Sunday, June 30, 2013

I am, I am, I am Supermom....

I admit it, I took my role as supermom a little too far. Maybe it was the somewhat successful trip to Target, or the enforced bed time that led me to the false assumption I could take them to a baseball game.   It's all my sisters fault.  She had free tickets and offered to give them to me, plus one of my younger boys was on a playdate, so I thought I could handle 3 alone. I was mistaken.
I have not been to a baseball game that did not involve one of my own children since I was in my 20's.  This isn't even a major league park, just a local one, that is actually pretty nice.
As I was using all my upper body strength to force the 3 year old in the stroller, I should have realized this was not a good idea, but I didn't trust my gut.   Speaking of guts, there were a lot on display.
I try and have an open mind, and I understand that people come in all shapes and sizes, but what is great about living in 2013 is that clothes also come in all shapes and sizes. I will be damned if this women didn't know this.
When we turned in our vouchers for our tickets the ticket guy informed me that we didn't actually have seats, only the field. That was fine, but now I was cursing my sister because this was all her fault.  Her excuse was that she "had to go to mass" sure.  She knew what she was avoiding.
The other thing I forgot about baseball games is the mandatory cleavage.  I didn't get that memo.   Not that I have any to be showing off anyway.  However, just the other day while we were on our way to the pool I had to pull into a 7-11 and get cold drinks for everyone. The insulated bag was in the back buried under floaties and noodles and I had to bend over to get it.  In this neighborhood a mom bending over into a minivan in a pool cover up must be a hot ticket.   A car honked, a cat called, a guy sucked his teeth at me and I even got a whistle from a guy who was standing only about 4 feet away. That was creepy.  The bag was way way at the bottom of the trunk.  Parker appeared to be concerned.  "How did that guy do that?"  I assumed he meant why and began explaining that some guys are stupid and not gentleman like , then he interrupted me and said he wanted to know how the guy whistled so loud without using his fingers.
Maybe 15 years ago I would have felt violated or concerned for my safety, but that day I was almost welcoming a confrontation. I had a baseball...well ok,  t-ball bat in the back of my van and I would be happy to put it to good use, if I had the energy, which honestly I didn't.
As we made our way through the $5 popcorn stands and $4.50 cotton candy vendors we approached the bouncy house park.  As soon as I realized that the park had one, I knew that the action of the baseball game would go unnoticed by my boys.
$5 each later we were bouncing. Except that every other kid in the county was there and apparently without a parent and the lines to the bouncy slides and houses were all the way to Michigan.  Someone who does not understand the concept of a line is my 3 year old.  He also doesn't understand being forced to wear an admission bracelet or the words "get out".  Sometimes I wonder if I'm going to break his arm from lifting him with it when he drops like a sack of potatoes, but so far he is part Gumby.
He quickly got the reputation with the other kids as the kid who cuts and there was a universal solidarity to keep him from doing so.  Some how the other kids learned his name.  Trust me, he was not the only kid cutting.  But what I noticed is that there were not a lot of mothers around. A lot of fathers drinking beer but not a lot of moms except me apparently.
The two older ones stuck together and I was stuck with Mr. Congeniality.  We waited in line for at least 5 minutes for the sky scraper slide. It would have been shorter, but kids kept cutting.  Finally it was our turn and Oscar took his time climbing the ladder.  When he reached the top, he turned around and what I thought would be an expression of exuberance, was that of terror.  He was screaming so loudly that kids up there were covering their ears.  And he was screaming "mommy!" which is the worst word because I know I'm the only one who can rescue him.  The worker was as sympathetic as any high schooler Carney working a summer job.  I made eye contact with my other sons. I motioned for them to help me and they acted like they didn't see me as I flailed my arms and screamed "I need you!"
By this time the growing line of kids and dads were getting very impatient.   So I kicked off my flip flops and started climbing the ladder.
If I haven't mentioned before, I don't like heights.  I don't like rides and I don't like having my butt front and center as I climbed the stairway to heaven.
I made it to the top and suddenly I completely understood where Oscar was coming from, we were on top of the Sears tower.  Where was my mom when I needed her?  I couldn't climb back down the ladder because I would have had a mini heart attack. My only choice was to go down.  Oscar was having after shock screams as I told him our plan. We only had a choice and the mob at the bottom was growing increasingly more impatient.  I put him on my lap and we slid down.  I hadn't anticipated the added weight and my short shorts riding up my butt to expose the rarely seen skin to the material of the slide which was not at all lubricated.  I know, the thought of a lubricated slide belongs more at a girl on girl wrestling tournament.  (P.S. Don't ask me how I know about that.) So it only made sense that it was as dry as a desert.   If it was a less steep incline I would have stuck but we squeaked down and it burned the entire way.  At the bottom my butt was on fire and I actually tripped over my flip flop trying to get off. One guy clapped. I wasn't sure if it was for my bravery, my grace or the fact the line was moving again.
Clearly an experience that would scar a child. His reaction was to promptly put himself at the end of the line.
Enormous bouncy slides are my kryptonite.  All the strength I had as supermom had been exhausted.  I gathered my boys, passed the teenagers making out, the sprinkler park, the playground, the helicopter dropping marshmallows from the sky, and demanded everyone leave.  I did sweeten the deal with the promise of cotton candy.
This was an experience that made me realize that I have not made it to supermom status just yet. I may need a few years, or need to study the greats like, Clair Huxtable or Marie Antoinette, although I don't believe she made it to be a mother, but she did suggest that everyone eat cake. And here I was letting them eat cotton candy despite the sugar rush later.
I have only been a mom for a decade so I have much more time to earn the title.  I may even look closer to home, to my sister going on 18 years (who knew better than to go to this game) or even more super, my mom going on 45 years of motherhood.  She is the one I still need after all, and yes, I just revealed my sister's age.  You know what they say about I figure we will have enough time to work on sibling relationships later.

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