I try to be a good mom. Sometimes I feel like I'm not so bad, othertimes I feel like I am. A group of moms with pre-school age kids in my neighborhood put together a list of weekly activities to do throughout the summer, such as waterparks, regular parks, the zoo. The first activity of the season was to Red Butte Gardens. I packed a lunch. Carpooled over with my friend Amy. Then spent several hours meandering through flowers and greenery and even heavily wooded areas in the middle of Salt Lake City. We let the kids run through the fountains, feed the fish and the Canadian geese. I was surrounded by a lot of my friends who all still have their babies and were busy changing diapers and running after their kids and it was extremely obvious to me that my hands were idle, my baby always gone. I didn't get home until after four.
The neighbor kids were out playing when we returned home. Bianca wanted to go ride bikes with the kids, so I grabbed my book--The Dive From Clausen's Pier--and sat on a blanket out in the front yard while she rode her bike. I don't know why, but everytime I come outside, I don't get farther then a couple pages in my book. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, the kids flock around me. I really don't get it. I'm not a kid person. To get them off my blanket, I decided to have a quick gymnastics lesson--cartwheels and handstands--which then turned into cheerleading stunts--shoulder sits and shoulder stands. I had every kid in a mile radius on my shoulders yesterday afternoon. Finally, I took my leave. I hadn't done my writing yesterday. I had to go inside. Ambria, the seven-year-old from the house next-door, asked, "Please can I come with you?"
"No, Ambria, it has to be quiet. I need to concentrate."
"I won't make a sound, please. I just want to watch you."
"Watch me what? Typing?"
"Yes."
"Fine. But no talking and no moving."
She sat there on the couch next to me (I got my laptop on Saturday so I'm able to take my writing wherever I go), and she didn't move. She just sat and watched. Surprisingly, it wasn't that distracting. She stayed for about 15 minutes, then was called home to clean her room.
7 a.m. next morning. Bianca was awake already, watching PBS Kids in the family room. I was slipping on my Nikes when she begged, "Please mom, let's go to the park while you 'extracise'." We have a new park behind our house that has a quarter-mile track around it--perfect for letting her play while I run. I wavered. "Okay, but no asking how many more minutes while I'm running."
"I promise. But can I bring Tig?" (Tig is our annoying little chihauhau who barks at anything, including me everytime I run past them on the track, which was approximately 18 times this morning. Finally, I jogged right past him and kicked him and that finally shut him up. I told Bianca we must never, ever kick a dog. She nodded, agreeing, I'd hurt Tig's feelings.)
I realized something as Bianca wasn't sliding down the slides or really playing at the park much--she just sat on the bench with her sidekick Tig and watched me go around and around the track for 40 minutes. I'm adored by my daughter (and possibly even the neighbor kids), and I'm loved, and I guess I'm not such a bad mom after all.
