My immediate response following something like the heart-crushing sadness of this week is to become A YES (WO)MAN.
It’s not even in a conscious way, I just do.
I guess in the simplest way, it’s just so hard to say no when I have the ability to say yes. And other mothers do not. My worries seem so simple compared to the worries of other mothers.
Yes, you can watch Jon and Kate Plus 8. Yes, you can wear your camp t-shirt every single day if you want to. Yes, let’s go for an evening bike ride. Yes, baked goods for breakfast! Yes, you can stay up late. Yes, you can just play one more level. Yes, let’s get pizza for dinner. Yes, I will get you that black pencil skirt you need to have. Yes, you can braid my hair. Yes, we can paint each others nails. Yes, you can stay in my bed and snuggle all night.
I’m even saying yes to my dog, you guys.
(who is walking who here really…)
Yes, we can watch the video of Dalton telling the story of Jack And The Beanstalk.
Like, more than we do during normal weeks.
Wait, you don’t know this video?
This is one of those things. One of those Martell family remember when things. You probably don’t even think it’s funny. But hoo boy, the Martells….we think it’s hilarious.
When I was in my last year of high school, I lived with the loveliest of families in Skokie, Illinois so I could go to a particular high school while my family did not actually live in that particular city. There was a story one of their daughters always told, and it became A REMEMBER WHEN THING. “Once when we were coming back from Camp Chi….we went over these…bump…bump…bump…” it’s not even funny when I write it out, but when I think about her telling this story about speed bumps and toll booth I always smile.
I have these THINGS with my own family, stories that are always brought up, that always make us laugh. We still talk about this one taxi cab in Boston where the driver kept his, um, bathroom breaks in a milk carton in the back seat of his cab which we somehow managed to, um, knock over. We still talk about this stupid doll I once had whose unfortunate name was Dirty Dolly and how my brother had a bear that moved to Israel, and about my grandparents calling my sister Wanda The Witch. See, I don’t even know. They are hardly funny when you write them, but I’m laughing like a fool over here.
And now I have these remember when things with my children.
Stories, videos, memories, inside jokes. Things you won’t think are funny.
Like, say, the fact that my children call all bruises Bruise Wayne because that’s what my son called the child-sized one I got when I took that nasty bum-breaking ass-over-teakettle tumble down our uncarpeted stairs. The stairs are now carpeted, but I can still feel it in my upper right butt cheek when it rains. And now all bruises are Bruise Waynes.
My kids will forever giggle when we cross borders and announce, “hey, remember when Mama had to pee in the McDonald’s coffee cup?” And when Isabella used to only say valinna instead of vanilla
and daddy had hand surgery three times and when Isabella sent her pacifiers to Elijah Wood and when Josh announced to an entire airplane that he farted in his own face and when Emily got stuck behind her bed and we ignored her and when Isabella was scared of the the burning bush and when Isabella cried for the cookie and when Petsmart totally scammed us into buying a giant fish tank.
I love that our little family has so many remember when things.
I hope one day they’ll remember those times I was a Yes (Wo)Man.
(Instead of the reason for it.)