Speaking in Tongues - Part I

Post deleted 9-12-09. While it was extremely cathartic to write, it was very, very naughty. If you happened to read it, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am indeed a real mother.

Who Would Have Imagined?

Today marks our anniversary - over 20 years now. We were standing in front of a judge in a small town in Colorado right about now.

That is particularly difficult for me to fathom. Especially given the fact that I would never stay in the same apartment after my one year lease expired.

So here's to the next 20. Let the adventure, and the laughs, continue.

I'm pretty damn lucky. Honey, you rock.

End of an Era - A Comedy in One Act

Yesterday was my baby's last day of elementary school. Hard to believe that after eight years of walking those halls that smelled of crayons, tablet paper and library books, I never have a reason to go there again. Although I've never been a Dwell in the Past Person, it made me just a little wistful. So what's a mom to do?

Embarrass the hell out of him, of course.

Each year, the school holds a ceremony for the departing fifth graders. Even though I didn't attend the planning meeting, the committee asked me to write a song (hello, I'm a column writer thankyouverymuch). "Just a little something funny, you do funny, right?" Well, I sure try.

After thinking about it, I decided I could write a funny song - a rap. Because, of course, what would be funnier than a bunch of middle-aged moms trying to act like Snoop Dog and friends. Thus begins my career as a Rapper Mom, or Ms. D as one of the moms renamed me. And the kids didn't have a clue.

A go-to group of moms was completely game for this little project. Not only were they game, they were frighteningly into it. In fact, for maximum embarrassment, I recruited all of the fifth grade moms (only had about twelve takers though) to join us on stage.

The teacher set it up for us as a serious "presentation" and then I introduced it, not yet in costume. And as I'm sure always happens with just such stage events, there were glitches. Like the HUGE screen that blocked the stage not going up (we'd practiced bustin our moves like we'd have the whole stage and the other moms behind us). And in a fit of complete anxiety, not only did I manage to turn off the keyboard with my preprogrammed rhythms but turned it back on with the WRONG beat entirely - but close enough where it didn't matter. But thankfully no one experienced a wardrobe malfunction like Janet Jackson in our little production. Talk about scarred for life.

So, yo yo fifth grade moms, this is a shout out to all of you real mothers out there whose kids will go into middle school with the knowledge that their mother can, and will, embarrass them if necessary.

(edited 6-12-09 to add photo of Kris-co)

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.