we clear the table and do the dishes and have some precious discuss-the-day time.
Hence, his reluctance to participate at dinner the other night. He obeyed, but grudgingly. After he'd removed a few plates from the table, he thought to escape again, but I called him back and handed him some more things to clear. At this point, his lower lip was quivering like an alcoholic with the shakes, and his eyes were beginning to fill with huge crocodile tears. But I ignored him, until after putting the dishes in the sink, he stomped past me and screeched "I'm not your minion!!!"
I think I may have burst some veins in my eyes trying not to laugh.
Incidentally, we've gotten into the habit of going home to the in-laws' farm every other weekend for homecooked meals there as well. It's a good life...
So we're all at my parents' house the other night, eating something delicious, and afterwards, we were all sitting around the table chatting. Which my less-gabby husband will tell you we are wont to do. Frequently. Much to his chagrin. But while the adults were talking, E had wandered off to jump on the couch cushions (one of the benefits of it being Nanay's house, instead of Mom's...), so I asked him to start clearing the table.
Now, to be fair, we used to be really good about making sure he was involved in chores around mealtimes. But recently, because our sit-down family-style mealtimes are sporadic and too-short (yes, he'll probably end up in jail because I don't make a balanced meal for him every evening. So judge me.), D and I have gotten out of the habit. More often than not, we let him escape for some playtime while we clear the table and do the dishes and have some precious discuss-the-day time.
Hence, his reluctance to participate at dinner the other night. He obeyed, but grudgingly. After he'd removed a few plates from the table, he thought to escape again, but I called him back and handed him some more things to clear. At this point, his lower lip was quivering like an alcoholic with the shakes, and his eyes were beginning to fill with huge crocodile tears. But I ignored him, until after putting the dishes in the sink, he stomped past me and screeched "I'm not your minion!!!"
I think I may have burst some veins in my eyes trying not to laugh.
8/1/10
He's really not old enough for the screaming fans. Yet...
Yesterday, we went bowling with most of the surgery residents in my program and their families. Hence, I felt the need to dress my boys up. It's more difficult with one of them than the other. I'll let you figure out which is which.
Regardless, when E had gotten dressed, he looked down at himself rather critically and stated "I look like a Jonas Brother in this."
Which is fair, since he was wearing distressed jeans, a white tee that had a guitar and the word "Rebel" on it, a striped black vest, and sneakers.
I laughed at him, and said "That's not terrible!"
He shrugged and replied "I know. I'm just sayin'." And walked off without another word.
I'd like to note that the adolescent girls who were attendees at the bowling event thought he was the bees' knees. So I suppose he was right...
Regardless, when E had gotten dressed, he looked down at himself rather critically and stated "I look like a Jonas Brother in this."
Which is fair, since he was wearing distressed jeans, a white tee that had a guitar and the word "Rebel" on it, a striped black vest, and sneakers.
I laughed at him, and said "That's not terrible!"
He shrugged and replied "I know. I'm just sayin'." And walked off without another word.
I'd like to note that the adolescent girls who were attendees at the bowling event thought he was the bees' knees. So I suppose he was right...
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