Becoming a parent brings gobs of surprises, but one thing I
wasn't prepared for was the pure weirdness. A good friend once said that having
young children is like living with tiny insane people. I would add that living
with tiny insane people sometimes rubs off on the big people who spend time
Here are several strange things I've recently found myself
doing to amuse or sate my children:
moment my Star Wars-obsessed son gets up in the morning, he starts asking,
"Mom, can we have a light saber battle?" After much coffee is imbibed, I usually
relent. Thus I find myself in our living room, light saber in hand, fencing
with my 6-year-old. There is almost always some point in the match when I
find myself wrapped up in the game, a method actor embodying her role. "Luke! I
am your Mother!" I boom, between audible, Darth Vadery exhales.
2. In the Doghouse
Last fall, my son wanted to tie a piece of twine to my belt buckle and "put me
on a leash." Why not? I thought. He
attempted to hold on to the twine while I raced around the yard, barking,
hoping the neighbors weren't watching.
(My kids) accept me in all my freaky glory, just as I accept them unconditionally.
3. Bedtime Rock Star
Since she was an infant, my daughter has stroked my hair when she gets tired.
Every night at bedtime, there comes a moment when she simply demands, "Hair." I
bend over her crib like I'm in the middle of a mosh pit, my long hair raining
over her waiting fingers. My back aches and I must look like a drunken Slash,
but it helps get her to sleep, so it's all worth it.
4. The Birds and the
The other day, both kids were pretending they were still in-utero. They
huddled behind my back, and I felt like I was being filmed for an episode of "I
Didn't Know I Was Pregnant."
Sensing a fleeting moment to offer an anatomy lesson, I
said, "Guys, do you know what part of the mama babies come out of?"
"Belly button?" my preschooler daughter asked.
"The butt?" my Kindergarten-going son offered. In my mind, I
was already texting the conversation to my husband and friends.
"Babies actually usually come out of their mom's vagina," I
said, trying to summon the poise of the 40-year-old woman I am instead of the 12-year-old boy in charge of my sense of humor.
"Oh," they both responded.
"Mom, pretend this is your vagina ," my son said, grabbing a
big, fuzzy beige blanket. I stifled my laughter as the kids burst forth from
the blanket. I gave a few weak grunts, simulating labor.
A few days later we were playing the birth game again, and the beige blanket
"Mom! Just so you know, your vagina's going to be blue today,"
my son sang, dragging over a thin blue blanket.
Why yes, I am stashing money away for their future therapy.
Though I often shake my head at the scenarios I find myself
in with my kids, I have to admit that it's fun. Maybe it's not so much that my
kids have brought about these strange moments, but that their lack of
self-consciousness allows my inherent silliness to rise to the surface. They
accept me in all my freaky glory, just as I accept them unconditionally. I know
that these moments of playful weirdness with my kids have an expiration date,
so for now, I'm embracing it—blue vagina and all.