A Shout Out for All Real Mothers on Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day and I can hear the wrecking crew busily doing something in the kitchen. I have been banished to the basement. . .

In honor of all real mothers out there, here is my column from yesterday's Chronicle.

>“Hey Mom, where’s my ski helmet?” “Hey Mom, have you seen my homework?”

I know why my mother is losing her hearing: she wants to. After raising this chatterbox, she’s used up her allotment of hearing for this lifetime. She doesn’t want to listen to anyone anymore about anything. And I can see the very same thing happening to me.

“

"Hey Mom, do I have to practice piano today? Hey Mom, how long till Christmas?”

I haven’t had a complete thought over fourteen years. It started when I was pregnant. During pregnancy, your brain starts to short circuit in preparation for your child’s vocabulary development. Much like your body prepares for labor and delivery; hormones now help your brain vaporize all coherent thoughts upon formation.

“Hey Mom, what’s a prism? Hey Mom, where’s the milk?”

It begins as we coo over our adorable little bundles of joy. Operating under the delusion that our child is a Genius Baby, we mentally transform what in reality is a belch into their first complete sentence at 8 weeks of age. Before long, when the authoritative parenting books tell us they should know nine words, we’re quite certain that our intellectually superior tyke is actually saying sixty. Before long they really do know 300 words and use them all - before you’ve sucked down your first cup of morning coffee.

"Hey Mom, how do you find the area of a parallelogram? Hey Mom, how many days till school’s out?"

When they are babies, the interruptions signal basic needs – feed me, change me, hold me. me. When they are toddlers, the disruptions are physical in your role as Goalie Parent: moving fast enough to keep them out of harm’s way. But once they start talking you enter new and uncharted territory. You cross the threshold into the Stream of Consciousness Parenting Zone where every thought that enters your child’s mind is verbalized the instant it forms. While the inner monologue will eventually develop, don’t count on it anytime soon. Because you are now Mom, Interrupted.

“Hey Mom, why can’t dogs laugh? Hey Mom, how long till I can drive?”

Some women think they can outsmart the immutable laws of language acquisition. But it’s simply not possible. Once you’ve read the same paragraph twenty-three times, wave the white flag. It’s over. You might manage to read a caption in Time Magazine when they’re seven. But save yourself the frustration. You can read after they go to college.

“Hey Mom, where’s Oman? Hey Mom, have you seen my iPod?”

Pretty soon, lobes of your brain actually begin to shut down from the oral assault. The remaining functional lobes now operate more like a strobe light. Your auditory nerve begins to shrivel and go limp like a long forgotten piece of celery in the back of the fridge. You fear your ears might actually bleed if they tell you about that scene from Star Wars. Again.

>“Hey Mom, was there electricity when you were in school? Hey Mom, can we get a pet llama?”

But there will come a day when the interruptions will push you to the breaking point. The resonating sounds of the constant chatter threaten to reduce your ear canal’s hammer, anvil and stirrup into a tiny pile of dust. At some point, years of verbal tap dancing on the acoustic nerve will shrink your patience to zero and you will snap. And just when you think you can’t take it anymore, that’s when. . .

“Hey Mom. . .”

“WHAT??!!”

“I love you.”

Denise Malloy doubts she will get peace and quiet for Mother’s Day. But she remains hopeful.