Alright, so lately I have been (and so have all of us including our beagles) adjusting to having more on my plate. In my previous post, I mentioned that my kids are adjusting just fine. Presently, however, I'm wondering about my own adjustment. Here's the story:
Friday was my littlest (and last baby!) guys 2nd birthday. The next day was the 2nd Market for Confectionique (feels like the newest baby). I was distracted by all of the things that needed to be done in order to get ready for our market that I inadvertently forgot about buying my little guy, Joe, the only things he requested-- whenever you asked him what he wanted for his 2nd birthday-a Momo (Elmo) cake and gacko (candy). It was late Friday afternoon when I finally had a chance to run to the store and buy the cake (to which I would add Elmo pre-made sugar faces or should I say pre-made cavity makers). It was at that moment I decided that Joe should have an Elmo mylar balloon and his birthday would truly be the best ever. The balloon would make up for all my moments of distraction and make me look like I had really thought of everything to make my little boy happy. So, I looked through the stacks of balloon packages, finding everything from a dancing margarita glass to a giant sun with sunglasses but no Elmo. After many minutes of deliberation, I finally decided that the giant jumping frog would suffice. I rushed home in order to have the shiny balloon by our mantle so that when Joe woke up from his nap with his dad, he would know immediately that it was in deed his magnificent 2nd birthday. I brought the giant balloon in, careful not to get his amphibious body caught in the van door and I set him down with his weighted balloon ribbon onto the floor. Suddenly, like bees to one's can of sticky soda, my older, and old enough to know better kids, began playing with the balloon. I mentioned from our kitchen that they shouldn't play with the balloon-it could easily pop. My voice rose as I heard the sound pfhg pfhg pfhg of the balloon being hit from one child to another. My voice got louder-"if you pop it, you owe me your allowance." PFGH, PFGH, PFGH-gregarious amount of laughter-"IF YOU POP IT YOU OWE ME ALLOWANCE AND YOU WILL LOSE A PRIVILEGE!" PFGH-PFGH-PFGH went the balloon until POP and hiss. Then silence. Absolute complete silence. I went over the deflated balloon with tears welling up in my eyes. "We're so sorry mom" "yeah mom, we really are" "I stopped when I thought it was going to pop" "It was her fault" It was his fault" "Do I really have to pay you my allowance?"
I ran up the stairs trying to hold back my tears of disappointment. I went in to tell my husband that it was time to wake up and to wake up the birthday boy. I also told him about the popping balloon. As I told him, I realized how much that damn balloon meant to me because I really thought that my 2 year old son would have the perfect birthday once he saw that sparkly mylar balloon. That stupid frog balloon marked the beginning of his birthday just as the lighting of the torch marks the start of the Olympics.
I recovered from the "balloon popping incident." My children did not discuss it. It was almost as if it had never happened. Was it really that pathetic that I cried over a popped balloon? How old am I right?
Now, one of the problems with me is that when I envision something a certain way, it is incredibly difficult for me to let go of that idea. So, today I decided that before we had our family birthday celebration for my little guy, I would drive over to Party City to get him the real deal-A giant Elmo balloon. This time, things would really be perfect. I left the house, my kids busy and Joe taking a nap with his Dad. I stopped at Starbucks for my Venti sized ice coffee, the sun was out, life was good. I arrived at Party City and bought the biggest Elmo balloon I could find. ( At least I didn't buy the one that sings) I even bought 3 additional small round mylar balloons so that all of my kids could play with their balloon. I drove home soaking in the sun, reflecting on how lucky I am to be a Mom and of course about how this balloon was going to make his family celebration absolutely perfect.
I arrived home and carefully carried Elmo's shiny mylar bloated body into the house. My daughter and her two friends saw the balloon bouquet and in unison said "Awwww". My daughter remarked that I was finally able to get the exact balloon I wanted to buy. I gingerly carried it through the living room when POP and hiss. Then silence. I could feel the life slipping from part of the balloon bouquet. Elmo was caught in the ceiling fan. I picked up his lifeless body and the audience of girls quickly scampered out the back door. With a very flat affect and no tears, I told my husband what had happened. He tried very hard not to laugh. That's a good hubby right?!
Today, I learned some very important lessons. Sometimes, no matter how you envision something and try to make it happen, it is meant to happen another way. And sometimes, as Mothers, we need to be ok with simplicity and to really think about why we are doing the things we do-where is that "need" for something to be a certain way coming from anyway? And, never, never, ever, bring mylar balloons in your house when your ceiling fan is on.
Wishing all of the incredible Mothers I know that at times put undo pressure upon yourself to do the amazing and even at times work miracles (it's all of you!)-a very very happy Mother's Day. All of you make me a better Mom.