Heaven

A mother, by definition, is all knowing. She is said to have eyes in the back of her head. A mother's kiss can cure any ailment. Tell her your problems, she will listen and help you find the best solution. A mother is omniscient.

Except when we're not. I'm finding...I'm not.

My mother died in 2006. She wasn't alive the day I was married. She has never properly met my daughter. But, I believe in angels and an afterlife. I know she was there at the Little White Chapel and again in the delivery room. I'm certain she knows K.

K, on the other hand, does not know my mother, her grandmother.

I have been able to handle every aspect of motherhood to date. Sure, I've had my challenges, but I've handled it. I have a solid childhood education background. I know the research.

But this...I'm finding myself tongue-tied.

I have never wanted my mom to be a mystery. I talk with K about my mom. She knows she's in heaven. Nevertheless, K's 3 and this shit is getting harder to explain by the day. Her questions start off simple.

"Did your mom make you eat lima beans?"

Quickly they progress to the point my eyes are welling and I'm fighting back tears.

"I know you miss your mom. One day, will you go with me to visit her? I think she would want you to come too, with me. Because I'm sure she would want to see you."

I don't know how to answer the questions so she will understand, so she will feel satisfied. Because the questions keep going.

"When can we see your mom? I know that you can't come back from heaven, so when can I see her? I don't want to be sick."

It breaks my heart. Truly. I have not the right answer for my sweet, sweet girl. I'm speechless. I have tears and sadness and I can not convey to her, that which I, don't fully understand myself. I do not understand death. I comprehend the science behind it, but that's it.

I try talking to K about seeing my mother in her dreams, and that helps...me anyway. The image of my mom playing with K in her dream, riding horses together, makes me momentarily smile. Still, I know K has little understanding of dreams. They are as abstract to her as heaven.

Try as I may, the best I can do is make it through the conversations. I can't imagine I am saying anything that makes much sense to her. After all, heaven and death aren't very logical concepts. I offer her truth in the simplest fashion. I don't want her to view my mother as a sad topic and I don't want her to fear death.

The conversations are becoming more frequent and her thoughts, regarding my mom and heaven, are becoming more complex. It's proof she's growing up. She no longer just accepts, "my mom is in heaven."

I miss my mother daily. And in some way, without ever meeting her, K misses her too.

Don't Pour it Down the Drain

A few months ago, I blogged about K's fear of drains. Since it's a popular post, I thought my fine readers deserved an update.

K is still quite fearful of her hair being sucked down the drain. She won't use the big potty without a full-blown tantrum of epic proportions. And, she still flips her head over daily to ask about the status of her hair growth. She's a ball of laughs. Yet, she makes me want to rip my hair out and force her to watch it be flushed down the toilet.

I'd like to brief you on the drain fear manifestation. She's learned about the garbage disposal.

Dear God, why did I teach her about it?! Why?? When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?!

Now, on a daily basis, K's in the kitchen defending the rights of table scraps and spoiled food. It started right after a stomach virus infectected my house. Our fridge was full of produce, yet none of us could eat for days. Strawberries molded and had to be disposed of. K watched as strawberry after strawberry was stuffed down the garbage disposal. To her, I think it sounded like this...

No!! Please don't! We promise to be good. Ahh!! Oh my gosh, please NO! Don't put me in there!! NOOO!

She has quite the imagination. Sweet, huh.

Which brings me to today, she wanted to make hot chocolate. And even though it will be 60 degrees today, I agreed. I bought it thinking after playing all morning in the snow, she would love to come in and warm up with yummy, hot chocolate (look at me being all June Cleaver like.) Except, it hasn't really snowed. And it doesn't appear it's going to. So, if she wants to try hot chocolate for the first time on a balmy February day, that's fine with me.

We made the drink and it was all well and good, until she drank it. I guess I didn't make her wait long enough, and she's clueless about drinking hot drinks. Two gulps at two different times, both spit out all over the table and herself. Hot chocolate fun over, commence tantrum.

