How To Be A Hero

The story about to be told is now about a week old. But at least I'm stickin' with this. It ain't easy for a girl like me...especially at this time of year. But gosh darn hiccup, I'm stickin' with it. 'Twas the week before this one, and all through the house...


Actually, this is really two stories in one - unrelated to the naked (or "normal") eye, but my life isn't ordinary and eventually they come together.

Story #Uno

For a while now, I had been meaning to rearrange Kate's bedroom furniture to get her bed out from under a drafty window (Jonas is currently wriggling his way under my bent legs while I sit in his doorway...bedtime issues clearly have not been solved since we last visited here. He's being really sneaky and casual about it - I think he thinks that I won't notice if all of a sudden he is downstairs drinking juice and watching cartoons. I know kids think moms have eyes in the backs of their heads...maybe he hasn't been told yet that I also have eyes in the front of my head. But I digress...) and to open up her floor space a bit more. Needless to say, Kate being the un-sorting, less-than-tidy, free-spirited inverse of her brother, I had a few things to pick up and throw away. The place looked pretty darn different after I tackled it. Kate was so excited when she saw it for the first time that she screamed. She didn't realize she could get even more excited until she rediscovered her rock collection, ahem, her rock friends that had been shoved under her bedside table for a few weeks. I didn't know if I should think it was cute or bizarre how much attention she was giving to them - checking their food and water that she had left for them (a.k.a. chip bag clips), covering them with a blanket, and singing them songs to put them to sleep. But then I realized something special. She knew every word to every song I sing her when I put her to sleep. And she knew every word to the prayer I say to her. And she did everything in the same order. I realized that she really is listening when I sing to her. She is watching my lips so intently to learn what I am saying, not because she is daydreaming about which room in the house is going to be her gymnastics studio the next day. It touched me deep down in the warm fuzzy part of my heart.

But then I remembered that the whole purpose of it was to sing her rocks to sleep. Bubble partially burst. She even called me over in a whisper to see how cute they all were sleeping in their spinach container.


Story #Dos

Later that same night, the kids were playing with a little green stool that we got for $2 at Target. The price of the stool is crucial to relaying the quality of the stool. Let's just say it is for juvenile utility. So, the kids were having a grand time jumping off of it, flying through the air and flapping their wings. Then they decided to run, jump off of it and run in the air. They were doing pretty well, but I thought, "Hey, I can be a cool mom and show them that I can really let my hair down sometimes." So I dropped whatever I was doing and said "Wanna see how Mama runs in the air?" I don't know if they were more excited that I was going to try or that they had finally found some furniture to jump off of without getting into trouble. I had a grand plan in my head. I had watched them on their approaches and dismounts and figured out the best timing to get the most air. Then I was going to run like the wind and give my kids my all. They were going to be so proud of my Air Jordan-like moves that all the kids on the playground were going to hear about my kids' gravity-defying mom for sure. So I get lined up, shift my weight, and head down the path. My foot hits the stool exactly as planned, my arms are reaching up to send my body catapulting through the air, and I'm preparing my legs to shift from dismount mode to running-man mode...this is my time to shine!...

...as I crumble to the floor with my leg sticking through the green plastic stool. You know? They aren't kidding when they put those weight recommendations on stuff like that. Not only am I not 40lbs. when I'm inert, I know I'm definitely not 40lbs. when I'm pushing off the ground to go skyward. I'm lying there and laughing hysterically while my poor children are crying hysterically. They thought I was broken, their stool was toast, and I definitely did not deliver on my promise for an impressive stunt. They pitifully gathered up the pieces of plastic that had scattered throughout the room like shrapnel and sweetly hugged me while asking if I was okay. After I described myself as looking like a bowl of spaghetti wiggling and falling to the floor, they finally laughed with me...and, I think, a little bit at me.


In conclusion and to tie the two stories together, the moral of the evening is to be a hero for your kids. But do it by sharing special moments with them that they can share with others. Have the quiet times with them. Spend a little extra time with them. Teach them what was special to you as a child. Give them the tools to be good parents themselves one day. Don't try to be their hero by flying through the air.