Good morning, Friends, Romans, Countrymen, Countrywomen,
I used an epic salutation as today is an epic day. Today I enter unknown territory. I now have a child who is 30. I’m not quite sure how this happened since I’m only 39 myself. I’m sure my mom doesn’t think she’s 100 either, but, well, life happens. Somehow we get into the category that when we tell people how old our children are they do the math and have no doubt of our probable minimum age.
I could write a smarmy sentimental blog about my firstborn and what a cute baby he was and all the funny things he said and did as a little boy. I could extol his virtues and accomplishments and convince you that he’s a fine young man who, indeed, gives me hope for mankind. But I’ll have to be careful what I say and do as my two daughters will demand equal treatment when they turn 30. They won’t fall for my old tactic of just changing the name and saying the same things about them.
I’ll share just a few tidbits about my firstborn and only son. Tim began to announce his arrival into the world at Bob’s birthday party at our house with a group of Bob’s running friends. His friends didn’t worry too much about my labor pains as they went about having a good time. Neither did Bob for that matter. At 10:30, we finally had to throw out one father-of-four so that we -- well, actually I -- could get down to business. Like most first-time mothers, I was convinced that my pain was consistent with having the baby at any moment. Wasn’t I surprised when Tim’s arrival occurred 13 hours after my prediction?? The joke was on me, as usual.
Tim was born to parents who had not the slightest idea what to do with or for him. My sister and I used to take turns babysitting a neighborhood family. When the kids saw me coming in the door instead of Mary, they would say, “Oh, no, it’s Tizzie, not Mary. ” Well, you can imagine how I responded to that once their parents drove away… Anyway, let’s just say, I’ve never had a natural affinity for small children. I like them. I just always considered them a lot of trouble.
At any rate, when Tim arrived --- all 9 lbs 4 oz of him --- we were suddenly thrust into parenthood. My mother, God bless her, came to stay with us for a week. She was a mere lass of 70 then. . She worked around the house while I contentedly rested and basked in my new role. She disdained my techniques for mopping my kitchen floor and felt compelled to soak my mop in a bucket of bleach before she would wash the floor with it. How was I supposed to know that one should clean a mop before mopping? Anyway, she fixed me hot tapioca (I don’t think I’ve had that since) for lunch and we shared scrumptious pieces of hot Sara Lee pecan pie each afternoon. She would bring Tim to me in bed when he woke up. However, she did demand that I take her and Tim to Mass when he was all of 6 days old. He made quite of mess of things – mostly himself in a cute little yellow knit outfit with a matching blanket- and I was given the first clue that my life had truly taken a new course. Too quickly, my week of being pampered was up. Dad arrived to take Mom home. Bob and I were desperate. When Mom and Dad left we would be truly on our own with this new crying, demanding, and supersized chunk of humanity: Tim. I still remember my dad standing at the bottom of the stairs saying, “Don’t you know what to do now, Tiz?” I cried, “No, no, I don’t know what to do!” Bob shared my panic. He offered to pay mom (whom he still called “Mrs. Bridwell” at that point) if she would stay another week. Despite our pleadings, they got in the car and drove away. Tim was asleep. We uneasily stared at each other several times throughout his nap wondering what we were going to do when he woke up. Well, he woke up, and somehow we muddled along as parents , and now it's 30 years later. Despite my many shortcomings as a mother..
I tend to laugh at the wrong things and thereby encourage children to behave in the wrong way..
I have done and will do anything – and I do mean anything – to get a child to take a nap. That includes bringing them blankets, favorite toys, another bottle, glasses of water, rereading books just “one more time”, etc. You name it, I would do it. (Oh, did I mention they were anywhere from ages 0 to 29 during these attempts??)
My first reward of choice was always food – any and all varieties – some favorites of Tim’s were microwave tater tots, Little Debbie cakes, frost and flakes (a.k.a. “frosted flakes”), and various other foods he thinks he wouldn’t dream of buying HIS children .. (we’ll see..)
Bribery was always part of my arsenal. For a dollar, would you just do your own homework, find your own stuff, clean your room, go play by yourself, etc,? Despite my friends’ purported outrage at this technique (it’s not in any of the parenting books, you know, I made it up myself) , I know that when they saw how well it worked, they secretly went home and tried it with their own kids. So, I may have added more than my share to the overall downfall of the next generation….
At 9:00 PM , my shift ended and I would announce that I was no longer “Mom”, but “Tizzie.” This annoyed Tim to no end and prompted him to announce one night, “Well, if you’re not my mother anymore, then get out of my house!” Of course, I laughed loud and inappropriately at that one!
I could go on and on. Those of you who know me could no doubt add many more faults to my list.
But, somehow, in spite of being subjected to me for 30 years, Tim has prevailed and thrived. I would say that he proves the nature over nurture theory. I think he would’ve turned out wonderfully no matter who is mother was, but I got to be that lucky person. Happy birthday 30th birthday, Tim.
Loving and laughing,
I remain
Mom
P.S. Picture of the birthday boys 3/10/81; picture of Bob & girls 3/9/2011; Nancy's birthday card for Bob (we chose a "Possum Party" theme this year..)
P.S.S. By the time I figured out how to scan and load the picture of Bob and Tim, I had to forgo washing my hair (it's only been 3 days) and may yet have to show up at work in my pj's. But, I prevailed! I'm still hoping to brush my teeth.
