Most people know, whether you have kids or not, how challenging parenting can be. You think it’s difficult when they’re only sleeping in two-hour stretches or take forever to develop any interest in using the potty. But, in hindsight, that’s really not the most challenging part; the tough part really comes when they can talk in complete sentences and have mastered the conversational art of being “flip,” which is conversation "marked by casual disrespect."
After a 25-mile bike ride, 27 minutes on hold with the Unemployment Office, vacuuming, and perhaps some Law & Order viewing on Tuesday, I picked up Iz, took her grocery shopping, and then I made it home around 6pm. When we pulled into the driveway, Iz grabbed her Happy Meal, opened the door, and was poised to sprint to the front door until I asked, “Aren’t you going to help me bring things in? Iz sighed and said, “But, Mommy, I have to carry all this.”
It was as if somewhere along the trip, her Happy Meal morphed into a small elephant. I assessed the situation; Iz carried her Happy Meal bag, and I was to carry 5 bags of groceries and her backpack. It just didn’t seem right.
I said, “Iz, I would like it if you would help….” In an instant, she was out the car door and at the front door. I picked up my purse and a bag of groceries, and I went to open the front door.
Once the door was unlocked, I began again to say, “Iz, I would like it if you would help….” In another instant, she was racing down the hallway. I was too tired to fight the battle; I gave up and brought all the groceries and her backpack in.
I began to unpack the bags. I requested that Iz begin her homework, which was met with a sigh, a tilt of the head, and the rolling of her beautiful brown eyes. I said sternly, “Iz!”
She found her homework folder, sat down at the table, and then I said, “After you finish that, I’d like you to spend 10 minutes cleaning up the family room.” She countered with the sigh-head-tilt-eye-roll and whined, “Mommy, I’m not your maid!” Flip!
I tried hard not to lose my cool, as I explained to her that she was a big girl and needed to clean up after herself. I illustrated it the best I could with examples, mentioning that I while I washed clothes, cleaned the house, made dinner, and performed various other minor tasks, I felt I shouldn’t have to also clean up after her. After my eloquent and calm speech, she answered, “Okay, Mommy.”
I then headed to the basement to perform another of my daily minor tasks, which was cleaning the cat boxes. As I walked down the stairs, I sighed, tilted my head, and rolled my green eyes. I’m 47, but behind a closed basement door, I can be 7, too!
When I arrived back in the kitchen, Iz came up to me. She handed me a folded piece of paper. She said, “Here, Mommy.”
I unfolded the paper. Like me, Iz likes to write notes; she loves paper, pens, and words. I see this note on her door every now and then when things are "flip." And, I often wonder if flip isn’t a bodily function because it occurs so often.
Once unfolded, I read, “Happy Mother’s Day Mom! Dear Mom I hope you have a wundful mother’s day.” I said, “Thanks, Iz,” and then she hugged my leg. Flop!
Like her birthday, Mother’s Day was something Iz began celebrating on the first of May. Every other day, I received a note or a handmade card with the sentiment. Though, quite conveniently, a lot of these cards and notes came directly after parent-child altercations!
Iz went off to tend to her mess in the family room. How did I know? Well, normally, I’d just see her go and do it, but given the evening’s altercation, she made sure she announced her intentions by saying, “Mommy, I am going to clean up my mess now.”
I thanked her while secretly laughing to myself. She drives me crazy sometimes, but how would ever live without her? I picked up the toothpaste and the baby shampoo off of the kitchen counter, and I headed upstairs.
As I passed Nathan’s room, I saw him sitting on his bed with his X-box controller in his hand. While Iz could have helped bring in things from the car, I knew that I was somewhat barking up the wrong tree. I chose to bark at the 6’3” tree.
I said, “Nathan, when you know I’ve come home after shopping, can you come out and help carry groceries in?” A few years ago, I had made the same request; I thought, like in Outlook, I had scheduled it to be a reoccurring meeting. Unfortunately, it had not, and Nathan said, “Mom, just ask me!” Flip!
When I was little, my Mom went shopping once a week. She went to Big Discount in Marlboro. It was a bit of a ride, but it was less expensive than the supermarkets in town.
She usually went on Friday night or on Saturday with our neighbor, Mrs. Lawrence. To tell you the truth, I think it was a trip that was both utilitarian and social. With three young kids in the house, she probably looked forward to the precious three hours away from home with a gal pal.
Though she wasn’t around for bedtime when it was a Friday trip, I liked it when she went then best. She would bring us all back a small treat when she was gone at night; when I think about it, it was a pretty big treat for us, because we didn’t get a lot of candy or gum then. When I woke up in the morning, there was always something on the chair next to my bed; most of the time, it was a pack of Chiclets, which is why whenever I see them now, I think of my Mom’s grocery shopping night and Big Discount.
When we were all capable of toting objects over five pounds, my Mom scheduled a meeting in our Outlook calendars; okay, back then, she just stated, “When I come home from grocery shopping, I want you all to come out and help me with the bags.” Of course, this only applied to trips when we were all conscious; she might have even said “Period” after that request which was like clicking “Send” then.