K: I'm not drinking anymore. I don't want it. I don't like it. You drink it.

Me: Fine. Don't drink it. But I'm not drinking anymore.

K: You have to! Don't put it in the sink! No Mama, NO! Save it for Papa. No, Mama!

Me: K, I'm not saving it for Papa. I'll take care of it.

Now, at this point, K is sobbing, uncontrollably. Over hot chocolate. At the mere thought of it being poured down the drain.

K: Mama! Pouring it down the drain is NOT taking care of it!! Please, Mama, please! Take care of it! Just take care of it!

I am seriously beside myself. I'm just standing there in awe of the meltdown. I'm not even sure what to say or do. She's serious.

K: Hurry, Mama! It's getting cold. Please! Put it in a different cup and put a lid on it. Mama! Please! Put it in the cabinet. Put it up high, up here, so it's not near the cold! ...sob, sob... Please, Mama, just do it! Please!! Don't put it in the sink! No! NO!! Please, Mama!

I'm not even sure where to go from here. Maybe the psychiatrists office for her...or me? All I know, I'm really freakin glad I didn't give up alcohol.

 

Wit and Wisdom - Sun Edition

Without any ado, I bring to you the latest installment of the wit and wisdom of a 3 year old.

Setting: My car, of course

K: Hey Mama, a jet plane!

Me: I see. It's Southwest. Remember, the orange and blue planes?

For those of you wondering why I feel the need to teach my daughter the airline, it's simple. I'm hoping one day at pre-school, while outside on the playground, a plane will fly over and her intelligence will stun every adult in earshot. I can hear it now...Look, Mrs. Smith! A plane, Southwest, a Boeing 737. You know they have the 737 market cornered, Mrs. Smith?...They will be astounded. They will not believe a princess loving, fancy girl could possess such knowledge.

Anyway.

K: It's really high...I hope it doesn't run into the sun.

Me: Why? What would happen?

I'm just checking to see what knowledge she has on the sun...seemingly, very little.

K: The plane would wake the sun up. And then the sun would drop all the people from the plane down to the road. And that wouldn't be good.

Me: Well, you're right. That certainly wouldn't be good.

So there you have it. Generally, you see the sun depicted as a happy go lucky fellow, always wearing a smile. Clearly, K views the hot ball of plasma in a different light.

 

Censorship

I have bad news. I was censored.

Now I know what it feels like to be George Orwell. Or Eminem.

I was working on yesterday's post. I needed to do some fact checking, so I texted my husband.

Him: But wait - your NOT blogging about (insert censored topic here) - sorry!

Me: Yes.

Him: Sorry - do not blog about (censored topic)...seriously.

Me: I'm not saying you specifically.

Him: Don't care - u can include many things - no (censored topic.) Please don't write about that.

Me: Ugh.

This text exchange continued, and I'd love to share it all. But I fear the wrath if I do. I'm sure dear husband will already not enjoy this post. See, the thing is, I thought the censored topic was harmless. It's 2012, people do and say far worse than what I wanted to write about. I'm not a nip slip or an obscene hand gesture waiting to happen at the Super Bowl. I can be trusted to blog responsibly. But evidently, he feels otherwise.

And during the entire text conversation, I was cursing myself for fact checking. I know my facts. My memory rocks! Why did I even bother to bring him into it. I should have just written the damn, funny post. Dealing with him afterwards would have been worth it. But, as soon as I knew his feelings on the topic, I was effed.

I should have heeded the advice of successful blogger, Marinka from Motherhood in NYC. In a post written in 2009, she offers blog lessons she's learned. Lesson #3, which I clearly did not follow, is Do not tell anyone about your blog.

"The big downside to telling people about your blog is that they will read it and then you can never blog about them. Well, you can never blog about them in THAT way," -- Marinka

Now I'm stuck. Unless, I find a loop hole. Like maybe next year, I'll turn the censored Lent topic into my own personal Lent story. Then, I can blog about it with reckless abandon. Stay tuned, Lent 2013 might be quite funny.