Just Run Faster Mommy

Last night was a typical evening in my house. Todd was working, so I fed the kids, picked up the kitchen, and then took the kids outside. We played on the driveway, until J suggested we take a walk. I loaded up L in the stroller, J mounted her bike, and H grabbed his Spiderman scooter.

We started to walk down our normal path. Normally, I walk behind J and H walking or riding. They start down, but constantly check to see how far back I am and then stop and wait.

Well, this peaceful routine took an unexpected turn tonight. We left the house and started down the sidewalk. H was in front and started to go fast on his scooter and pulled ahead of the “pack”.

“H, slow down”. I said calmly. No big deal. He does this all the time. He’ll turn around, see where we are and stop.

But, he didn’t. Instead of listening to me, he started to go faster…and faster...and faster yet. At the bottom of our hill is a very busy intersection so I was scared when H kept pushing faster.  I sealed my spot yet again as the neighborhood crazy as I started to yell louder for him to stop, while starting to run with the stroller.

“H, STOP!”. I yelled.

He got so far ahead of me I could hardly see him. I was terrified as I knew he was headed for the very busy intersection. My heart was racing (probably the fact that I was now sprinting behind my stroller wasn’t helping). I kept yelling to him to stop...and he kept ignoring.

Suddenly, he stopped at the end of the street. One upset, ignored, crazy-yelling mother finally caught up with the new found Dale Earnhardt of Scooter riding.

Now I’m not telling this story just because H disobeyed me, tested my patience, or ignored me…because honestly if I wrote about everytime one of these things happened well, let’s just say we’d have to change the name of the blog to something like “I have a 3 year old boy…please send help!” because I would write about that all the time! H is at the stage where he seeks his independence all the time. He pushes the boundaries, tests his father and I. Yes, we are smack dab in the middle of the “I can do it myself”, “No I don’t wanna” stage.

What happened later that evening, however, was something worth blogging about. After H came home, reluctantly turned over his scooter that I think he knew he’d be grounded from for awhile, angrily took his time out, took a bath, ate a snack, watched his beloved Monster Trucks it was time for bed. We did our standard routine… Potty, Brush Teeth, Story Book, Tuck in, Lullaby, Prayers, Hugs and kisses, Good-night…oh wait one more kiss. But instead of heading out of the room before he could ask for “one more story”, I sat by his bed for a minute.


“H, you scared me tonight. You need to listen to Mommy when I tell you to stop. You could have been hurt, could have been hit by a car. I couldn’t catch you and that really scared me”.


H looked at me with his sky blue eyes, almost puzzled in a way, clearly giving me a “Who me?? Couldn’t be” sort of look. I expected to hear his classic “I surrender” comment of “Okay Mommy”, but I didn’t. Instead, H looked me in the eyes, inched closer to me on the pillow and said…

“Just run faster Mommy.”

I looked at my little boy, growing up before my eyes, and chuckled a bit. I walked downstairs to start catching up with some scrapbooking. I couldn’t get his line out of my mind. I started to look back at some old baby pictures of H…I couldn’t believe how fast he has grown.

Now I’m part of the M.O.B. (mother of boy) so having a hard time with my sons growing up is par for the course for me. For those of you who have girls only, let me explain: Mothers have a harder time dealing with the fact their sons are growing up than their daughters. We get a realization, after years of watching our husbands and brothers, that our time with our sons is more “limited” than with our daughters. With girls you know they will always be with you forever, fighting with you…probably, but there none the less. Girls get married, start their lives, but always seem to stick close to their mothers regardless of who or what enter their lives. Boys are different. They grow, get married, and suddenly Mom takes a back seat to their wives, their lives, their adventures. The baby boy who idolized you now has to be reminded by his wife to send a Mother’s Day card. Don’t believe me? Come on even the Bible tells us that, a man shall leave his MOTHER but a woman just needs to leave her home (for as we all know her Mother will come with her)!

Before I know it H (and L for that matter) are going to get to the stage where riding down the end of the street without me will be the least of my concerns. My little baby that never left my side is now running fast away from me.

But, it’s amazing how much wisdom can lie in the mind of a child. H is right of course. As he grows, he won’t wait for me, he won’t stop growing, stop challenging me, stop seeking his independence. He’s exactly right, I can’t stop him from growing up. Whether I want to or not (and you know for me it’s NOT), I’m going to have to let him “run”. Yelling down the street, so-to-speak, isn’t going to stop him. Nope, he’s only going to get faster, only going to go farther, only going to turn his head to look to see if I am there less and less.

So, H reminded me that its time I start to realize that I better become a marathon runner (figuratively of course, let’s not get crazy here). Yelling for him to stop is pointless, instead I need to “Just run faster Mommy”.  Well, I guess I should look on the bright side of things... I have two boys,  so I should be super skinny after this journey!