Anyway, after Nathan gave me the ask-me response, I had a chat with him, because “Just ask me” had never been acceptable to me, especially from a partner. No one ever had to ask me to change the sheets on the bed once a week; no one ever had to ask me to make dinner every night. Why did I have to ask members of the family to be involved when I felt that basic tasks, like helping out, were a given?
I explained my theory of helping out to Nathan. To his credit, Nathan did anything for me when I asked him; however, as he approached adulthood, I thought I would share some of my wisdom with him. I told him that women loved men who didn’t need to be asked; of course, there was an illustration.
I presented a soccer scenario. To hopefully score a goal, I put Kelsey on that soccer field and in uniform. By the way, Nathan showed me a picture of her potential prom gown; it’s lovely and very unique. She’s a girl after my own fashionable heart!
Anyway, I told him that if he ever was at Kelsey’s game, and she began to chat with a friend, and he noticed that her soccer bag was halfway across the field that he should not wait for her to say, “Oh, shoot. I have to go and get my soccer bag.” He should know that her bag was elsewhere and ask, “Excuse me, do you want me to get your bag for you?” or better yet, he should just say, “Just a minute” and go get her bag for her.
And surely, women can benefit from the opposite situation, too. Gifts are nice; however, the most important gift to give someone is the gift of attention and yourself. You can never go wrong with being there and being helpful, and in any relationship (friends, lovers, family), I think it should be almost automatic to a certain extent.
Feeling like I had rolled an emotional boulder up a hill twice that evening, I put the toothpaste and shampoo in the bathroom and headed down stairs to make dinner for Nathan. I was making one of his favorites, "corroded" fish (my name for it!); believe me, it’s not as nasty as it sounds. It’s baked haddock with a Ritz cracker topping; my Mom always made it when I was growning up.
When I arrived in the kitchen, Iz had cleaned up the family room and was now engrossed in iCarly. I got the glass baking dish out, spritzed it with cooking spray, plopped the fish in, and then I went to retrieve the Ritz crackers. I searched the cracker cabinet high and low; no Ritz!
Not wanting to go to the store and knowing that I had an able-bodied licensed driver upstairs, I headed back upstairs. I wondered how my request would be processed now, especially because it was difficult to get Nathan away from the X-box controller most times. I said, “Nathan, do me a favor and go out and buy a box of Ritz crackers, please?”
I stood there waiting at the top of the steps for an answer. I heard Nathan say to his gamer cousin, Eric, “Eric, I’ve got to go out for my Mom.” In five seconds, I walked to his bedroom door, and in another five seconds, I saw him drop his X-box controller onto his bed. Believe me, it was a sight I had never seen (my jaw might have dropped too!) when I requested a Monty walk meeting; Nathan then said, “I’ll be back, Eric.” Flop!
Though Nathan would usually do anything I asked him, I felt just then that my helping-out-without-being-asked speech had the intended effect. I didn’t feel triumphant like I had won any sort of battle. If anything, I was proud of both my children in that moment. We all flip sometimes; the most important thing is being able to flop back.
Yesterday morning, Iz insisted that it was okay if she wore flip-flops to school. I told her that I didn’t think it was allowed. Sometimes Iz won’t let go no matter what I say. Flip!
After several minutes of sighs, head tilts, and eye rolling (on both sides), I made a deal. I let her bring her flip-flops; however, she had to ask her teacher if it was allowed. I also said that I’d email her teacher for confirmation. We had a truce; she was happy.
I went upstairs with my coffee to check my email. While I was sitting in my chair, I heard my English muffin pop out of the toaster. I heard footsteps come out of the family room and enter the kitchen. I thought I heard sounds by the sink, but I wasn’t sure, so I picked up my coffee and headed back downstairs to see if Iz needed anything.
When I entered the kitchen, I looked at the toaster on the counter. There was my English muffin sitting on the plate waiting for me to butter it. I looked into the family room, saw Iz sitting on the couch, and said, “Thank you, Iz.” She smiled and said, “You’re welcome, Mommy!” Flop!
And, I suppose you're dying to know if flip-flops are allowed in school. They aren’t. Iz’s teacher told me that it was the first thing Iz asked her on arrival in class yesterday morning.
After school, I told Iz the bad news. She then said, “No! She didn’t say that to me.” I said, “She told me what she told you. No flip-flops!” Iz rethought her persuasive semi-lie tactic; she said, “Well, the time before the time before last, she said it was okay!”
Later in the afternoon, I received a text from Nathan. He said, “I forged your signature for a field trip. Hope you don’t mind. Love you.” To me, that epitomized the flip-flop; however, I wouldn’t have it any other way, because I know, like my kids, I wear flip-flops sometimes, too. They're not sensible, but sometimes you need to wear them, and, thankfully, they can be thrown on and off easily. ♥
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