Tag Archives: children

Questions and Answers

Posted in Kids, Mommydom, Parenting by

Pickle is 4.5 years old.  I’ve already fielded some tough questions.  Why is the sun hot? Why are grandmas called grandmas?  Did they have to cut you to get the baby in your tummy? Why do we have seasons?  But today’s question was the hardest.

Pickle was sitting in the rear row of the minivan, gazing out the window.  The heat was cranked up, since the thermometer read “12” and Frozen was playing loudly (per Plum’s request, of course).

“Why do people die?”  he asked.

“WHAT?!” I yelled.  It was hard to hear his soft voice over the heater vents and Idina Menzel.

“WHY DO PEOPLE DIE?”  he yelled back.

I paused.  I turned down the radio, and the heat.

“Are you worrying about that?” He nodded.  “Pickle, all living things die.  I know that sounds scary, but it is just the way the world works.”

“Even cars?”

“Well, cars aren’t alive, but cars break and stop, and their parts wear out.  Just like our parts can wear out or stop. Remember how I told you about Grandpa Harvey?  How his heart broke, and they couldn’t fix it? How they couldn’t make it better?”  He nodded again.

I looked in my rearview mirror.  He was thinking.

I wanted to be honest.  I wanted him to know about the bad things, the bad people, the sadness, but I want him to love this life, to live fully and freely and to be happy despite those things.  I wanted him to know that maybe there is a heaven, that maybe there isn’t.  I wanted him to know that there are things I don’t know.  Though at 4 years old, I’m sure he is comforted by the fact that I probably know everything. Because moms and dads do.

His brow furrowed.  “Will it hurt?” he asked, lip trembling.

“Will it hurt when you die?”  He nodded.  “Pickle, I don’t know.  I don’t know what it is like to die.  I know that sometimes it hurts, and sometimes it doesn’t.  But I do know that you have a very long time to live before that.  Maybe even a hundred years.”  I hoped with all of my heart that I was telling him the truth.

I wasn’t sure, after the very normal morning we’d had, why these thoughts were running through his head.

I wanted to comfort him.  I am the fixer, after all.  I am the mom.  According to Pickle, I am even “a little bit magic.”  I can tell him when he’s going to throw up.  I know when he has thwacked his sister, even if he has denied it.  I know where his misplaced toys are, the t-shirt he wants to wear.  I know things.  I’m the mom. It’s what we do.

“Pickle, I wish I had better answers for you.  I wish I knew why we died, or if it will hurt.  But I don’t know.  All I know is that you have a lot of things left to do.  You’ll play basketball, you’ll learn to drive. You can grow up big and tall like Dad, you can get married and have your own babies if you want.  Do you think you might want to do that?”

He paused, took a breath, and caught my eye in the rearview mirror.  “Yeah,” he said nodding, mind made up, “I think I want to do that.”

 

Pickle

After Eight: An Ode to Motherhood

Posted in Balance, Juggling, Miscellany, Mommydom by

After Eight: An Ode to Motherhood

*****
The cool night has arrived and day is drawing to a close.
The smell of sweet, clean babies, it still lingers in your nose.
The house is finally quiet, no more whines or yells or cries.
The kids are bedded down, and they’ve closed their heavy eyes.
No one wants more water, one more book or one more hug.
It’s time for some relaxing. Wait, what IS that on the rug?
Ignore it, step right over, don’t you worry your poor head.
Change your clothes, and wash your face and get yourself to bed.

*****
The playroom has exploded, there are dishes in the sink.
The laundry hangs from backs of chairs, the cat’s covered in ink.
Your cell phone jingles softly from its hiding spot, but where?
You rub your eyes, and scratch your head. There’s oatmeal in your hair.
The oatmeal was for breakfast, which means it’s been there all day.
Now you know why grocery clerks were looking at you that way.
Looking ‘round you wonder just how long clean-up will take.
Stop wondering, go brush your teeth, ‘twill be there when you wake.

*****
Slumping down onto the couch, a comfy little nest!
But if you went to bed right now it’d be eight hours rest.
Though Project Runway’s on, and you could sit, relax, unwind.
And have a glass of wine perhaps? To ease your harried mind?
You note your stomach’s rumbles, and you only then recall
Dinner was an orphaned nugget, dipped in ranch, that’s all.
You ponder ice cream? Toast? Or chips, piled in a heap.
Forget the snack, forget the wine and get yourself to sleep.

*****
You make a hard deal with yourself, before the day’s complete.
One load of laundry, one show, some bills and a small bite to eat.
But once you’re paying bills you note the budget needs re-doing,
And while you’re at it, darn, those kitchen chairs do need regluing.
While washing gluey hands you think you’ll just wash a few dishes.
But whoops, cupcakes forgotten for tomorrow’s birthday wishes!
Too late to bake, so to the store to find cupcakey treats?
Forget it! Buy them in the morn. Go climb between your sheets!

*****
You climb the stairs, exhausted when – oh shoot! – today’s the day!
The deadline to sign up the kids for music, swim, ballet!
While writing out the checks you find some paperwork neglected.
Tomorrow is school picture day, outfits to be collected.
But all is dirty, so one more load gets tossed into the wash,
And while you wait for it to run, might as well mop and floss.
A few more hours, chores half done, you give up the good fight.
Yes, there is still goo on the rug, but Mama, say goodnight!