Kids

Moms are supposed to have all the answers, or at least appear to their offspring as though they do.

“I’m not going to ask you again.” Sure you are … again and again! Like parrots in sweatpants, moms repeat the same things to the same kids, time after time, day after day. Rouse any mom during a well-earned sleep, and she’ll automatically start spewing, “Leave your brother alone!” … “Take your finger out of your nose!” … “Will the parents be home?” before her eyes are open and her little genius can whisper, “Mom, are you up?”

Stanley Bernard Shaw lumbered into our lives when he was about 1 year old. Why my sister and dad invited him home to stay remains a mystery since they’ve admitted to being somewhat intimidated. Mom took one look at Stanley and shut the door. But I loved him instantly.

Before
• A neat home seemed important.
• Wardrobe accessories included over-the-shoulder spit-up towels and soggy cotton breast pads.
• Survival gear for rough nights included a rocking chair and Anbesol.
• Changing (high-level waste) diapers in public places and disposing of them discreetly required reconnaissance and alacrity.
• The future was imagined in childhood developmental stages.
• “MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY!” rang through the house like a car alarm.

It’s hard to get one over on Mom. Dads can be pushovers because they’re often excluded from 9-to-5 combat operations (read: kid drama), but moms have been presiding over daily family life since men left women cave-bound to hunt saber tooth tigers. And, like cavemen (and their Neanderthal attitudes), mothers have evolved through generations to ensure their species’ survival and help descendants better adapt to the environment.

Psychedelic flashback anyone? Attend a high school open house and let the good times roll … back! Trust a veteran’s opinion — 10 senior high open houses and counting! If it’s been awhile since you’ve pushed open the double doors to secondary learning, sauntered down the locker-lined halls and heard those infamous tardy bells, then prepare to enter a time warp.

Staying focused on the goal, not the arduous journey and uncertainty — that crippling unknowing — seemed impossible. Waiting to see my OB/GYN, surrounded by miraculously swollen tummies draped with open parenting periodicals and bored toddlers, I felt small and inadequate. My husband of three years held my hand protectively amid the human incubators. For us, there’d be no listening to the “glub glub” of a brand-new heartbeat, no exuberant exit waving fuzzy photos of sheer bliss. Not yet. Not ever, we thought during the darkest days.

This is the month when romance permeates the air and a Brink’s truck backs up to the Russell Stover estate. Couples buy into the red and pink frenzy, and retailers rejoice while singles ponder a heart-(and Hallmark-)less existence.

Politics, religion, and the exes — the unholy trinity of what not to bring up during polite adult conversation. Well, that and the OctoMom. Adults often avoid these impassioned subjects like the dreaded Back-to-School Night sign-up sheets. (I’ve fantasized about bringing my own clipboard and recruiting volunteers to bring cupcakes and juice to my house.) 

I always thought I was a quick study, however, I didn’t catch on right away. In fact, it took two adamant teenagers, several unnecessary trips to office supply stores, and one assembly from hell without instructions (read: they might as well have been in Japanese for all the good they did!) before it dawned on me … KIDS DON’T USE DESKS!

I don’t EVER remember seeing either of my oldest kids do their homework (or anything, come to think of it!) at their desks. Now, history is repeating itself for a third (charm-free) time.