Parenting

@$$hole Bedtime Parent Award

~ Amelia ~ 1 Comment

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Dim the lights. Cue the obnoxious music. Hurry! Grab the TV show host guy with a long, skinny microphone, a cheap suit, totally annoying voice, but kind of good man hair. And a knock on the front door. And….3….2….1….

“We’re live from the suburbs of Overland Park, Kansas to announce that tonight’s “Asshole Bedtime Parent Award” goes to….(drum roll)…..Amelia Ryan. You had some pretty fun and memorable moments with your children throughout the day, right? Right? But, as you approached the bedtime hour, with the brushing of the teeth, and you trying to fold a basket of laundry as they played in it(cue generic crowd laugh track…ha! Ha! Ha!)and all the “nobody’s listening to you” shenanigans, you started to crack. Didn’t you? I mean really crumble. And you just completely broke down in true “Asshole Bedtime Parent” fashion. You lost your patience over some missing library books. Because it’s been a few weeks of Christmas break and they’re due back tomorrow. (Drum roll)Your fuse was short. You took your tiredness out on your poor child who most likely inherited the “lose stuff” gene from YOU. That’s right. You.

You sent your kids to bed. With no reading of books. With no hugs. With no “I love you’s.” You’re a real asshole. And you know it. Congratulations. Sort of.

So, your reward for winning this most non-coveted award is that you get to feel like a complete asshole. For the rest of the quiet night. While your sweet and innocent young children sleep, you get to marinate in the bitter juices of guilt, impatience and your rude tone of voice. Wait, wait. Don’t forget the irrational last things you said right before bed. To your precious children.

You still do have the option of sneaking into their bedrooms to hug them and tell them that you love them and that you’re sorry but, unfortunately, they will most likely not hear you. Because they were tired too. They’re sleeping. So you will need to somewhat relive this feeling in the morning and apologize and hug them before you send them off to school for the day. Another form of punishment, their absence. A daytime marinade of sorts. For you.

BUT, you should be good and ready to NOT be an asshole when they get home from school. Thank goodness that they’re so damn forgiving, and that their enormous little hearts love you so incredibly much. And thankfully, you recognize that you were an asshole. You practically answered the door before I even knocked. But hey, you know what? There’s tomorrow after school and tomorrow night too. You will do better tomorrow, right?

Good night. And oh yeah, you better get to looking for those library books. Remember.”

Napping Boy

~ Amelia ~ Leave a comment

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I hear you breathe. Deeply. In. And out. You told me you didn’t need to take a nap, you silly boy. I saw your head bobbing and your eyelids getting too heavy for you to hold open. Your fingers held onto the tiny toy in your hand. I made eye contact with you through my rear view mirror. Holidays can be exhausting. For kids and grown-ups alike. I carried you into the house. I may regret the decision to let you late-afternoon/early evening nap later on tonight.

But in this moment, I’m happy for your stillness. I’m grateful for your inability to defeat the nap monster. I’m perfectly peaceful resting with my eyes open. Right next to you. In moments like these, I’m overcome with love for you, my beautiful growing boy. No longer a baby. You’ve barely tiptoed past the toddler years. My preschool boy. Yet, still innocent and little enough that you fell asleep gently gripping the toy you played with right before your eyelids succumbed to the pillow.

You play hard. It’s nonstop. Going. Doing. Running. Hiding. Wrestling. Pretending. Building. Arguing. Crying. Giggling. You have the greatest dimples when you smile. And you ask a million questions a day. You want to know why residents at your great Grandma’s like to say “hi” to you or touch your hair. You want to know why elephants have such big ears. You even ask hard questions about God and Jesus that I don’t know the answers to. Like why did God make rats. You’re curious. And smart. And alive. So alive.

I’m constantly amused, perplexed and grateful for the thoughts that readily exit out of your tiny mouth. I miss your sweet voice when you sleep. I miss you saying things like, “when my eyes get hot, they cry.”

I love you when you’re sleeping. Because I can stop and think on all of the beautiful reasons why I love you So incredibly much when you’re awake. It’s easy to forget sometimes or get short-fused and distracted by the busy monster and your endless energy. But it’s really what I miss the most when you’re gone or I’m gone or while you dream.

Wake up soon, my long eyelashed, perfectly beautiful sleeping boy. There’s a toy in your hand, ready to be played with the moment you awaken. And there’s a mama, a daddy and two brothers that have missed you. While you were napping.

Mall Playplace Mama

~ Amelia ~ Leave a comment

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As my son played inside the mall playplace on a dreary fall day, I looked around. My phone was in my purse. I was casually in observation mode. Sometimes when my kids are happily playing at a park or wherever and I’m on a bench or in the grass, I watch all of the kids play. Instead of reading, writing or checking Facebook or Instagram. I try not to stare, but I rather inconspicuously watch moms, dads and nannies too. I try and figure things out. Relationships. Personalities. Potential jobs. The kind of parent somebody is. The kid dynamics. All in the midst of supervising my children from a safe distance. Of course.

Today, I watched as most parents stared down at their phones. I watched two sisters attack each other to the ground. Whoopsie. One tried to bite the other one and then the inevitable tears and crying erupted. I watched as kids jumped, slid and ran around frantically. It’s like they all intuitively knew it was a soppy wet, dreary day outside and they should quickly expend as much energy as possible. Right here. Right now. For fear of boredom setting in later. Leave it all on the floor of the mall Playplace.

Then, I saw you. So I wrote you this letter in my head. I wish I could have given it to you. Somehow in a non-stalker, non-awkward way.

