Parenting | BulgingButtons

April 9, 2014
by BulgingButtons 4 Comments

This Could Be the One

My house has been on the market for almost 7 weeks. I’m told the current average time on the market is around 11 weeks. I wish to beat that time, but I can only do so much.

I got a call earlier this evening from a realtor who would like to bring her client by tomorrow. Yay. It’s been several days since anyone has looked at the house. If they don’t come, they won’t buy. A showing is a good thing, and I’m happy that there’s one scheduled.

I’m also tired of it. Not of the showings, exactly, just of the preparation. With every showing there’s a renewed flurry of activity, in addition to the already expanded daily routine. I know I should quit complaining about it, but it’s wearing on me.

I’m starting to feel even more like a nagging mother than usual. “Make your bed, put away your laundry, dust your bookshelves, clean your toilet.” On and on it goes. I don’t like being this kind of mom. I don’t want to freak out if there are fingerprints on my son’s bathroom mirror or if he leaves a pair of socks in the hopefully named “media” room (aka spare bedroom). Both of those things happened today, and I found myself relieved that nobody saw the house in “that” condition. I want us to be able to relax a little and not stress out over trash cans with trash in them or the occasional book or magazine left on a side table.

For now, though, we have to keep tidy. Whether we realize it or not people make decisions based on irrelevant stimuli all the time. I don’t need anyone deciding that this house is wrong for them because there’s a toothpaste tube on the vanity or the shower curtain hasn’t been closed. Stupid stuff, but the brain works in mysterious ways, and I don’t want to give anyone’s brain any reason to say no to this house.

I’m guilty of these silly judgements myself. I know that when I tour homes I want to see clean, tidy houses. I want it to be clear that the seller knows that they are trying to sell. I don’t want to be distracted by the age of the furniture or the color of the walls or the collection of judo trophies on a shelf.

Over the years, I have seen homes in all sorts of conditions, from vandalized, filthy, and falling apart wrecks to the beautifully designed model homes of top builders. My home is none of these, but with a lot of effort hopefully it is closer to the model type than the dump type.

This is a great house. It will make someone a great home. I think they may be stopping by tomorrow, so I have to go. I want to make sure they feel welcome.

March 31, 2014
by BulgingButtons 14 Comments

Sixteen Years Ago Tonight

Sixteen years ago tonight I was in my second long day of labor.

Sixteen years ago tonight I watched my then husband and my then mother-in-law play cards as they waited.

Sixteen years ago tonight I walked around the outside of the hospital grounds in two surgical gowns (one open in back, the other open in front) and a pair of tennis shoes.

Sixteen years ago tonight I was vaguely aware of the inaugural game of the Arizona Diamondbacks baseball team.

Sixteen years ago tonight there was a commercial for a pesticide company on tv featuring a kitchen infested with roaches. I detest roaches.

Sixteen years ago tonight I was actually happy to have someone insert a needle into my back.

Sixteen years ago tonight I told my then husband that next time he would go through this experience instead of me. There was no next time.

Sixteen years ago tonight I worried that a child born on April First might be teased.

Sixteen years ago tonight I felt myself drifting above myself and hated the feeling. It passed before too long.

Sixteen years ago tonight I was attached to a heart rate monitor.

Sixteen years ago tonight the nurse couldn’t find a suitable vein in my arm so she used my hand and gave me a tremendous bruise.

Sixteen years ago tonight my mother and father came out in the middle of the night to see their first grandchild.

Sixteen years ago tonight I visualized my happy place, a warm jacuzzi surrounded by palm trees and clear blue skies.

Sixteen years ago tonight I was almost ready to give up on labor and ask for a c-section.

Sixteen years ago tonight I found my strength. I would need it for the days my baby was in the NICU.

Sixteen years ago tonight I thought I was ready.

Sixteen years ago tonight March became April, and I became a mother.

March 20, 2014
by BulgingButtons 6 Comments

My Son the Athlete

My son plays high school sports. I thought I would never type this sentence, but it’ s true. He plays tennis and golf, and enjoys them both a great deal.

His father is a natural athlete. He was an all-state football player in high school and played on a semi-pro basketball team (whatever that is) in his youth.

I, on the other hand, am not an athlete by any definition of the word. Oh sure, I played intramural basketball in junior high, and I played on the co-ed rec volleyball team for a season, but I was awful at both.

My son takes after me in many ways; most of them I’m proud of. Athletically, however, I wish he were slightly more like his father. Still, he has come a long way.

When he was small he hated to crawl. He was much happier just being carried from place to place. Once he finally mastered that crawling thing, usually with a pathetic outstretched arm in the hopes of a pity ride, he took forever to learn to walk. At last, at nearly a year and a half, he figured it out.

Bike riding was similar. He got a slick bike with training wheels around kindergarten age. It wasn’t my idea. I knew he lacked the coordination for it, and I was right. It sat in the garage for a long time, next to the battery powered mini-motorcycle (also not my idea). They both gathered dust until one day he decided to try it again. Of course by then he was much bigger. Still, it wasn’t his thing. Finally, in the fifth grade he received a new bicycle, one suitable for a ten year old, not a five year old. We took him to the park, he rode on the grass, and he finally learned. He was rewarded with a twenty dollar bill found in the parking lot. I guess the gods were pleased.

This boy has tried gymnastics, basketball, flag football, and tackle football. He never quit any of the sessions for which he was enrolled, but he also wasn’t exactly a super star. That was okay with us and okay with him. He has lots of other talents, so if he wasn’t an athlete no big deal.

Then came high school. One day I picked him up from school and he announced that he had joined the golf team. The golf team? He had never even held a golf club as far as I knew, aside from a few games of mini-golf. They told the kids that no experience was necessary, so he tried it and liked it. A lot. Now he golfs and has a varsity letter.

He also plays tennis. This is something he has done for years in the summer. My mom is a big tennis player, at least she used to be. She has signed up all the grandkids for tennis lessons, so my boy was familiar with the sport. Still, a week here and a week there does not a tennis player make. Last year as a freshman he decided not to try out, but this year he went for it. The other day he played his first varsity match, and he was happy.

I’m so proud of my athlete. I’m proud of him for finding his own way and sticking to it. I’m proud of him for working hard to improve in both of his sports, and for enjoying himself along the way. I’m proud of him for not giving up when it gets difficult or when he is defeated in competition. I’m proud of him for being a good teammate and for never missing practice. This boy constantly impresses me. I can learn a lot from him. I’m proud to be his mother, even if I’m not an athlete myself.