You know you’re a parent when….

This was the conversation topic on my favourite new radio station, the other day. Needless to say it triggered a trip down memory lane.

The first memory that flashed before my mind was arriving home from a night out with my husband. I had just stripped off all my clothes and was about to jump into the shower when my youngest son, who was only a few months old, yelled out. I ran to his cot and picked him up and he threw up all over me. So, there I was, standing in my birthday suit, spray painted from top to toe in vomit and really in need of that shower.  

I remember attending my oldest son’s nursery school nativity play. He wasn’t a budding actor and loathed being dragged onto the stage. His teacher had bribed him with a present and Calvin had reluctantly agreed to be the back end of Mary and Joseph’s donkey.

I felt quite proud of my son as he and his co-actor, the front end of the donkey, managed to walk the donkey to the crib. The challenge then was that the donkey had to stand by whilst the rest of the nativity - the shepherds, the three wise men and the angels made their entrance.

This was a great test for my son, who has never been very good at standing still. It was December and hence the donkey costume must have been extremely hot. There were muffled giggles from the audience as the back end of the donkey started to fidget and lift one leg to scratch another and after a serious amount of switching from one leg to the other, unable to stand any longer Calvin sat down which caused the front end of the donkey to rear in surprise and tilt backwards rather like a begging dog. The seated, begging donkey had the audience in stitches. Of course the tears were rolling down my cheeks as I tried to suppress my hysteria.

The years have passed by so fast and toy shopping has been replaced with clothes shopping. Dylan and I have a special mom/son bonding ritual of clothes shopping together. However, Dylan has the ability to ‘DO’ an entire shopping mall without buying anything. We can spend hours searching and trying on clothes, with mother racing back and forth switching sizes and finding other combinations that might work. He looks absolutely fabulous in everything he tries on, but at the end of all the travail, he will elect to buy nothing or launch into a huge discussion why I need to buy him the most expensive, trendiest, designer wear.

The debate goes something like this -

Dylan, that is too expensive. 

Mom? It is quality and quality costs.

                                                                                                                 

I can’t afford to spend that much, Dyl                                                                                                                  

Mom, you and Dad have lots of money.                                                                                                                         

We only have money in the bank because we don’t spend it all on expensive clothing.

                     

Well, you wanted children... When I grow up I’m not going to have any children and then I can be selfish and spend lots of money on clothes for myself every month.

Both my sons took turns when they became teenagers to bemoan the fact that our family is dysfunctional and that we are not normal. I actually remember having the self-same conversation with my mom when I was a teenager. After some reflection I turned to my son and remarked that he was actually quite right, because the majority of parents are divorced and the fact that his dad and I are still married after more than a quarter of a century is proof that we are ‘not normal’.

My late Mom-in-law used to say: “When your kids are small they break your back, when they’re big they break your heart.” Perhaps I should add…. “and your bank balance too.”

Perhaps this piece has jogged your memory and you are giggling at the good, the bad and the funny memories you can recall from your past. I’d love to hear them.

Have an excellent week!

All my love

Nicolette