Miles has recently taken to calling me “Mom.” It’s more like “Mahm! MAHM! Ma! Watch me! Can I have…I want…I need…MAHM!” It’s taken some getting used to. I really like just being called “Mommy”. “Mom” is for teenagers.
Earlier today we actually spent some time outside. This is huge for a number of reasons.
First of all, if you haven’t noticed, I’m white. The color, not just the race. So are my children. Therefore, we have to lather up with lots of suncreen that doesn’t rub in well (but it works) and it takes time.
Secondly, I have a 6 month old. I can’t just put her down somewhere on our concrete jungle of a property. We have a side yard that is a hill to a busy street and a very tiny front/side yard that has a big plastic tub running in the middle of it to help rain water find it’s way from our gutters to the street- bypassing our 1920’s basement. Sometimes it helps. The rest of our property is sidewalk, driveway and patio. So back to the babe. I have to carry out a jumper, a swing, etc. to plop her in because love the Moby wrap that I do, I get hot when it’s 80 and humid outside and when I get hot I get cranky. No one wants a cranky mom.
Thirdly, I have to plan it just right time wise so that no one is hungry (cough-Clem-cough) and no one has to pee (cough-Miles-cough).
So, as you can see, the preparation and having the perfect conditions are overwhelming. Someday we will have a house that has a nice big back yard. Maybe fenced in. I will have children that won’t be so dependent on me for everything to which I will rejoice and also be weepy. But at least I’ll have a back yard.
With patio umbrella up and Clementine bouncing happily in her jumper in the shade, I decide to do a few yard chores while Miles plays with his basketball hoop. I cut off the dead blooms of my roses, and with my shears attack the leaves that have Blackspot on them. I can never keep up with the darn Blackspot. But at least the Hydrangea looks pretty this time of year.
Hosing off some big plastic pots, I take mental note of how many mums I want to buy this year and smile at the thought of pumpkins and cornstalks and pretty leaves that are heading our way. I fill up my watering can a couple of times and give the Petunias some knowing full well their days are numbered. As I make my way to the front of the house where the Petunias that already look dead are hanging, Miles is calling behind me.
“MAHM! Where are you going!? MAHM! I’m coming-” THUD!
I hate the thud.
On the concrete jungle, Miles took a spill. Not a rare occurrence by any means, but the injury was. He banged up his nose, upper lip and top lip- not too much blood, but enough. On top of that he’s been dealing with allergies, so the kid was a snotty bloody mess. At least all teeth were intact. I leave the baby outside (minus 2 points for me) and take him in the house quickly to see what the damage was. Nothing an ice cube couldn’t fix. I popped a couple in a washcloth and we were back outside in a chair being still. That is VERY rare. Stillness is foreign to my three year old.
After the dreaded afternoon nap (for him, not me) he was bouncing off the walls once more. He even got back out there after dinner to shoot some more hoops. He came up to me and said, “We need to walk slow and don’t run! Then we don’t fall down!”
Ah, life lesson learned. For today.