Category Archives: conversations to remember

WHAT?!

Toddlers don’t make a whole lot of sense.

This is a conversation I had with Riley a few days ago in the garage while I desperately attempted to get him buckled in his car seat so I could drive him and his brother to school on time.  Our preschool has a twenty-minute drop-off window in the morning.  They are smart people who know what’s happening in garages all over town each morning.

Me: Riley, get in the car.

Riley: No.

Me: Riley we’re going to be late for school.

Riley: But I have to tell you something.

Me: Tell me in the car.

Riley: No.

Me: Fine.  I’ll buckle Dylan and then you’re next.

Me (after getting Dylan situated, five-year-olds are easier to get in the car than three-year-olds are…most of the time): Are you ready to get in the car?

Riley: Not yet.

Me: Riley!  We’re going to be late.  Come on.

Riley: But I have to tell you something.

Me: Fine.  Tell me.

Riley: Well… (long pause)

Me: Riley, if you get in the car now, I’ll let you have milk in the car.

Riley: Not yet.

Me:  Okay.  Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?

Riley (with a big, mischievous smile):  The hard way.

Editor’s Note: The hard way would’ve required me to physically move Riley from the spot where his squishy legs were firmly planted to the floor to the car seat where I would’ve had to (1) wrestle his tushie into the actual car seat, (2) hold him down with brute force and (3) employ ninja techniques to secure the five point harness without losing ground.   With both of my hands busy doing “hard way” things, my body, and in particular my head, would’ve been vulnerable to toddler attack, and I would most likely have gotten slapped in the face by a rogue squishy hand somewhere along the way.  The Runaway Mama doesn’t like having to do things the hard way.

Me: Riley, I’m counting to five.  One.  Two.  Three.

Riley: Well… (long pause)

Me:  Four.

Riley: Well… (long pause)

Me (in a sweat): Five.  Okay, now you’re making me do this the hard way.

Riley:  No!  Wait!  I have to tell you something!

Me: WHAT?!

Riley: The truck stops at the short cut.

Me:  The truck stops at the short cut.  That’s what you wanted to tell me?

Riley: Yes.

Me: Thank you for telling me.  Now get your butt in the car.

Riley: Okay.

See, toddlers don’t make a whole lot of sense.

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Filed under conversations to remember, toddlers

Priceless

Yesterday, I had the privilege of hearing two priceless conversations. The first one went something like this:

Dylan: “Riley, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Riley: “A firefighter!”

Dylan: “Riley, you don’t want to be a fire fighter.  If you’re a fire fighter, you have to go in fire, and if you go in fire you will get burned and you will get hurt.”

Riley: “Well…(long pause)…but…(long pause)…I’ll wear my seatbelt.”

That one happened in the car on the way to the mall.  I wrote it down immediately because I want to remember it forever.  I needed to return a belt at Macy’s and both boys insisted on coming with me.  This was not a mission on which I would typically encourage them to join me, but I was headed to the theater in the afternoon to see “Billy Elliot,” and I figured Mike would appreciate an hour to himself before I left him alone with the kids for the rest of the day.  Also, I knew the boys would love going up and down the “escavator” (escalator) at the mall.  (They did.)

The second conversation I heard was at the theater later that afternoon between Billy and the unnamed person interviewing him as part of his audition for the Royal Ballet School in London.  During the exchange onstage, Billy was asked, “What does it feel like when you’re dancing?”  His response was:

I can’t really explain it, I haven’t got the words

It’s a feeling that you can’t control

I suppose it’s like forgetting, losing who you are

And at the same time something makes you whole

As a (former) dancer, this response was perfection.  It described the indescribable sensation of dancing better than I’d ever heard before.  As I sat in the dark theater – nostalgic about my own experience as a dancer many years ago – it also occurred to me that it sounded a lot like what it feels like to be a mother.

That day had been a good great mommy day for me, and it wasn’t just because I spent the afternoon and early evening at the theater without my kids.  Even though the day started at 6:15 a.m. (thank you, Riley), there was no guilt, no yelling, no time-outs, no pee or poop accidents, no fights over food, and no desire to not come home from the theater (pardon the double negative). On the contrary, we survived – and enjoyed ourselves – at Costco, the mall and the “escavator” earlier in the day, and by the time the show was over and the post-theater drinks and dinner were consumed, I couldn’t wait to get home and quiz Dylan and Riley about every minute of their day that I missed.  I couldn’t wait to feel whole again.

I’m a Grateful Mama that I overheard my boys talk about their dreams as only three- and five-year-old brothers are capable of doing, that I had the chance to watch an inspirational story unfold about another little boy realizing his dream of being a dancer, and that I had the priceless opportunity to see how my own dreams, past (dance) and present (motherhood), made me feel the same – “…like forgetting, losing who you are, and at the same time something makes you whole.”

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Filed under conversations to remember, dreams, Grateful Mama, motherhood, theater