Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Are You a Preschooler, Too?

As the mother of four, including twin preschoolers, I think my children’s behavior is starting to rub off on me. Much to my amusement—and my husband’s frustration—I’m acting more and more childish every day. My only comfort is in hoping that I’m not alone in my descent to the sandbox. Do you recognize any of these juvenile characteristics in yourself?

I don’t like to go to bed early. There’s just too much to do, and I’m afraid I’ll miss something! The kids are finally asleep, and now it’s time for me! Call me self-indulgent, but I want to savor this time to watch a movie, call a friend, surf the ’net . . . or just do nothing!

I love cartoons. I actually like Caillou, Max and Ruby, and Little Bear! These shows make me feel good. Everyone’s nice to each other. Everything works out well in the end. In other words, they don’t remind me of my real life! Children’s programming eases my troubled mind.

I like to curl up with a good book. Almost all children love to curl up with Mommy and a good book. There’s something soothing about getting lost in the characters, laughing at their antics and wondering what will happen next. I still find comfort in getting involved in a well-told story and grieve when it comes to an end. Like my kids, I beg for “more, more!” at the end of story time.

I like to have my own way. No marriage is perfect, and one of the biggest stresses is battling over the “right” way to do things. I prefer a dishtowel; my husband uses a sponge. I like carpeting; my husband wants tile. Often, I “give in” as a way to preserve the peace, but still I can’t help dreaming about having things all my own way. Like a toddler, I want it to be all about me, me, me!

I love to sing. Don’t you love how kids just belt out a song with no regard to talent? My dirty little secret is that I do, too—but not in public, of course. The scene of my crime is usually the car. I turn up the old eighties hits and belt them out. In my own little world, I can sing as well as Pat Benatar, hit the notes like Billy Joel, or make up the words I can’t figure out on Hotel California. It makes me feel good—and alive!

I don’t like to work. I admit it: manual labor is a drag. I don’t enjoy gardening in the hot sun. I dread cleaning the floors and windows. I procrastinate about pulling out the refrigerator for fear of what I’ll find underneath. I do these things because I’m a “good girl,” but I’ve never learned to enjoy them. Maybe I’m lazy, but I just want to have fun!

I get scared sometimes. Kids aren’t the only ones who develop irrational fears. I’m scared I’ll get in a car accident, we’ll get hit by a hurricane, I’ll develop cancer, something will happen to my kids . . . When I hear about the latest terrorist attack or deadly epidemic, I just want to bury my head in the sand and pretend it isn’t out there. Like a child crying out for his mommy, I want someone to tell me these things will never happen. It’s tough to keep a stiff upper lip in a scary world.

I wish someone would take care of me when I get sick. Mothers always fix the chicken soup and bring the blankets when the rest of the family gets sick, but who takes care of Mom when she’s under the weather? Usually, as I lay under the covers in agony, I hear, “Does this mean you’re not going to make dinner?” or “Can you still take me to Tommy’s?” For once, I’d love to be tucked into bed and told, “Don’t worry about a thing. We’ve got everything covered!”

I love things that aren’t good for me. I have a weakness for chocolate . . . and ice cream . . . and café lattes . . . and cookies . . . and fried foods. Okay, I know they’re not good for me, but sometimes I just need to indulge myself! Give me a mozzarella stick, and I’m a happy mommy! I know I should be eating “healthy” and counting calories, but chocolate has always been very good to me!

So if, like me, you’re having a hard time admitting you’re all grown up, decide to embrace your childishness! Join arms with your preschoolers, put down your stubborn little foot and say, “I like myself this way!” A little me, me, me can be good for you. After all, aren’t children the happiest people on the planet? Perhaps with a little childish behavior, you can love life, too!

1 comment:

  1. LOL!

    I love this . . . yes, I am a preschooler.

    E

    ReplyDelete

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