Hey Mall Playplace Mama:

I glanced over and saw you relaxed, snuggling your happy crawling baby. His giggles proved that he adored the game that you played. Snuggle him close, hold him up to your face and kiss him. Then, release him. It was a beautiful display of love. I looked away. What I really wanted to do, without interrupting you, was borrow your phone and take a picture or a video of your candid genuine mother-son interaction. One day you could look back on the video and recognize that love. And what a phenomenal mother you are. You’re a natural. If you didn’t already know it. It may seem creepy. Since I don’t know you. But I can just tell. I meet a ton of moms. I know your kids will grow up and thank you. In a million different ways. 

You’re only focused on what’s in front of you. Holding, hugging and stealing kisses. I’m pretty certain they know they’re the most important people in the world. In your arms. Your eyes gaze into each one of your children’s eyes. You’re so engaged in the present moment. And you hold your older girls just as beautifully as your baby. They laugh. And love every moment of your one-on-one affections. 

I must be hormonal because I don’t know you, but I want to cry. I want to tell you how amazing and rare you are. I’m pretty sure your praises come in the form of three little ones jumping on and off of your lap. Constantly. Their tiny important world revolves around you. They play independently and get along well with others. I heard one daughter ask you if she could take her socks off. She pointed to another child with her socks off. You calmly stated, “I’m not her mom. I’m yours. You need to keep your socks on.” And your daughter didn’t argue or pout or throw a fit. She listened. And continued to play. That’s huge.

I don’t know you. But I recognize your love. I’ve seen it on the faces of mothers before. My grandmother’s. My mother’s. My sister’s. Mothers who are my friends. Mothers who I work with. And mothers just like you, that I’m lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time with. I’ve observed moms like you interacting with their kids at parks, playgrounds, baseball fields, grocery stores, everywhere. Thank you for being the kind of mom that inspire us all to love stronger, hold tighter and be engaged in the moments right in front of us. Maybe I will see you at the mall Playplace again someday. And maybe I will be brave enough to tell you what a beautiful mother you are. Keep mothering on. The world is better because of mamas like you.

From,
The unintentionally-creepy-intermittently staring inspired mom (whose kid didn’t want to snuggle, but did want to jump off of every piece of play equipment)

Shoelaces

~ Amelia ~ 2 Comments

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Will you please tie my boys’ shoes? I’m sorry. I hoped to take a chunk of time this summer to practice with them. I eventually resolved to double and triple, sometimes quadruple knot their shoelaces. Their constantly running, jumping, and kicking bodies manage to loosen up all the knots. Always. All days. We just got so busy. And even though summer started out with all of the June rain, July raced by too quickly. It always does. Long sun-filled summer days won’t be had again until my boys are older, bigger and smarter. Mostly because of your patience, your expertise, and your passion for teaching them.

A lot of the time, I have a hard time managing my three children. I don’t quite know how you can captivate an entire classroom of six to seven year olds for an entire day. All week long. You must have an endless supply closet filled with patience. And you’ve got to be exhausted at the end of the day. I heard you say that you have three children of your own. You help kids learn all day long. And then you go home and help your own. I wholeheartedly believe that you have one of the most important jobs. You truly help shape the lives of the most precious boys and girls that fill your brightly decorated, first grade classroom. Even if they all may not act so precious at times.

I am certain you must have moments when you need to escape to a secret hiding place to take deep breaths. I am sure you have moments where you need a coffee or a coke or maybe some chocolate. Maybe a margarita. You don’t have that luxury because you constantly have all of these big, beautiful eyes staring at you, watching your every move, especially when you wish they weren’t. You possess the power to forever imprint the hearts of my children. All of our children. You have the privilege of spending more waking hours with my boys than me Monday through Friday.  That hurts a little. Actually, a lot. It makes me worried. And nervous. And also hopeful. And beyond grateful for you, even though I just met you.

I know you will do your best to teach them all of the confusing sounds that letters make together. Just today we were talking about “pharmacy.” Tricky old pharmacy. Why does the “ph” make the sound of an “f?” my boys asked me. You will be able to answer these questions much better than I can. That’s hard for me to say. It’s hard when somebody else, specifically another woman, can do something better for my kids than I can. It’s humbling. It makes me want to show you how great of a monster I can be on the playground or show you how much my boys love to snuggle right up next to me, even on top of me, when we’re watching a movie. I don’t think I need to show you these things for you to know how much I love them.

I’m confident that you will teach my boys math tricks and reading skills. You probably have the coolest, most fun and exciting ways to do it. But I can’t stop thinking about something else that matters more: I’m trusting you to guide them gently and show them love. I don’t ask for help often. I can be puffed up and proud like that. But I want you to know that I’m depending on you to recognize when somebody hurts my boys’ feelings or when they hurt some little boy or girl’s feelings. Will you please teach kindness and forgiveness and compassion too? And hopefully, you will notice when they’re having a bad day. It pains me to think that I can’t be there in these moments to help make things better. I know they will be proud to show you all of their work. They may even like you so much that they call you, “Mom.” That’s the greatest compliment you could ever receive, in my opinion.

They are two of the most beautiful, unique, inquisitive, loving, kind-hearted and energetic boys I’ve ever met. I know I’m a little biased, but I have worked with a lot of kids. I hope you will look at them and appreciate their passion, their joy for life, their imperfections and also their fragility. I hope you will remember that they’re still learning a lot about life. From August until May, you will have an enormous impact on their little hearts and minds. Thank you for teaching my boys.

And thank you for taking the time to kindly bend down and tie their shoelaces. I recommend the triple knot.