Mandi

The Test

My daughter dances at a local dance academy once a week. Every Wednesday night I rush home from work, whip together a quick dinner and off we go to do ballet and tap. J loves it.

Every other week, Todd has to work and so I have the company of H and L while I wait in the cramped dance studio. On those nights I don’t spend the 45 minutes watching J, rather I spend it entertaining the boys.

Last Wednesday I was running late. It was a long day at work and so by the time I got home, I had just ½ hour to get the kids fed, dressed, and out the door. Not once since J started dance had we ever been late…tonight was our turn.

We arrived at the studio. To my surprise all the Moms had taken their places crowding around the window to the dance room. This was a shock because most of the time they are comfortably sitting catching up on emails, talking, or reading magazines.

I soon found out why they were standing there.

As my luck would have it, this particular evening was midterm testing at the dance studio. My daughter has now reached the stage where she is tested to make sure she is meeting the expectations of her level. She is moved up and placed on teams based on these tests. So twice a year, she is evaluated by the director of the studio.

So there I was, a big bulky car seat in one hand, H holding my other hand and J hurrying to put her dance shoes on. She was in such a hurry to get in, I didn’t even get to tell her what was happening or encourage her to do her best. I tried to get a seat near the dance class, but they were all taken at this point. The Moms at the window were fiercely guarding their spots. So, I took H and L down the hall away from the classroom to wait.

I soon saw why the Moms fought so hard for those coveted window spots. As their daughters were being tested, these Moms were watching, most of the time with looks that said “Do good or else”. When their daughters would start to talk or, well “act their ages”, their Moms would shoot them the look, and presto Prima Ballerinas. The Moms also were trying to do the steps to help their daughter without it looking like they were doing that in front of the other Moms. It’s pretty funny watching Moms try to do the ballet positions covertly. The dance daughters inside began their test with their Mom coaches watching closely.

Well, that is except me. Why did we have to be late this time? Because of my tardiness I couldn’t join the Mom coaches, there was simply no room, especially with H and L in tow. By nature I am not a competitive person, but I’m not going to lie and say I don’t want my daughter to well at these things. I stood there feeling guilty thinking my daughter was going to fail her test simply because I couldn’t help her.

The suspense was killing me and so I walked every now and then and peeked in over the Moms’ shoulders... well I took as good of a peek as I could with L trying to pull my hair and H trying to pull me away back to the toys we had brought. When I first looked, I saw my daughter talking to the director, (complimenting her nail color I later found out). The second time I looked, J had let go of the ballet bar and was standing there talking and laughing. Sure that’s okay for regular class, but apparently not for testing day as the other Moms’ looks curbed this behavior instantly in their daughters. Instantly I thought…if I was standing there I could help her stay on track.

I texted my husband, feeling helpless “They are helping their daughters” I wrote, “And I can’t help J, she needs me to help her”. I stood their nervously, trying to pay attention to H and L and forget about what was going on in the next room, but I couldn’t help but think that J was doing bad in her test solely because I was not amongst the Moms standing in the window. She couldn’t possibly pass this test without my assistance, I mean I’ve always been there to help her.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened and out ran the young dancers. Their moms congratulated them on their somewhat dual-performances. It was then time to get the dance test results from the teacher. I walked in already feeling defeated, certainly without my oversight J didn’t do well. Right? The director handed me the paper. Not only did J pass her test, she exceeded her level in all the dance steps. She did amazing…no Mommy supervision required.

My initial reaction was shock and sheer joy…She did it! I came out and looked at J… “How’d I do?” she asked me in a calm confident, “I know I did great” tone. I gave her a big hug and told her how proud I was of her. But then I got a twinge of sadness…she passed on her own, she didn’t need me. While I stood waiting in that dance studio doubting her abilities without me being there to curb any 4 year old behaviors, she was in that room exceeding the expectations. Not only did she exceed her dance studio’s expectations….she WAY exceeded mine.

J got her boots on and put away her ballet slippers. Wow…she doesn’t even need me anymore to help her with her shoes. As I watched her put on her coat and zip it up I remembered just 2 years prior how different this scene was. When J started dance, she was 2 years old. I had to sit inside the dance class room because if I took one step toward that door she cried. The next class she allowed me to move to the open doorway and watch from there, but if I turned away for a second, out she came crying for me. The next stage, she was content to see me smiling at her from the window, but I still couldn’t sit down like the other dance Moms. Now, she passed a ballet and tap test while I was far away from the room.

I think I’ll always remember this first test. It was the first time J proved me wrong and showed me that she didn’t need me to help her anymore. I guess, my baby is turning into a little girl one dance step at a time.

Mandi