I work very hard to keep lines of communication open for my kids. They can tell me anything. I do my best to save my reactions or at least postpone them. This is how well it works:
I conditioned myself with details of their days when they were wee tiny: leaves that they had collected, paste they had sampled or lunches that weren't top notch and had consequently become science experiments. Granted, there were times that I was humming songs in my head or making shopping lists but I listened. I laid the tracks.
When my daughter came home with a new boyfriend? the FIRST boyfriend? I held in the sadness inside. It was tight and lumpy, making the corners of my mouth turn down. But I forced it into neutral and I listened. We survived. She comes to me (fortunately?!) with the catty misfortunes that plague tweens. She asks me about boys and dating (AUGH!) and ...making out. Some of her girlfriends have done that. Some of them have talked to me. It gives me palpitations, but I weather the emotional storms...all of them.
My son came to me when he had solved a small bullying problem at school with equal force. I sat quietly and made sure the corners of my mouth were not turned up into the grand smile I felt burning through. I was proud that he had stood up for himself. But we discussed : time and place. He and this bully have become rather good friends. Hmm strange creatures; these boys, but I'm learning.
Today? Today I weathered my own storm. The kids ventured downstairs to paint. All of the paint I supply for the "art room" is water based. It simply makes sense. I don't know where the Atomic Craft Paint came from. I have no recollection of buying a paint that makes you sign in triplicate that you will use it in a wind tunnel in haz-mat suits (complete with personal ventilation systems). But it was there. And it called them; beckoned them to be used...a LOT. It apparently went famously until the end. Cleanup. Then in all its mischievousness, it kamikazied onto the carpet assaulting my favorite rug with an ugliness that would be sure to last generations. But remember my kids tell me everything. So they did the natural thing; covering it with the easel and racing for the stairs never to see the basement again. Maybe I should I explain: my kids tell me everything but not always with WORDS.
What mom wouldn't be suspicious of her two littlest angels slamming the basement door, throwing themselves against it and with WIDE eyes exclaim :
"We are all done and cleaned up. You don't even have to check. We wanted it to be easy for you. We love you Mommy" all in one exasperated breath and then smother me with affection. What part of that smells a little funny? hmmmmm Let me pick myself up off the ground: the turnip truck hit a bump....
I went down and smelled the fumes immediately. The easel has four skinny legs; the diameter of a dime each. The spot was the size of a robin. Yep. Believe it or not, this blond found it. I know, good job right?
I grabbed chemicals; all sorts of them. They failed. I pulled the last card in the deck and went into the garage for my heavy duty mistake erasing gloves. I donned a kerchief over my mouth and hauled down a small jet engine of a fan. CSI would have been pleased. (It was kind of one of those moments Pebs) For the record? You can NEVER smoke in my basement again. Nope not even on poker night. I passed the children who were turning pale. Too bad THAT wasn't the color of the paint. Then I would have been scott-free. Heck I'd have helped them put the easel over it.
For almost an hour I worked. My eyes burned. My lip was tickly and sweating. I reduced the damage to
a gentle shade of slate and returned to the top of the steps. The children were in their spots; waiting for the boom to be lowered. I sat down, rubbed the deepening wrinkle between my eyebrows (I didn't know that KIDS were the cause of that one..hmm no wonder Kate Gosselin had Botox...But I despise her so we'll move on)
"Guys?" my voice was tired and frayed.
"Mom!" Maddie began
"Yeah" Ben started in
"We KNOW better than to use any kind of bad paint like that. We would NEVER want to hurt your stuff. You work so hard...." her hands were moving quickly Ben was nodding at lightening speed. I turned around to see if the smoke they were trying to blow up my butt was damaging my curtains.
I drew a small circle on the table and cleared my throat. "Kids"
"MOM!" she tried again
"Mommy!" Ben wailed, he turned on the waterworks.
"We'll do dishes until we go back to school. AND laundry!"
Ben turned to his sister, his lower jaw crashing against the table top.
"She did it. I told her not to, but she said you'd never know." his finger pointed to his sister.
Yep. My kids tell me anything. Whoops! EVERYTHING!
Ahhhh good times. Let's have some wine and REALLY laugh over this, shall we? Don't be jealous. Just smile along. I know I've been away, but I appreciate you not giving up on me. This was fun. Come and visit again soon
