Thursday, March 24, 2016

Second Grade Diaries

Lots of mommy bloggers write soul-baring admissions of truth. Truths about parenting, shortcomings, fears, failures, and absurd dreams. That’s exactly what this whole blog has been about. Because at the end of the end, I want her to know who her mother was, and how she viewed parenthood. I never sugarcoat, and I certainly don’t shy away from the raw, bitter truth when the moment calls for it. So, this post, having risen from the blog ashes of say, oh, the past six months or so, is just another admission from my soul. I won’t be heralded for bravery or honesty. I won’t get a day off or even a free latte.

But that’s okay. I get to be her mom every single day and that’s pretty great.

Kid Rock,
You are being an asshole.

Second grade hasn’t been cherries and glitter.
And I’m kinda pissed about that, because here I thought I had an easy kid, and this whole parenting thing will be so effortless for me. You are proving my life’s vision of motherhood to be a bit less … shiny and amazing. What if you hadn’t sleep through the night, every night forever, instead of being a pain in my ass now? That’s what I wonder. Did I count all those chickens before they hatched? I got cocky. That’s what happened. I got complacent.

This conversation is stemming from the phone call I got yesterday from your principal.
The assistant principal, but still. I remember when I was a kid and your Grandma G. (who, to this day, still scares the shit out of me) telling me she had better not EVER have to field a phone call from an adult whose care I was in while away from her, to report my assholery. I think that’s an awfully great life motto: don’t make your problem, my problem. Anyways, your assistant principal called and left a 2:12-minute message regarding An Incident.

(When she initiated the message with the word incident I waited to hear how bloody you were, or which ER you were en route to. When she went on to explain it was behavior-related, the air whooshed right out my lungs; proof I do love you very much)

Disobedience. Misbehavior. What have you. Regular ol’ elementary school shenanigans. Would you just get off the monkey bars when you’re told, sweetheart? That’d be great. But you didn’t. Of course, your story differs slightly in that nothing was your fault and … I tuned you out. You said you were stuck, you were scared, and no one would help you.

Just like me, and motherhood.

You are becoming very, very independent. I mean, you always have been, but you’re taking independence to a whole new level. I remember thinking when you were a newborn with your giant lemur-eyes as I laid you in your dark, empty crib wide awake … she’s just going to do this herself? And yes. You did everything by yourself and for yourself. I think that’s great. I always have.

But now … you’re a little girl who grew into her eyeballs, but haven’t really grown out of that highly intact independency thing. You’re your mother’s daughter so you possess some spunk and spitfire. You’re also your father’s daughter so you possess some of his zero-f*cks-given attitude. There you go, assistant principal. Blame genetics.

You’ve had to work extra hard in school this year, you my mighty girl who has always had everything come easy to her. Which means by default I have had to work hard to accept this and be patient with this process. You are not me. That’s the best advice/insight I have ever heard in regards to parenting (courtesy; your Papa) and it’s something I cling to everyday. I mean just this morning you went to school dressed like Rizzo from Grease because you’re on bit of a Grease kick. We are definitely different people.

And things are hard. They are hard in second grade. We turn in science projects late and lose library books and have to talk to you about racism in 2016. We forget picture day and try to remember when you wore last Thursday. I suspect you’re still eating high fructose corn syrup on a daily basis even though I’m quite vigilant about that particular issue. We lose, we yell, we stop, we hide.

Yet everyday, I am the last person to touch your face and search your eyes when you leave your home. I grab your chin, my very favorite chin, and kiss your lips. I tell you the same thing everyday. I love you the most. Be a good friend. Be respectful. And, don’t forget to be awesome.

Though, I think I am going to change that last sentence to don’t forget to not be an asshole starting tomorrow.

Mama loves.

No comments: