Last night Bear and his dear charming young miss were heard giggling and making all kinds of weird noises in the basement.
When I wandered down, pretending to do a load of wash I caught them in the act.
The act of watching old videos.
Family videos that I'd taken.
I'm no vid-e-ographer by any stretch of the imagination.
Many moments on the tapes are out of focus.
Some are so wobbly they look like they were taken from the deck of a boat caught in a storm.
And it's positively bloody red-faced run from the room embarrassing to hear my drone-y nasally voice commanding the children to heel, sit, speak....
But you know what else I hear...?
A mom who is fun
and a bit crazy, too.
I physically wince when I hear myself brush off one kid to "feature" another.
"NOT now, hang on, waitttttttt a sec, move over, I can't see...."
I'd like to go back and do it all over again.
Not every moment...just the times I did it wrong.
"Oh yes NOW..I'm all yours, move closer to me, let me see you, I see you."
Please know I always saw you.
Ouch....it hurts a little bit.
Hurts to know that I can't get that time back, they are grown.
All grown up.
But the tenderness was there, yes it was...even when my criticizing eyes and ears say I could have done better, I know I did the very best I could (most days, anyway).
The kids look at themselves and see things they don't like "Gawd Ma where'd you get that coat?"
"Who cut our hair? ..the lawnmower?"
Their jagged bangs and too short pants speak to me.
But not as loud as their smiles or their giggles.
The old videos are proof, beyond a shadow of a doubt that we laughed and danced and sang a lot.
That I let them (and a gaggle of their friends) take over my house, my yard, my heart.
That we colored Easter eggs and decorated Christmas trees and made snowballs so large they couldn't be moved..
I have moving picture proof of this...and also,
that their dad and I loved (and love) them more than anything in this world.
I'll take that kind of validation any day.
Cause you know what...?
I worked my ass off.
And seriously... there is nothing nothing wrong with that coat (or your haircut or the color of your bedroom walls) you freakin idiot(s)....
I hope they know that I expect some type of repayment for all that fine, well intentioned mothering they received.
In other words they better not kick me to the curb when someday I accidentally pee on their couch.