On becoming Marion

I have become my mother, as a mother. The other morning Zoe and I finished up eating breakfast. I was cleaning her face up as I usually really need to do when she is done eating and she is screaming like I am using a Brillo pad as she usually really needs to do. The screaming and flailing about all but guarantees a few spots will be missed but it looked as if a thorough job had been done. As I am putting her in her car seat to head to Cassie's I notice a slight bit of her new favorite topping, pumpkin butter, on the side of her cheek that must have been missed in the meltdown. Now a quiz; upon seeing this did I:

A. Run inside to get a wet napkin
B. Take out a wet nap, that most prepared mothers have at the ready for their kids but I never do, from her diaper bag
C. Lick my thumb and proceed to rub the spit-covered appendage on her face

If you guessed "C" you win. As a child (actually I must admit, although my mother is the one who should be ashamed, well into my teen years) I hated this. Every time she did this to me I asked why she would spit on my face. Why would a mother spit on the face of her child? Really, how sanitary can this be? But there I was, spitting on Zoe. I would like to say that I put my mind to work on other alternatives before I settled on using spit as face cleanser; but I didn't. I just instinctively licked by thumb, like it was in my DNA to do so.

Now for anyone who knows my mother and me, you know that me writing a post that we are alike is a little like me writing a post that the sky is blue. And, even better, me writing a post that I am surprised by having a similar parental instinct is akin to writing a post that I am surprised Zoe throws temper tantrums; I just should've seen it coming.

I sometimes wonder aloud what will be next. Is it inevitable that someday I will tell Zoe to "go outside and blow the stink off herself?" Will I say things like "just two more big bites" in reference to vegetables, no matter how much she has already eaten. Will I let her go on thinking that the special "family mac and cheese" recipe goes back generations when really it is the recipe on the back of the Mueller's box?

In all honesty, I hope so. I hope Zoe looks back on her childhood with me the same way I do with my mother. Sure, my mom did big, important things for me. But what I really remember is pretzel rods from Heritages and how she taught me to swallow a pill when it was the only way to cure my poison ivy. Yeah, her and my dad paid most of my way through college, but that's nothing compared to helping me bake three dozen fortune cookies for a school project she learned about 12 hours before it was due. Sure, she got me through teenage hair angst, but what I remember is hovering around end tables in the den with makeup and hairdryers as we got ourselves ready to go to a play in the only room in the house with air conditioning.

I could go on and on but Zoe is outside and I told her to be "within calling distance." Also, we are having goulash for dinner (see photo) with two big bites of peas on the side.

I love you. Happy mother's day to all the mom's that read this and cheers to all the quirks you have that your child will eventually pass along.

Paybacks are a . . .

Zoe has taken revenge. She is paying me back for the million times I said "give mommy kisses" or "say daddy" or "roll over again". She is playing my game and beating me at it using stamina that only a one-year-old could ever posses. I sing 'Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes' 456,786,955,645 times a day, and that's on weekdays when I work and only see her in the morning and evening. Weekend days that number triples. She could be totally engrossed in something the suddenly the need to hear that song overwhelms her and she puts her hands to her head and screams "EH" meaning, "Mom, I am making a song request." Sometimes and just go ahead and sing it, accepting my fate. Other times I try to win the battle and ignore it or, even funnier, try and reason with Zoe that maybe this is getting a little old. Neither of these strategies work; She has me trained quite well (or maybe beaten down). The blame for all of this lies squarely on the shoulders (and the head, knees and toes) of whoever bought her the Elmo music book where this song was first discovered. I've tried introducing other genres of music (a nice Megadeath song would seem better option) but she unfettered and possibly gunning for a space in Guinness Book of World Records.

So, I guess this week's milestone for those keeping track at home, Zoe now knows parts of the body.