One Day...

Parenting is tough, there’s no doubt about that. But we deal with all of the insanity because the payoffs are huge and we know that ONE DAY we’ll no longer have clothes stained with spit up or windows streaked with hand prints. We know that one day we’ll look at our little creations and in a sick way think “Oh, how I miss those days.”

Like most parents, that One Day motivates me on the hard days. There’s something else that motivates me. In fact, I think it motivates most parents.

That thing is Revenge.

Yes, you read that right. Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it. Don’t act like you’ve not fantasized about One Day illustrating to your children all of the frustrating and zany things they put you through. Don’t act like you aren’t biding your time until you can walk into their room at 6 a.m. when you wake up, and with a metal spoon in one hand and a metal pot in the other, begin a drum solo that will cause them to jump from their beds like you lit it on fire. There are many of these plots that I have brewing for that One Day.

For instance…

One Day, as my children and their friends are standing around talking, I’ll walk right up and join them. And without breaking stride in the conversation, I’ll fish a large booger from my nose. And I’ll eat it. And I’ll just look in them in the eye as though nothing really effing disgusting just happened.

One Day, when my children have a date over for dinner, I’ll finish my dinner, throw down my fork, and stand on my chair. I’ll gleefully announce, “I HAVE TO POOP!!!!” I’ll use the bathroom off the kitchen and do my business with the door wide open as I sing to myself. When I’m done, I’ll shout repeatedly “COME WIPE MY BOTTOM! COME WIPE MY BOTTOM! SOMEBODY COME WIPE MY BOTTOM!!!”

One Day, while dining at a restaurant, I’ll order my favorite dish. When it arrives, I’ll loudly announce that I don’t like it. I will pick up each piece of food and hand it to my child in order to get it off my plate. I’ll pour ketchup on my now empty plate and eat it with a spoon. All while standing in my chair.

One Day, I will fart when I’m driving my kids and their buddies around town. They’ll try to ignore it to be polite. I’ll loudly say “EXCUSE ME.” They’ll ignore that too out of sheer awkwardness. At which point I’ll clarify -- “I said ‘Excuse me’ cause I FARTED.”

One Day, when I initially meet one of my children’s friends, I will not greet them with a smile or introduce myself right away. Instead, I will give them a dead pan stare as I turn to my child and ask, “Is that a girl or a boy?”

One Day, I will stand beside my sleeping child *this close* to her or his face, breathing heavily, and I will wait for them to wake up. And scream. Cause that shit is just creepy.

One Day, as I take my children out shopping, I will stop periodically to scratch my crotch. Hips thrust forward to get a good angle and so that everyone will be able to tell that I’m getting in a good crotch scratch.

One Day, as we’re out shopping perhaps, I’ll begin tugging at my pants. I’ll grow more and more agitated. And even though I’ve been wearing the same exact flippin’ pants for the past 3 hours, I’ll start yelling things like “These pants are too TIGHT!!!” “They’re TOUCHING me!!!!” “I don’t like these PANTS!!!!!” I’ll writhe on the ground in pain until my, then grown, child ushers me out of the store and into the car to take my psychotic ass home. The next day, I’ll wear the same pair of pants and declare that they are my VERY FAVORITE pants and that they are SO COMFY and SO PRETTY!

One Day…

I will eat an entire meal with my hands.

I will run circles around the tables at restaurants.

I will answer questions with strange guttural noises.

I will take an insanely long time in a public bathroom and make my children stay in there with me.

I will not wipe my mouth with a napkin the entire time I’m eating. I will instead use my shirt.

I will interrupt their sentences 35 times as they attempt to have conversations.

I will ask the question “why?” after nearly everything they say.

And I will love and laugh through every second and every moment until then. Because, hey, all of this insanity now is only going to make my revenge that much sweeter. One day… 

I found a rock in my pocket

Today, on my drive home from work, I found a rock in my winter coat pocket. An ugly brown rock that’s been in that pocket since I don’t know when. I’ve known it was there so I didn’t really just find it. I guess I rediscovered it tonight. Oli put it there however long ago and I’ve just never taken it out.

