One of my favorite things to do as a mom is eavesdrop on my
kids when they’re playing nicely and using their imaginations to create their
own fun. The day before school started
back for my big second grader I overheard him ask my soon-to-be-kindergartener,
“Hey, do you want to play dance ball?” In
turn, she curiously asked him what that is.
He went on to say, “We take turns dancing, and if the person who’s the
watcher doesn’t like the dance, they get to throw a ball at the dancer.”
While it sounded like a rollicking time to me, it was hard
for me to refrain from putting the kibosh on this game as I feared it would end
badly, but I held my tongue and chose to spy on the game from afar unbeknownst
to them. I justified this, because the
ball that “the dancer” was being pegged with by “the watcher” was one of those
virtually weightless ball pit balls.
While I have a rule of no throwing
things in the house, I let this slide.
After all, it was the last day of summer break, and there was no arguing
going on & no one was crying yet.
You’re probably reading this wondering where exactly this
story is going and anticipating a bad ending involving some sort of sibling
rivalry just like I was as I played Nancy Drew in the corner; however, I am
proud to announce that my kids played nicely whilst dancing, judging each
other’s moves, and fairly taking turns hurling a ball at one another. Also, I’m proud to announce that I let them
proceed.
I have a tendency to be an overprotective, overbearing, over
the top sort of mom. I wish I could put
my kids inside one of those large inflatable hamster balls for humans and let
them roll the earth and the halls at school as opposed to traversing on their
own two feet with their ceaselessly bruised shins. I think it’s okay to think this way, but as
they get older I am learning that I have to let them grow and let them go. GULP.
The following day after the nice game of dance ball I drove
my son to school all of 2.23 miles for his first day, because of course, I’ve
deemed the bus no longer safe even if the ride is only 2.23 miles and he rode
it for nearly two years. After some
issues on the bus, Mama Bear was done with her cub being bullied, punched in
the crotch, and getting into trouble for fighting back on a bus with a driver who’s
unfortunately too focused on maintaining a tight schedule that there’s no time
to manage behavioral issues properly. I
mean I do want grandkids, and I do want to feel like my child is in good care
when he gets on that thing. He was
consistently being seated by fifth graders in the back that he started to
emulate and was seeing who knows what back there. I vividly recall my thirteen years as a bus
rider, and while I have some fond memories, I had some experiences that I don’t
care for my son to be exposed to just yet (or ever). Again, I’ll be the first to tell you how
flawed and overbearing I am (my poor kids), and if your child rides a bus I’m
sure it’s safe and you’ve made a sound decision. I’m just an overprotective freak fed up with
the issues on my kid’s bus, and dear hubby is even more of a freak than I am
(love you, babe!).
The bus is definitely more convenient as opposed to lugging
my portly one year old into his five point harness and corralling my sometimes
feral brood into my personal bus, but we gain thirty extra minutes of sleep/wake
up time by driving. It’s nice, because I’ve
never felt rushed to get him to school on time.
With my bear of an anti-morning person son who has to be told a minimum
of five times to eat his breakfast - that wake up time is key to survival. I’ve become partial to my bus as opposed to
the big, loud, stinky, seatbeltless, yellow one which actually was 40+ minutes
late the first day due to mechanical issues.
I do miss the morning social hour at the bus stop, but I’ve deemed the
bus stop unsafe, too. There’s new home construction,
semis, questionable contractors, bull dozers, trees being crunched within
twenty feet of the stop, and too much time for antsy kids milling about which
can lead to drama, refereeing, and cold coffee.
Again, I’m overbearing and need to get over myself. Honestly the bus stop began to feel like more
work for me, so kudos to the parents that can get there on time and hack it.
Anyway, prior to loading up my bus the first day I gave him
the choice of walking in on his own or having his siblings and I accompany him
to his classroom. He surprisingly chose
to diss us and go stag. He was like, “I
know where my classroom is, and I don’t need you to walk me there.” I’ll admit my heart felt like a needle had
pricked it, but I gulped, honored his choice, delivered him to the front
sidewalk, and watched my boy walk in with his little head held so high. Ugh…he suddenly looked so big to me, and my
heart hurt.
You know these moments?
The ones where you look at your kid in utter shock at how much they seem
to have suddenly changed. I mean I know
growth is a slowly gradual process, but seeing your second grader and noticing
that their limbs are long, have muscle tone, and their new permanent front
teeth look too large for their mouth is really stupefying. I mean just yesterday I was rocking this baby
boy to sleep. It’s hard to accept that
your babies are growing. It’s hard to
let them grow up and go.
I fear this year will be the one where I’m no longer allowed
to hug him in front of his friends, because it’s not cool to hug your mom and what not. I fear that this year will be the one that
image becomes something that he’s aware of, and the images lacking in
wholesomeness that our media leads our kids to think are cool are actually
terrifying to us parents. I don’t want
my kids thinking it’s cool to be lewd like the pop and rap stars that do or say
anything for a buck which our culture tends to throw in our face everywhere we
look. Don’t get me started about the
recent VMA’s. Blah.
I recall who these icons were when I was a kid, and how I
lived for MTV. I was a lucky third child
whose older siblings had cornered our parents into getting cable on our wooden
sided remoteless television. I also recall
how I was chastised by a neighbor mommy for innocently rolling around like
Madonna at about the age my daughter is now.
A friend and I were creatively playing a dance game (not dance ball)
where we were giving her mom a concert. The
album we were playing was Madonna’s debut album circa 1983, and you can guess
which song we played, cluelessly lip synced and danced around to. That neighbor mom promptly stripped our hands
of our hairbrush microphones and pulled the plug on our concert by scratching my
record (or maybe it was actually my big sister’s record that I had borrowed –
whoops!).
As a mom, I now know it takes a village, and that villager
did a good thing. I’d be mortified if my
daughter acted like Madonna, Britney, Lady Gag-Me, or heavens forbid, the new,
not so improved gyrating Miley. I’ve
used my overbearing ways as a villager and stopped neighborhood kids from
doing/saying inappropriate things, and I fully expect my fellow village parents
to regulate on my kids, too.
I try hard to shield my kids from the crap that’s all around
us, and most parents I associate with do this, too. It’s impossible to cover their little eyes &
ears from everything and so conflicting as a parent. I am unaware of what is going on in the world
most days, because I also refuse to turn on the news. They don’t need to see war images, hear about
horrific crimes that our media sensationalizes, etc. and if my television comes
on at night while they’re sleeping I’m watching some mindless fluff to help turn
my brain off for the day. I know we have
to introduce our kids to the sad real world at some point and should also let
them maintain some level of cool, but it’s not in my overprotective Mama Bear
nature.
Maybe I need to strike up a nice game of dance ball with our
media, but maybe a harder, larger ball would be more effective in this game?! Maybe I should just carry a ball in my bus,
too, just in case I encounter one of those senseless scantily clad pop stars
out here in the sticks. Any other parents
want to play dance ball? Come on, you
know it’d be fun to knock some sense into the stars your kids look up to!