in medias res

Mommy Dearest

My weekend of playing mother is officially over. For the past 56 hours, I have been cook, maid, entertainer, chauffeur, referee, singer, and craft technician for an 8 year old and a 10 year old (with a brief stint as a vegetarian dragon with a British accent and mild lapses into other poor imitations of accents). I’m tired. With my students, I can anticipate the problems that could arise and arrange my plan to reduce the chances of failure. Sisters aren’t so easy – especially when they’re two intelligent and perceptive young ladies. Because I never had a sister, I underestimated the territorialism and the range of catalysts for arguments. I found myself searching for the logical response to “she’s breathing too close to me.” Everything is about turns and equality and justice – or there’s screaming. Actually, it usually starts with screaming and the response to my pointed, logical questions is “becaaaaause [huffy breath]!” I somehow unconsciously block arguments that make no sense to me, such as the “don’t let her sing on the songs on my CD,” but this only leads to more screaming and huffy breaths. I don’t feel like a very good babysitter. Sometimes, I reply with my own huffy breath.

I sound like the babysitting grinch. When they aren’t fighting, these girls are funny and affectionate and make wonderful observations about the world. They’re also polite and I can tell that their parents have given careful instructions about where and when certain behavior is appropriate. I only have to speak to them once, and they obey and are instantly repentant. When I was afraid they’d hold grudges because of how “mean” I was being, they would surprise me with a nice hug and a nuzzle into my shoulder. They want me to sing to them before they go to bed, and they always give me a good hug and tell me they love me. I always have a good time with them, even if “we” get up at 6:58am on the weekends. I love them for their “cool teen” books and pink cowboy boots and hair that is brushed twice a day. I sometimes forget how young they are.

They’re finally in bed, the guinea pig, cat, dog, and fish are all asleep, and I am about to start spring break 2006 which will consist of working as much as I can the next four days before I fly to Maryland to see my girls and relive what I love so much about them – they feel like home. I checked my email and mailbox constantly the past few days – no new news from Ph.D. programs (aside from my official offer from one school). If I wasn’t me, I would think I was a little crazy about this whole thing. The girls certainly did when we passed by my mailbox four times on Saturday before we finally saw that I was getting nothing.

That’s all I have for now. I now somewhat understand the harried look on a young mother’s face; I understand why she isn’t wooed by the charms of the children that I find to be so interesting. My mom had all three of us by the time she was my age. The cure for the romantic cooing of motherhood is a healthy dose of [temporary] reality. But, of course, it will be different when it’s my children. It will also be somewhere far, far in the future…

(PS- And I already miss them.)

posted by tara @ 11:45 PM