Friday, February 21, 2014

My Non-Olympians

I really admire the dedication of Olympic athletes. It is amazing to literally, be the best at what you do, not only in your town, but also your state, the country and the world.   I know it takes years and years of dedication, which is hard to believe when some of these athletes are teenagers.
As I was watching the snowboarding event I was interrupted by my oldest who burst into the room wearing only his pajama bottoms. He proudly showed me his thumb, which was raw and the top layer of skin had worn off. "I have gamer thumb!"  He was so proud of it. As his pride escalated, my shame surpassed it.

Look what I have done.  I have created a "gamer". It has been a rough winter in the Midwest. Snow, rain, snow, more snow, wind and frigid temperatures. This has been going on since Thanksgiving. His gamer thumb is an obvious lapse in my parenting. A white flag saying, I can't come up with another thing for you to do inside, go play your video games.   If gaming was an Olympic sport, he would surely earn a gold medal. But it's not.  Neither is sewing, which my second son has taken up.  One day he decided he wanted to make an enormous doughnut pillow by hand. He would at least get a silver medal for hand stitching baked good replicas.  My third son's interest vary, but he is always very dramatic.  Sometimes his performance of being fatally injured at the hands of one of his brother's is so convincing even a trained actor believes him.  My last son would place in the top 3 of destruction.  Destruction of anything, Legos, Play-doh, egos. And for a three year old, he can come up with some pretty creative insults.  The other day he asked Jack if he had a bajina. He knows very well, Jack doesn't have a bajina, but not only is he using a word (pronounced incorrectly) he is not suppose to, he is calling his brother a girl in one fell swoop.

I'm not really painting my decade of parenting in a positive light am I?

My husband could win a gold medal for eating whatever he wants and not gaining a pound. That really should be a sport.  I work out more than I care to admit, and people don't notice. But my boss asked me what Don did because he was so muscular. Huh? Again, HUH?  I try very hard to not get annoyed with this, but its hard at times.  In fact, I believe Fin got the idea to sew a pillow after watching his father eat two krispy kreams in one minute flat.

Then there is me. This morning, like any morning I arrived back home from the gym around 6:45. This always shocks Oscar and he really thinks I sleep in the garage.  Usually he is alone sitting at the kitchen table waiting to be fed. Everyone else is asleep, despite setting various alarms around the house that apparently only a toddler can hear.  This is where my skills come into play.  Don can wake up, do the three S's, get dressed, eat like a lumber jack and be out the door in 10 minutes. Leaving me with a choir of boys who try and convince me in unison that it is Saturday and they don't have to go to school.

I manage to feed, clothe and herd, them all out the door and to school on time. Not to mention myself who can take a shower, give a spelling quiz, text a neighbor and get myself ready for work in enough time to grab my coffee and go. In addition to being a gold medal gamer, my son has learned to make my coffee and have it waiting for me on the table.

I get a quick glance in the mirror before I leave and realize that my combination of cardigan and messy bun which at one time was cute, now looks more and more like Mrs. Garret.   But, you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the Facts of Life, the Facts of Life.

Although we may not be flying down a hill on skies or going face first in the skeleton event we are achieving greatness in our own right.  I was so happy to see the commercials which highlighted the parents of Olympian's who have trained just as hard, just behind the scenes.

I know that none of my boys will be Olympic athletes, but you might just see a techie or Barista, a uniform designer or concession stand manager, a commentator and a demo crew on the sidelines which will make me just as proud.

My mom once told me she was so proud of me after I backed my car into a parallel spot, I was 35. Which proves that even the little things can make a mother's heart sing at any any age.

Greatness is achieved on a quieter unknown level also. It may not earn a Gold medal, but for a me, having a sip of the most perfect cup of coffee as I walk into work seems to cancel out our imperfections and  reminds me that I have a lot to be proud of.

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