Because I said so

Words I never thought I day to my kids.  Not that I'm one of those parents who try earnestly to answer every question that passes through their little angels lips. "That is a good question sweety,  mommy isn't sure of the answer but how about we go look it up right now?  I'm sure someone can explain why a 7 year old isn't legally allowed to go into a bar, and you're right, it doesn't seem fair, does it?"  

Don't get me wrong, I've been known to give a kid a Carol and Mike Brady answer when there is another mom or a teacher within earshot, - but you know I'm not the only one.  I do try and answer ones I can, and the ones I know they really want to know the answer to, (I'm not always smoty) but some days its just exhausting.  "But what if?....Why?...How come?...How do you know?...How do they know?...", but until very recently, I never pulled the BECAUSE card.  I'll admit, it didn't come out of my mouth easily - it had a bit of a guilty taste to it - but, wow.  The guilt was quickly replaced with a bit of a power rush.  The kids didn't know quite what to do with "just because".  The conversation went something like this: "Mom, mom? mom.  I'm gonna leave the (LARGEST BEATLE I HAVE EVER SEEN OUTSIDE A ZOO) bug on the counter and can you look up online to see what they eat?  Do you know what they eat?  I'm gonna get some leaves because they probably eat leaves and stuff, right?  Maybe other bugs though?  Should I try and find, like, smaller bugs?  Or maybe they're poisonous though.  How do you know if its poisonous?".  

(This run-in sentence was spoken by my 9 year old as he comes rushing in the back door (which is left open) in his muddy and wet (AND BRAND NEW) sneakers, followed by his two younger brothers, (also muddy and wet) all looking very serious and all having that air about them of slightly-cocky-we-know-what-we're-doing-and-its-very-serious-and-important-and-really-mom-you-wouldn't-know-about-such-serious-things-things-like-the-care-and-feeding-of-a-giant-bug-that-we-have-personally-discovered-and-will-probably-be-on-tv-or-in-the-paper-talking-out-and-we-will-of-course-be-taking-this-into-school-to-show-everyone-our-most-awsomess-discovery. )

" And, by the way, we named him Bob."

To which I responded, in a similar run-on sentence: "STOP! Do NOT leave that jar on the counter! And where is the LID for that jar?!?  OUT!  OUT! TAKE IT OUTSIDE, put a lid on it, THEN talk to me.  And DON'T come back in here with those shoes on!"

Which, or course, lead to much heavy sighing and "but moooooommmm!"-ing, and looks that said "you have got to kidding, don't you know what we're doing? I can't BELIEVE we have to take it outside".

And, of course, the obligatory "But WHY?!??  Why can't he be inside (HANGING OUT WITH YOU, FREAKING YOU OUT ALL DAY) just sitting on the counter?

Why?  I did start to form an answer in my head, and started to sputter it out - it had something to do with germs, and possible escape, and whether or not it could fly, and that I thought it was staring at me - but then I stopped, and said,

"BECAUSE!  BECAUSE I SAID SO!  END OF STORY!"

They went away, muttering under their breath and dragging their feet.  Just. Like. That.  

Zen.  Why hadn't I truly realized the power of "because"?  (It probably has something to do with the fact that it reminds my of my mother, and god help me, I will not turn into my mother, even if she was right about some things. )  Well, I do now. And let me tell you, there is a new sheriff in town, mister,  and her name is SMOTY.  And apparently  she talks about herself in the third person.  Why?  Because.

**Post script:  There is currently a family size Skippy Peanut Butter jar sitting on my kitchen counter.  It contains a bunch of dirt, a few twigs (none that reach anywhere near the top, thank you very much), some fist-fulls of grass, and a beetle as long as my thumb and twice as wide.  (My heart rate goes up just typing about it)  It is covered with layers of wax paper - poked with VERY SMALL holes - secured with about 5 rubber bands.  Whatever.

Spider Ranger

My youngest is sleeping next to me right now in pajamas he picked out himself, and it makes me want to freeze him at this age forever.  He has a spiderman top, with the mesh wing-things attached under the arms (I don't remember spiderman flying around with wings, but who am I to rain on a super hero's parade), and Power Ranger bottoms.  Putting this outfit together was not an accident.  There were pajamas spread out all over the floor.  There was a pains-taking weeding out process - batman bottoms have too much blue, lilo and stitch top doesn't have wings, harley davidson ones are too red.  Moving his top three down to the kitchen to get dad's opinion, and possibly check how the different lighting effected things.  Mind you, he is naked for this entire process - if you can't get the look right, its better to wear nothing.  His final choice was for obvious reasons - wings on top, flying dragons on the bottoms - and a fine choice it is.  Although he was not able to attain lift-off, it was not for lack of trying.  Backing further down the hall to elongate the runway, crouching lower to the ground for the run, banking to the right, banking to the left, making sure mom AND dad are watch! WATCH! watching the complete exercise.  After a near-collision with my dresser and a window (and the not-so-gentle reminder that if he didn't set a flight path toot-sweet for the kitchen he would be de-winged and not get ice cream) he took a break.  As it is hard for a super hero to stick to a set bedtime, he ended up here, next to me, and promptly folded his wings and passed out.