My sweet girl had a rock obsession not so long ago. Everywhere we went she’d collect rocks and proudly present each one to me or bring it to me to admire it for the awe inspiring formation she thought it was. 

At my sister’s old house, she’d happily play in their flower beds which had been landscaped with rocks while the rest of us swam or sat around talking. She’d pick up each dark gray rock and turn it over, inspecting the different shades of gray. I never understood this. I’d watch her and wonder “Doesn’t she know they ALL look the same? They’re all boring gray rocks.”

When she’d come home from school, she’d hand me palmfuls of small pebbles and gravel and tell me that she collected them for me. “I got you some rocks, Mama!” she’d say excitedly. “Shiny rocks!” And shiny they were. And when she wasn’t looking, I’d toss them in the trash or in my own yard. What was I going to do with handfuls of rocks?

In my almost 34 year old mind, I could not understand those rocks or her obsession with them. In my almost 34 year old world, I have no use for rocks except that they provide a bit of landscaping to my back yard. But I especially have no use for ugly brown rocks or gravel. What was the big deal about rocks? They’re everywhere for crying out loud. Despite my disdain for something so commonplace and so boring, my sweet girl had become quite the collector. And despite my incomprehension at her love of rocks, I kept this ugly brown one in my winter coat pocket.

Tonight as my hand brushed against the heavy lump that is that rock, I thought of my two and a half year old niece who just this weekend stopped in the middle of her tracks to pick up a handful of rocks. “Look, Aunt Steph! I got some rocks!” Her mom walked closely behind and I said “She has some rocks!” My sister-in-law smiled and shrugged in the way all of us moms do when our child does something we don’t entirely understand. “Yep,” she said “everywhere we go.”

As I remembered my small niece smiling up at me showing off her treasure, I realized something. I can’t remember the last time The Boss Lady brought me a rock. I can’t recall the last time I had to sneak pebbles into the trash or slyly throw one of her discoveries back into the dirt from whence it came.

Suddenly I knew why I had kept that ugly brown rock in my coat pocket all of this time. I kept that rock because it is a reminder to me of a little girl who once was. A little girl who found the wonder and mystery in all things—even a boring old rock. It’s a reminder that to a small child, my small child, the world, and all things in it, is so very, very exciting. This boring brown rock is a reminder that not so long ago, I, too, was a small child who found awe and beauty in everything around me. Yes, even rocks. A reminder that my daughter thought of me whenever she found treasures.

Now don’t misunderstand me—she still brings me treasures that she’s found and she still finds the beauty in things I often overlook. But I can’t remember the last time Oli brought me a rock. I'm sure it hasn't been that long but it definitely isn't with the frequency she once did. Rocks are something she’s growing out of I think. She’s moving on to different and bigger discoveries. Rocks don’t hold the thrill for her that they once did. Rocks are something she only stopped to pick up when she was very first discovering her world. And I can’t even remember the last time she brought me one.

I was struck tonight by how quickly she’s growing up. For those last few moments of my car ride home, I felt as if I was staring straight into the face of the Future. The Future where my daughter is too cool for rocks. I clutched that rock the rest of the way home with the knowledge that I have a little bit of time before the Future. I have a little bit of time to ooh and ahh over the discoveries she shows off to me. A little bit of time left to marvel at the little girl who is growing right in front of my eyes every single day.

If ever we are out and about and she picks up a new rock, I’ll add it to the ugly brown one in my coat pocket to serve as another reminder to savor each phase of this life and to find the beauty in all things—yes, even rocks. I’ll leave that goofy rock in my pocket so that one day in the distant future, I’ll find it and be reminded all over again of my little Oli handing it to me with her hair wildly flying around her head, her hands and arms coated in dust, her smile bright as she once upon a time happily said “Look, Mama! I got you a rock!”