When my children were small I use to worry about the day when their belief in Santa Clause disappeared in a haze of bloody booger meatball and teenage angst.
Luckily that never happened.
The tables have changed and I truly believe that my children go through with all of the family traditions and expectations for me. I am the one who is catered too.
"Santa is coming tonight Mama. Aren't you excited?" Shane said to me in between spreading the reindeer food and laying out the cookies.
He also patted me on the shoulder, sort of child like.
Waitaminute.
I am pleasantly surprised at how amazing it is no longer having small children in the home.
Once upon a time, I thought that teenager-dom would include slamming doors, rolling eyes and children running out on me at every opportunity.
My ex-husband once caught me on the floor in our living room crying when Shane turned 5.
"What is wrong?"
"Shaaaaane! He is growing up too fast!" *sob sob bitchfest and cry*
"Well that is a good thing!" He insisted
"A GOOD THING? How is that a good thing?"
"Well....." He thought for a moment "..... think of the alternative. If Shane stopped growing up...then he would sort of be dead."
*GASP!* "HOW is that comforting asshole?!"
"Well....Aren't you glad he is growing up now? Growing up is a good thing...being dead...not so much."
At that, I distinctly remember clutching my 5 year old son to my chest and sobbing into his bowl cut hair.
"Mom. I don't want you to cry. Wanna play Zelda?"
"Yes." I sniffed. And off we went to play.
Later, I did thank my husband for pointing out my ridiculousness.
"Thank you. You were right. Shane is much better 5 then dead."
" It's okay. You were right to cry too. That's what good mamas do."
(See what we did there? We were a good married people.)
My ex-husband had a point, and from then on whenever I got sad from my children growing up too fast, I did indeed think of the alternative, cuss him out in my head (because he was right) and celebrate the fact that Shane was 10...then 15...then 20.
I take great joy in my children being old. Yesterday I bought Emma a desk for Valentines Day and didn't feel the need to prepare it in a grand gesture for her.
"HAPPY VALENTINES DAAAAAAAY!" I squealed to her when she popped open her eyes and saw her huge new fluffy puppy and desk. (I am not one who believes in gifts on Valentines Day, but meh...she needed a desk.)
"THANK YOOOOOOOOU!" She exclaimed with delight and began opening it and assembling it.
"Wan't help?" I offered.
"Nope. I want you to relax."
Once Shane woke up she wandered up to him "Happy Valentines Day! Help me with my desk?"
Together they sat on the floor and worked on it. Shane cussed. Emma navigated the instructions and I called over every now and again with "DO you need help?" and "It looks wobbly to meeeee!"
(Which got me even more ugly looks from Shane and caused them to whisper at my expense.)
I loved it.
On Saturday, I braved 10 different stores to find Emma's Superstar ADIDAS that were sold out at 9.
I kept referring to them as A-Dee-Dee's and the children laughed together and patted my shoulder with kind condescending tones and "It's okay mom. I love my A-dee-dee's." and "I'm going to ROCK these A-dee-dee's on Tuesday like you don't even know."
I know what Adidas are and I certainly know how to pronounce them. (My high school boyfriend and I had a matching pair!) However, I receive immense joy letting my children think that I don't know what I am talking about ALL of the time.
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