Category: Life in General

If I ever feel the need for some extra attention, all I have to do is go to Walmart with some – or all- of my kids.

That wasn’t the reason why I did that today, but it only took about the length of an aisle or two to realize it makes a pretty good game plan.

Today, though, I needed pampers. And wipes. And ASAP.

So in a moment of lots of energy and irrational thinking, off I went with my four little ones that were home with me. And while I was already wandering through the endless aisles at Walmart, I figured why not do my weekly grocery shopping too. In truth, I can think of a lot of reasons why not to; but like I said, it was a moment of a lot of energy and irrational thinking..

I assumed we’d find one of the family size wagons; we didn’t.

Only one kid fit in the regular wagon; the rest of it was heaped high with stuff. That means the other three little guys were my foot soldiers.

And the attention we got! Every little old gray haired man and lady in the store stopped to “ooh” and “ahhh” and “G-d bless you”. And if I felt the need to draw some extra attention to myself and my clan, I casually added, “Oh the rest are at home!” to which I got more “G-d bless yous!” from the little white haired men and ladies.

While my energy and patience were intact, it was almost fun!

Funny how it is, though. Lots of oohs and aahs from the little old folks; and lots of stares and some glares from the random moms around the store. No “G-d bless yous!” from them. But I suppose I can’t blame them; us moms are an interesting bunch, we’re too sleep deprived to be impressed or care about anything other than some shut eye.

And the kids behaved pretty well, too.

Ok, I’ll admit it. The bribes grew accordingly. Ices at the end. We picked it out in the beginning, left it in the freezer, and would go back to get it.

So when my six year old climbed into a cozy spot on the tissue shelf (that was kind of beckoning to kids) I just reminded him about the ices.

And when my three year old went to hide in the clothes rack (why does every kid do that??) I just reminded him about the ices.

And when my four year old started giving the one year old a free ride in the wagon while I bent down to get something, I just reminded him about the ices.

And when they sneaked 15 boxes of instant pudding into the wagon (look, its kosher!) And when they emptied the cereal shelf. And when they each chose a bottle of sunblock so we could have for the summer. All I had to say was “ices!” and all was back to normal.

Oh, and the apple juice boxes and dried pineapple helped too.

An hour and thirty minutes later, I was done. And I don’t mean just my list.

I mean I was done; done with my energy, done with my patience, and done with getting attention.

Walmart gives me a headache on a regular day. Today was exceeding them all.

And this little old lady at the register wasn’t the same as all the rest of the old folk shoppers; she wasn’t impressed. She was trying to work quickly; so was I.

But I also had to settle the kids with their ices so it could go as smoothly as possible. And without fanfare.

This little old lady hurt her arm and couldn’t move it much. I tried one of my best tactics reserved for when you want to get on someone’s good side or get good service from a cashier; I told her how difficult it must be to work with a sore arm and what a trooper she was.

I think we became best friends.

I bid farewell to Walmart and all its little old gray haired ladies and got my troops back in the van. Loaded the dozens of bags in the trunk and drove off…until next time.

“You’re such a calm mother. You don’t get all stressed out about your kids.”

Hmm, I had to think that over.

Was that a compliment or an insult? Does that mean I let my kids get away with whatever they want? Or does it mean I’m flexible? 

I wasn’t sure. But it did leave me wondering, what type of mother am I, anyway?

Did I choose to be a certain way, or did my kids choose it for me?

Am I the mother I dreamed of being, or the mother my kids dream of having?

I tried to think back to the mother I dreamed of being, the one I imagined before I met my adorable, mischievous, fun loving, energetic clan.

I thought about the socks. Yes, socks. They play a big role in my transition from the mother of my dreams, to the mother of my kids’ dreams.

I love when kids have socks and shirts that match. I love turquoise socks that match a turquoise tshirt of a little two year old; bright yellow socks that match perfectly with a three year old’s top. Whatever the color, I always had a thing for anything but black and white; I just liked it. And I knew how I’d dress my kids; I had all the colors for all the outfits. It just looked so neat and sharp.

And then I was blessed with kids. My oldest started walking. He got shoes. Hooray, now for sure the socks won’t fall off!

Apparently he didn’t like socks. And he would take them off and go barefoot whenever possible. And the oldest sure sets the tone for the rest of the kids.

My kids love to go barefoot.

The mother of my dreams despises when kids are barefoot; to me it looks like they belong in a third world country. It looks unkempt. Dirty. After all, I’m a city girl. We don’t go barefoot.

The kids got older. They still like to go barefoot. And as soon as we arrive anywhere, most of them have their socks and shoes off. There’s not a house we visit that doesn’t have a souvenir of our stay – a sock in some random size, found under the couch.

And the van. On my most recent cleaning, I found 7 single socks. Of course the rule is you must take your shoes and socks out of the van with you. But when I’m holding the baby in one hand, four bags in the other, trying to get my kids out before they detour to the front seat to test the horn…well, I’m not always remembering to remind them. And in the excitement of coming home, the socks stay behind.

And I realized my kids gave me a choice. Will you be the mother of your dreams or the mother of our dreams? Will you force us to be the way you like, or will you let us be the way we like? Will we have the talents that you want, or the talents that we want?

And sometimes it’s the former, and sometimes it’s the latter. I draw the line at safety!

They give me choices all day long.

But the socks have taught me a lesson.

I still don’t go in the backyard barefoot. But they can go.

I still can’t handle walking on a kitchen tile floor barefoot. But they can like it.

And they will have dirty feet. And I will be the mother of their dreams, who loves them more than silly mismatched socks.

So I simplified. Each child has a different color sock. Neutral colors that match everything. 3 and 4 year old have beige, 6 year old has brown etc They have lots of their color. And if one goes missing, it doesn’t drive me crazy because they all match up with each other. I look for ways to eliminate the stress. There’s a sock bucket in the garage so they can put their socks in there before they get lost in the unknown corners of the house. And a sock drawer in the laundry room where everyone can find their new socks.

And if letting go of the mother of my dreams is the solution, well then that’s the way I choose to go.

Although I still do sneak in a few argyle socks for Shabbos, at my own risk. And yesterday we were all in the car, ready to roll. My three year old was so proud, strapped in to his seat by himself and announced he even put on his socks and shoes. I glanced over my shoulder. One black and red argyle; one beige. I smiled.

Boy have I come a long way!

And when I see the kids pushing the couch across the room, a big no-no of the mother of my dreams, I take a deep breath. They’re giving me a choice. They know what’s ok and what’s not. But they’re challenging me; will I “play along:” and lose it or will I ignore it and not give them the negative attention?

In the mother of my dreams, I didn’t imagine a houseful of boys. I didn’t know what roughhousing really was. I didn’t know how high boys like to climb. I didn’t know what the boys’ version of fun was.

My kids have taught me. They’ve trained me.

And I discovered that you can’t necessarily have both ways and they don’t always overlap; I need to make choices.

Will I be the mother of my dreams, or the mother of my kids’ dreams?

No, I didn’t choose what type of mom I’d be. My kids did.

They made me the mother that I am. And they continue to do that every single day.

And the truth is, their version of the dream mom is way more realistic and practical than mine.