On the 4th of July we went to a party by the Lake. Little Glowie had some mixed feelings about swimming cuz she thought the lake/seaweed stuff might try to get her.
Perfectly understandable. So the TaxMan walks her to the dock, cuz she wants to jump in and swim to the beach. But she panics and can’t.
Then I take her, pretty sure the reason she didn’t go is cuz her dad pressured her. Nah, she won’t go for me either. But she does eventually go with some other kids. All 34 pounds of her 7 year old self.
Off the dock, into the lake, swimming (the dog paddle, cuz hey, she’s not putting her face IN THERE).
And then, she starts screaming. Just loud, scared, did I say loud? Screams.
So I say, in my meanest, hissingest Mommy voice that everyone can hear – Glowie – stop screaming. Look at me and swim. You can scream when you get to shore. (Hey, we could have jumped in any time, but this was going to be a win for her dammit. And I didn’t really want to jump in there with all that lake/seaweed stuff myself!)
A few more blood curdling screams and cries and the lake stuff touched her legs. But she kept her eyes on me and in she swam. And we had our joyous moment, celebrating her bravery, her willingness to push through the fear and really accomplish something.
Whoo Hoo! So while she is in the outside shower, and I am holding a privacy towel up and begging her to HURRY UP, I try tucking the towel into the shower thingie. And I knock a huge piece of dry, rotted wood down – ONTO THE TOP OF HER HEAD. So I’m holding up the broken piece of wood, while now standing in the shower myself, while holding my screaming kid up to me, telling her how sorry I am that that happened.
She is screaming the words: Goose Egg.
Yes Baby, you are going to have a goose egg. One helluva Goose Egg. Mommy is so sorry.
Clean, dried and happy.
During dinner, she silently gets up and stands right off to the side next to me. I am telling a story and gesticulating wildly (cuz how else do you tell a story?) and my elbow cracks into her face.
Oh Baby, Mommy is so sorry. Oh Honey you were so close and I didn’t see you. Hugs, hugs, hugs. But now I’m starting to get Glowie-worn-out.
Now we go to this little hill to watch the Fireworks over the lake. Glowie wants to play patty cake (do you know this one? Lemonade, Ice Tea, Coca Cola, Pepsi???). Our friend Dennis says: Come over here Glowie and teach me.
Lemonade. Clap. Iced Tea. Clap. Coca Cola. Oops.
That patty cake had a little more power behind it (hey, Dennis IS a former Marine – he really puts some muscle into Patty Cake, Dammit!) Chloe lost her balance and pitched over backwards, ready to plunge down the hill.
It is only a last minute grab to the bottom of her t-shirt that Dennis is able to avert disaster and keep Glowie upright. There is more screaming, more comforting, more holding.
Now she’s got a goose egg, a black eye, and a torn T-shirt.
So when I say my little one is a handful and people say, ah, she’s not that bad – she only weighs 34 pounds, how could she be a handful?
People … This was just three hours in the life of Glowie and her Mom. And people wonder why I have all these odd nervous twitches.
Poor kid! What are the chances of all that happening in one afternoon?
ReplyDeleteTara! LOL - the odds are pretty good with this one. She is small, not very coordinated and fearless. Turns out, that's a bad combo!
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