Rimbos

I wasn't even sure what Little Man was saying. His eyebrows were raised, his hand was pulling mine, and I had to come see something and, "Hurry, Mommy!" See, see the rimbo, Mommy? Oh oh! It's on the chair! And on the train table! You see the rimbo?

He didn't want me to miss the rainbows, the kaleidoscopic kisses that a setting sun casts on living room furniture, on walls, on otherwise crumb-laden floors.

Isn't that the living definition of the work of every child? To hurry us in order to not miss the fading rainbows? We push them, literally, into the world, checking off milestones, counting down hours until bedtime, our voices escalating as we teach them to hurry to put on shoes, get in the car, and hurry through life.

I go through seasons of trying to obliterate the word "hurry" from my parenting vernacular. In those seasons, I realize I must say that word a dozen times a day.

I know this isn't novel but it did give me pause. What are the things to which I am rushing? To work? To the can? To the Dollar Store before it closes? How often am I rushing to the Bible? To open the door for someone? To see those sweet faces that greet me with unabashed glee?

I want to be the first to rush to see the beauty. I want to be changed by the rainbows quickly fading.

I have been a mother now for 1,643 days. In school years, I'm in the ninth grade. By that measuring stick, I should know a few things. But I am grateful for my little teachers that are not loathe to repeat the fundamentals, and who gently but insistently take me by the hand and make sure I don't miss my life.

2 alarm fire

Dearest children, Something happened tonight that was a little heart-stopping.

I think the world actually held still when I realized that I had left a pot holder in the oven by accident.

And that the oven was cranked up to 450 degrees.

So, the pot holder was aflame inside the oven, which is highly ironic when you think about the fact that a potholder is supposed to protect your hand from getting burned.

Instead it was doing a really good job of being totally flamboyant.

Because this wasn't just another stop off on your mother's hot mess express train, like how she gets dressed for the gym in the dark every day so she arrives wearing yoga pants inside out and two different shoes--No, it turned a shade more serious rather swiftly.

Little Man, you emerged to watch your mother think fast as to whether the house was equipped with a fire extinguisher or was that a house at which she babysat in 1994?

You saw her take a cloth diaper out of a cabinet and use the cloth diaper as a POTHOLDER to remove the potholder aflame in the oven.

You said, "Fire! Oh, fire! Oh, gonna call the fire trucks! Fire trucks coming!" but you didn't get hysterical which was a boon to your mother's ability to extinguish the fire from a potholder with an ad hoc potholder.

Little Man, you then stood frozen as both smoke detectors in the kitchen started mouthing off yelling, "WOMP WOMP WOMP WOMP WHAT THE WHAT THE WHAT THE"

You watched as your mother regained her senses and held the two potholders under a running faucet and managed handily to save the kitchen that does not belong to her, even though burning down the house would totally have gone along with the theme of this past year and damaged property. Hah. Just tryin' to be thematic I was!

After your 4'10" mother somehow got the smoke alarms on the ceiling to shut their big mouths, you looked at me with some tears in your eyes and I thought you were scared and maybe you were a little, but really it was more probably the smoke irritating your sweet little brown eyes.

Baby Girl, I'd just like to thank you for being unflappable as well, and by that I mean I want to thank you for sitting in the other room and turning two deaf ears to the smoke alarms and panic attacks happening in the next room, staying completely and absolutely occupied on your mother's laptop, probably picking out Cinderella's outfit for princess pilates on DisneyJunior.com. I know it was hard to stay that focused and not be tempted to come and see if everyone was okay, but far be it from me to say you weren't taking one for the team.

I still love the guts out of both of you and am glad we and our kitchen escaped this culinary crisis fairly unscathed.

Love, Mama *** Little Man by my side

Baby Girl gaming with her boy Tiny C.

Potty Training

Don't even pretend like you've never been here.