Solving My First World Problems, One Day At A Time

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Mommy Issues May 12, 2013

Filed under: My LIfe — SideShowShannon @ 10:36 AM
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Along with a large population of people my age, I’ve spent a lifetime sifting through my mommy and daddy issues.

Through this, I have come to realize that I have gotten a lot of amazing qualities from my parents.

I have daddy’s ability to quietly watch and access situations.

I have mama’s ability to announce what I’ve noticed without worrying about what happens after I’ve said it. It get’s me into trouble from time to time, but I like to think that it’s more of an act of bravery to say what you’re thinking. Foolish bravery, but bravery nonetheless. Thank God that as I become older, my delivery is much more appropriate and colorful.

Mama with her firstborn, and me with mine.

Mama with her firstborn, and me with mine.

I have both my parent’s sense of humor. They are hilarious.

I have mama’s silver tongue. We spent years on our polyester-ish sofa that my parents brought back from Germany laughing at Eddie Murphy or Robert Townsend. We did a lot of things together, and laughing was a daily occurrence in the McGill house. Weekends that we weren’t busy with sports, we all sat in our den watching movies and television shows on Fox that may have been deemed inappropriate for children our age, laughing our asses off.

I had cool parents. They weren’t the ‘cool’ parents that let you have boy-girl sleepovers or get drunk “as long as we don’t drive” they were cool because they listened to cool music. They had cool interests, and they did cool things together. They had hobbies that fit their personalities and unique talents.

My dad used to bring home to my mother sketchbooks from his job. I remember her always getting excited, and would go to work almost immediately. I don’t ever recall seeing her draw, but she always let me see the sketchbooks after she was done.  She drew things that she was passionate about, and each sketch depicted such personal, sometimes haunting stories that I can to this day see in my mind. I was probably a teenager the last time I saw those sketchbooks, but I’ll never forget the one depicting abuse. I was probably seven or eight when I first saw it, and was always drawn to it. I studied it, studied the shading that she eventually taught me to do on my own.

I wanted to draw as well as she did. To me, everything she drew had life. It could have been just a single object, but I was always inspired to give it a story, a purpose.  My parents bought us all sketchbooks and paints, so I set to work. I couldn’t draw hands or noses, and grew frustrated. I decided I would rather describe them instead.  My sketchbook was full of crude drawings with written stories surrounding them. I didn’t realize until now that my mama was in part responsible for my love of writing. I wanted so much to be like her that when I couldn’t exactly mimic her powerful drawings, I chose to dictate what her sketchbooks made me see instead.

Thank you, Mama.

In seeking the best in you as a child, I was able to bring out the best in me.

I can only hope that in the years to come Blake can find out what’s best in him through his favorite things in all of us.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama.

I love you.

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Control YOUR KID March 22, 2013


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Parents, have you ever heard those words, or thought them?

I have thought them a million times, but have only actually said it aloud once, to a girl I used to know whose kid was a demon. I’m not going to spend a paragraph or two explaining why, because I could with a story or seven that will prove such. I’ll just say that I’ve seen a tantrum that I had to tell all of my parent friends about because I became speechless by the insanity that I saw.  I saw it over a year ago, and I still remember it like it was ten minutes ago. But then again I can’t really say much because I threw tantrums forever.

I spent a lot of time babysitting when I was growing up, so before I actually became a mother I could somewhat understand children’s moods.  Before the baby came along though, Randy and I made a solemn promise that if Blake started to act a fool in public, we would scoop him up and get the hell out. We have both silently judged screaming babies in public enough to know that it’s not a good experience for the baby, parent, and onlookers.

If anyone has had the pleasure of meeting our bundle of joy, you would know that his temperament is that of his fathers. He smiles and hugs often, and is only fussy when it’s time for him to take a nap. He wakes up and is our smiling baby again, and we continue our lives of parents that get sleep and don’t have to deal with a baby that cries for hours. (knock on wood)

This morning I was in Target with Blake, enjoying a morning of buying things that I don’t need and letting people tell me how attractive he is. It’s funny because when I go now, I have to look nice because people always look at him. Everyone looks at babies, especially when they smile back, and I don’t want to shame my son by wearing a Chelsea Houska outfit and having my fro askew.

We are in the shoe clearance aisle, trying to find a new pair of shoes to sneak in the house and Blake was very talkative. I always encourage his babbling, so I’m playing along. He gets excited and shrieks really loud.

That’s when I heard those three words. On the other side, a teenage girl says “Oh my god, control your f-ing kid.” I froze. Then without thinking I wheeled my happy baby to the aisle to see who would even consider to say those words about MY perfect child.

Every parent thinks their kid is perfect. If the kid is bad, the parent usually says something like, “he/she is really smart and gets bored easy.” “he/she is just expressing themselves.” Yeah, right. Expressing yourself has nothing to do with knocking over store displays, or being a six-year-old that still bites and refuses to listen when an adult speaks. I’m sure that unless a friend stages  an intervention, I could be that parent that refuses to see that my child is out of control, I just hope it never happens. Until then, I raise my eyebrows when I see a child that’s too old for running, knocking over things, or screaming in public.

You can imagine the surprise when the two girls see me facing them in the shoe aisle. They appear startled, embarrassed, and completely unprepared for what was to happen next. I’m sure they would have gone running if I hadn’t blocked them in with my smiling baby and shopping cart.

“Actually, my ‘kid’ is a seven month old baby, and this is how he communicates when he gets excited, because he doesn’t speak English yet. So before you say to control my f-ing kid, maybe you should control your mouth.”

Silence. Staring. Then I push my cart with my still smiling and babbling child past them.

Yeah, I sound big and bad telling off a couple of rude teenagers, right? Not my finest moment, I will admit. I guess I’m a bit protective. Hopefully I’ll outgrow that when the fat kid on the playground  that reeks of oatmeal knocks him over.

 

 
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