Friday Fragments: Body-Surfing

I went to Ocean City this summer with a group of girlfriends. While my friends sunned themselves and read magazines, I went body-surfing. I watched my feet disappear into the salty depths, and waded until I hit the breaking point.

Bouncing on my toes, I felt the rush of the water as it lifted me up, effortless, like a little girl swinging a rag doll. I relaxed in the powerful arms of the wave, until it dumped me, rather unceremoniously, onto the rocky shoreline.

Salty and smiling, I ran back for more. Sometimes the waves were full of empty promises, a mere hiccup of motion. Sometimes the waves felt the need to assert authority, giving me a skinned knee or a nostril full of salt water.

Yet, I kept going back, riding the waves until I returned to my sunny patch and my towel, spent and elated.

Motherhood is a form of body-surfing as well, and these fragments represent the exhilarating highs, and the stinging lows of the week.


(Thanks for hosting, Mrs. 4444)
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Owen crept into my bed, as he does every morning. By "crept," I mean, he talked loudly to himself, randomly flipped on lights, and jumped on the bed, yelping, "SURPRISE!"

I wouldn't exactly call him cat-like. Or ninja-riffic for that matter.

Nevertheless, he came in, snuggled next to me and said, "Mommy?"

"Hmmph,"

"Mommy, you need to go look out my window. The sky is ORANGE! There's ORANGE in the sky!"

I grumbled up the stairs, and with my son saw a sunrise so beautiful, such a combination of orange and purple, that it almost broke my heart. Such incredible beauty, such gorgeous light.

***
Yesterday, I was reading my magazine and heard the familiar patter of little feet upstairs, "Owen must be up from his nap," I thought.

I returned to my reading, hoping to finish the article before starting Motherhood: The Afternoon Shift. I heard the door open, then listened to his steps scurrying down the stairs. My bedroom door opened and out rang a tiny voice, sing-songing, "Da-DAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Joel. It's Joel. What the?---Joel, the not-even-EIGHTEEN-MONTH BABY, was in my bedroom. How? HOW???

To get in my room, THE BABY had to do the following:
1) Climb out of his crib.
2) Open the door to his room.
3) Navigate the steep steps (without his glasses, naturally)
4) Walk to my room
5) Open my door
6) Be pleased as shit with himself.

I've sired Evil Frickin' Knievel. Goodbye, remaining sanity.

***
How to make your preschooler lose his mind with joy:

1) Attend a meeting.
2) Discover that the bathroom looks like this:

I have found the Promised Land, and it has a Mommy Potty and an Owen Potty. 

Owen came out of the bathroom beaming, and said, "Mommy, have you seen that potty?"

"It has a little potty, huh, O?" I said.

Nodding his head vigorously, Owen added, "And a big potty too!" He immediately added, "Do you need to go potty?"

"Not right now," I said, taking a sip of coffee.

"Keep drinking that coffee, Mom," Owen said, "I'll wait."

Because I love my son, and have lost any of those pesky "personal space boundaries" people mention from time to time, I did return to the Magical Potty of Wonder, and we did, in fact, have a tandem pee-a-thon.

It was a golden shower of motherly love.

***

Owen has a terrible habit of interrupting me when I'm on the phone. It's maddening, because in my circle of friends, things are happening that require discussion. One friend is adopting a little boy from China, and is getting violated on a regular basis by immigration law. Another friend is moving to Rhode Island, which is devastating in so many ways, I can't even write about it. A third friend is getting violated on a regular basis by the health insurance trolls. I certainly won't write about her struggles, because THEY WILL FIND OUT AND JACK THINGS UP EVEN MORE.(They have blogging spies, I'm sure of it)

So. I want to talk to my friends about things, and Owen and Joel choose these moments to become utter asshats.

I'm on the phone and Owen will bellow, "HEA-LUP! RIGHT NOW! HEA-LUP!"

I know he's not on fire. I know he's not in any serious harm. He's simply frustrated that I'm focusing on something besides Young Sir Owen of the Awesomeness, and has decided to be loud and annoying.

Let's not forget rude: "Right Now?" Seriously?

Because I've yet to learn how to be an adult, my inner Redneck comes out, "Owen, ya needs to be quiet or I'll turn yer insides out!" or "Boy! Shut Yer Piehole!" or "Owen! Go to bed or I'll put your toys in the trash can!"

That, my friends, is quality parenting.

On the negative side, I'm teaching my kids that bullying=parenting. On the positive side, my friends forget their problems because at least they aren't me. 

***

Thanks for riding the waves with me! Happy Friday!