Pecked by Ducks

I was flipping through one of those catalogues that come to the house of stuff you never buy, but love to look at, when I saw some plaques that I would never get, but that made me laugh. Out loud. Possibly with a snort, because my husband looked at me with his, “oh ya, she’s nuts” look. The first one read, “Having children is like being pecked to death by ducks”. Good imagery, often apropos, made me feel better. Another read “I child proofed my house but they keep getting in”. Unexpected ending, very funny. The last one read “Mommy drinks because you’re bad”. It’s possible that this is when I snorted. So wrong, so funny, wanted to e-mail it to my best girlfriends. I don’t generally drink, but it almost made me wish I did so I could say it just once. Well not to my kids, obviously, but just to say it. Okay, I was tired. Well actually I have been tired for about five years so that doesn’t signify, but it is a good catch-all excuse. The point is they made me laugh. And the one about the ducks really stuck. It tickled my imagination somehow. I think about it especially when I am trying to herd my little duckies around. Makes me feel better when things don’t go as planned.

I like having little things that get me through the day. My boys have a DVD called Meet the Letters. They watch it in the car. Our last au pair hated it almost as much as I do. She asked to come back from Sweden when they outgrow it so she could witness the ritual burning of that DVD. It shows pictures of letters and then repeats them over and over and over and so on. A… a…. A…. a….. A….. a….. A….. a….. A… b… B… b…B… b etc. My kids adore it. And it taught them all of their letters. Seriously. It’s why I suffer through it.

My husband’s group of friends call themselves the freaks. They are fun, funny, irreverent, loyal. We are all starting to have children. We cannot cuss. However, one of the freaks likes to say F as an expletive. Just F. Nothing more. He now has a child and I am assuming he has migrated on to other substitutions, but there you have it. F.

Back to that “Meet the Letters” DVD. When driving I don’t see it, I just hear it. Sometimes I am harried when I am in the car. Sometimes when I have given in and let them watch a DVD even though it is not a long trip because I need some quiet, the program gets to the letter F. f…. F… f… F… f… F… f…. F…. f….. F…. f…. F. Tee hee. Just that little something that helps get me through the day.

Quinn is 5. He’s my sensitive professor. He kicks my behind at racing video games, he reads, writes, does simple addition and subtraction and he is beginning to speak Spanish in full sentences. He is starting kindergarten in the fall. He cries when it’s time to turn off the computer for dinner or if the internet is out. He loves to go to the pool and playing soccer. He is not very coordinated and cries when other kids don’t play fair. I love him more than I had any idea was humanly possible.

Max is 3. He is my kamikaze kid. If there is an argument or an altercation, Max is in the middle of it. He loves to fling his body off high things, run, jump, yell, squirt water, and refuse to do what anyone says. I count to 3 a lot. I get to three a lot. I always follow through. Now, occasionally, I only get to 2. If he doesn’t kill himself, he is going to kill me with a heart attack. He loves to sing. He is on a John Denver kick right now. No, seriously, John Denver. I don’t even own any John Denver. He somehow knows all the words. Ever seen a 3 year old belt “leaving on a jet plane” or “country roads”? It’s awesome. We now watch a lot of John Denver on youtube. He loves to snuggle his mommy. I love him more than I had any idea was humanly possible.

Mostly, they are shockingly good kids. Mostly, I am a good mom. Sometimes having kids is like being pecked to death by ducks.