Full House
By Gwendolynne Larson
Originally published 01:09 p.m., April 22, 2008
Updated 01:09 p.m., April 22, 2008
“I’m a big kid, Mom.”
So said Aaron with exasperation in his voice.
Greg, of course, believes I’ve brought this declaration upon myself. My husband believes I molly-coddle our three boys, doing more for them than necessary.
I’m often walking them through their days, reminding them of all the things they need to pack for school the next day and telling them to pack the night before.
Or I dish up each dinner plate for them, taking into account their individual preferences. For instance, when we have burritos, I call each boy to the kitchen individually to build the burrito. And I’m always the one to roll them.
Greg groans.
In his world, one meal is prepared and everyone eats the same thing.
I’ve decided this is a Dad thing. I can long recall my father’s teasing rebuttal to my pickiness at dinnertime: “Eat what is set before you for such is the kingdom of heaven,” he’d claim the Bible said.
And if fathers believe their role is to teach children to take what life gives you and deal with it, then we moms feel our role is to show our children that at least one person loves them enough to move heaven and earth to make them happy.
All of the moms I know stress themselves out trying to accommodate everything for their children. Oh, we say no plenty of times when it comes to possessions, but when it comes to activities, social engagements and other difficulties, look out.
When three children have six activities on the calendar during a four-hour period, we give Gen. George Patton a run for his money figuring out all the logistics for getting the children everywhere they need to be.
When one calls and says he needs his track uniform in an hour and it’s home on his bed, we drop everything to race home and get the uniform and deliver it to school.
And when we discover that we’ve made the mistake and forgotten to send lunch money for an extracurricular activity, we leave work early and drive an hour to arrive before the meal so our child can eat.
Dads may say that disappointment builds character. Often, we moms agree and are perfectly capable of saying no when asked to buy new toys or gadgets. Still, we moms want to temper the disappointments. And it brings us up short when we realize we don’t always need to.
Last night, Alex was set to play in his final two junior varsity baseball games of the season in Herington. I asked another mom to adopt Luke and Aaron, who had commitments in Americus during the time we’d be on the road. Then I found out Greg had a meeting at 5:30.
“Can’t you miss it once?” I asked, knowing that every mom who serves on the board with him would understand.
“Mom, it’s no big deal,” Alex chimed in.
“It is a big deal,” I claimed. “You’ve only got three more years of high school for us to watch you play.”
OK, so I was getting emotional.
“Mom, I’m going to play baseball all summer,” Alex said.
Yep, my oldest son was definitely a big kid.
On the other hand, his mom has instilled enough of a soft heart in him that he knew I wouldn’t be happy when my youngest, Aaron, declared his independence from being a little kid.
“I’m a big kid, Mom,” Aaron announced as I tried to help him dish up his dinner.
“That’s OK, Mom,” Alex said. “You can fix my plate.”