Things I Don't Miss About My Children's Childhood

Hello dear friends.  This week has just whipped by.  I wish I could tell you that I did lots of important things, but I can't.  

If you're wondering what kind of hair style I had, you're in good company.
I am too.


Every once in awhile, I will spot two little girls, about 2 years apart, dressed in identical dresses with gigantic colorful bows in their hair.  Before I can control it, I get a lump in my throat.  I can't help but think of how much I pine for those days with my girls.  There are so many things that I miss about their childhood.  I loved everything about their babyhood - the sweet smell of them, their babbling, giggling and their angelic faces as they slept.  And I enjoyed almost every minute of their growing years; everything from watching them learn to walk to years later, snuggling on the couch with me watching Gilmore Girls.

When I become melancholy, I immediately try to remind myself of the things in the girls' childhood that I don't miss so much.

For instance, I remember the first Mommy and Me class that my #1 and I attended.  I was so excited to meet the other moms and to give my girl an opportunity to interact with other babies.  

Our first class was a little daunting, to say the least.  Every mom knew every word and hand signal to every song.  They sang with gusto, as if it were a competition of who could be the most animated.  It felt like I was either in a cult or got trapped in a scene from Stepford Wives.

My little traitor

The teacher was bubbling over with excitement.  At one point, I thought that she was going to foam at the mouth. My #1 was positively mesmerized by her.  Before I knew it, my little traitor darling #1 was on her knees crawling over to Miss Perky and settling right into her lap.  I spent that class, and every class thereafter, singing my heart out to "head, shoulders, knees and toes" solo with all the vim and vigor I could muster.  I tried my best to get my #1 back in my clutches.  It never worked.  She wouldn't even look in my direction.  I resigned myself to being a solo act for the remainder of the session.  The new Moms would occasionally ask me if I came by myself.  I just snarled my answer.   

Another thing that I don't miss is the almighty classroom party.  I remember one particular class Room Mom in first grade that asked me to bring an entire turkey for the Thanksgiving Feast which was to be served at 9:25am, the day before the holiday.  Lucky, the Mister knew how to cook a turkey because I was at a loss.  

So I brought in the perfectly garnished turkey, thanks to the Mister,  which the Room Mom decided to carve with a plastic knife.  I was instructed not to bring it carved because I was told the children should see it when it looks so pretty.  And naturally, no carving knives were allowed, which was fortunate for the room mom, because I would have used it on her.

Meanwhile, another Mom brought in a couple of packages of Oscar Mayer sliced turkey.  The children, including my own, were in a line which circled around the room to snag a slice of her hard work and labor of opening the package.  Meanwhile, I glared at the Moms assigned to bring plastic forks and paper cups.

By the time #2 was in school, I told the room mom that I would be responsible for paper napkins for every party.  She gave me a knowing look as if to say "this ain't your first rodeo."  

Having girls in middle school is no picnic either.  This is the beginning of drama.  I consider it Real Housewives training camp. 

It's a tender time because I hated to see my daughter hurt, and yet I was not naive enough to think my kid was perfect.  Now this brings in another aspect of the miserable middle school years.  The mothers are as bad as the kids.  The Moms that I would unwillingly be dealing with were the "Not My Kid" Moms.  It was never their kid's fault. 

I remember another situation from those tumultuous middle school years that again involves my #1.  It could be that I remember more horror stories concerning #1 because I became seasoned by the time it was #2's turn.  

My #1 and her "friend" were going to be in the no talent competition at school.  They had practiced doing a dance and song routine that not even a mother could love.  I would watch them with a fake smile on my face secretly hoping that the show would be cancelled and the family name would stay in good standing.

  

The night before the no talent show, a blood-curdling scream came from upstairs.  I thought #1 was being held at gunpoint.  I ran up the stairs and #1 could barely get control of herself.  Finally she spit out "Susie* doesn't want to be in the talent show with me anymore."  Susie decided to take her act solo.

For a minute, I do admit to letting out a sigh of relief.  My kid wasn't going to shame the family name, after all!  But then I looked at her streaked cheeks and red eyes and my heart sunk.  I decided not to call the kid's mother because deep down I thought things would straighten out. I also was a strong believer that parents should butt out of girl fights.

Well guess what.  Susie did take her act solo and my #1 sat in the audience with a big fat frown on her face.  By the way, I may be just a bit biased, but I have to say my girl couldn't sing or dance to save her life, but Susie was even worse.  I later heard that after the performance, Susie's family was looking into changing their name and joining the Witness Protection Program.

I saw Susie's mom at the big show.  She came up to me sheepishly and she said that it was too bad the girls couldn't work things out, but Susie felt that my #1 did not practice enough.

I had two words for her and it wasn't happy birthday.
   
*Susie's name has been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

So, when I start to feel sorry for myself and miss my little girls, I remind myself of these stories and a few others.

I still miss the bows, though.

Is there anything that you don't miss?

Until next time...