cheers

My family and I have recently moved from a big city suburb to a small New England town. Having grown-up in a suburb of New York City, then spending my adult life outside another large city, I would not call myself a country girl.  Don't get me wrong, I like the country as much as the next girl scout - s'mores!  camp fires! "LOOK! COWS!" - I just could never picture myself living in a place, well, not right outside a city.  While there is a certain appeal to being somewhere where everbody knows your name, (and they're always glad you came,)  for some reason, the thought of that really happening made me want to order another drink.  I was extremely shocked the first time I visited my husbands hometown.  We had been dating for months when he invited me to go "home" with him.  Uh, duh.  Yea I'd go.  We were still in that stay-up-all-night-talking-then-go-to-work-happy-happy-happy-all-the-time phase.  Going out 3 or 4 times a week.  Going out at 10:00(pm), getting up at noon, going out to eat, going to the movies...cooking a meal and doing laundry together was actually fun.  When he took me for a walk through the town he grew-up in I was confused.  I just kept thinking, "really?  REALLY? People actually come from towns like this?"  There is not one stop light.  You (I)can walk the length of the village with out getting winded.  People sit one their front porches and wave to you when you drive by.  The now-retired school librarian still lives right by the school, and still remembers all her students and the books they liked best.  It was beautiful, and I was speechless (a rarity).  I think this little visit actually changed me a bit.  I was (still am to a degree) a huge people pleaser.  "Sure!  I'll watch your cat for a week - no problem - I love animals!  Are you sure just one week?  I can do two weeks if you need - really!"  Of course, I'm highly allergic to cats.  My throat may close-up and my eyes will puff shut.  I'll end up at the allergist office because of course my inhaler is empty and I have no refills left.  I'm taking antihistamines that make me shake and and act like a grumpy-pissed-off person who's had too much coffee.  So I've missed work (dr. appt), missed happy hour(gotta feed the cat), am out about $60 bucks for the office visit and meds, my co-workers think I moody, and I can't get the smell of canned cat food off my hands.  But when you get back, I'll tell you how much I love your cat, and when are you going away again because I'd love to watch him again for you!    All this to say how big a step it was for me not to lie or sugar-coat the answer when my then-boyfriend asked me if I could ever see myself living in a town like that.  I paused.  paused.  and said "No.  I really can't."  Huge for me.  I did not want to continue down the garden path (that is the best part of dating) having him think that I was that type of girl - the type that would follow her man anywhere, stay home, have babies, make dinner, and find time to wave to everyone that went by as I was hanging the sheets on the line.  I felt very adult and liberated to have stood my ground and tell it like it was.  Low and behold, he kept dating me.  And almost 15 years later I'm living in a house surrounded by pine trees (cue the inhaler), waving to everyone when I walk out to get my mail, which is delivered by Mary, my mail carrier, who has been on the job for 20 + years and can tell me anything I want to know .  Not everyone in town knows my name yet, but I'm working on it.

etch-a-sketch

Did you ever try and draw a real picture on an etch-a-sketch?  Not easy.  I mean, I have to really concentrate.  If I don't, I end up with those little pieces of line sticking off the end of an other-wise perfect square.  Or fish.  Or word.  And all I can think is Agh!  It would have been PERFECT!  Damn line.  Of course, the one time I do manage to create a masterpiece - a house, WITH a chimney - I immediatly show it to my kids (who have been irritatingly impatient with me using their etch-a-sketch and I am threatening time-outs to the next one who bumps my arm) - and they look at it for about half a second and simutatiously shake it and say "Cool.  My turn!".   

Breath in.  Breath out.  Step away from the children.

I went downstairs and stole jellybeans from their Easter baskets and felt much better.

#1

S.M.O.T.Y = SH**** (rhymes with smitty) Mother of the Year,  a title I actually stole from my older sister.  She bestowed the title on herself when her then-toddler pulled a Christmas stocking holder off the mantle and ended up with stitches above his eye.  My sisters and I crown ourselves with the title whenever we perform under-whelmingly in the child-rearing portion of the "Motherhood Pagent".