I Scream Dreams

Pretty soon, the screaming will stop. Pretty soon, the screaming will stop. I count the books in the Borders store window. I mentally outline their sign. Pretty soon, the sceaming will stop. As if in response to my inner mantra, my daughter's thunderous tear-fed shouting diminished to a soul wracking struggle of sobs. I eye her cautiously. I offer a hand in a gesture, are you ready for me? She slaps my hand away and a new indignant wail ensues. Pretty soon, the screaming will stop.

I admire the Adventure Guide Mom in me. I pause to thank her. Thank you, AGM, for holding back my instinct to scream just as bloody hard.

Years ago, pre AG, I was a proud little bully of a mom. Do this, do that, no, no, no, stop, come back here, stop, do that again and you will lose your toy! My angelic son tolerated me for years. One day, during the Adventure Guide program, I realized my son was only a child, seeking to belong. And what was I doing? Showing him how out of place he was. I credit the program, but truly the people (Thanks, Sheltering Aerie! Running Spring! Lightning! and... LG , I forget your guide name, sorry! Thanks, Windsong! Thanks to all my Blazing Blackfoot sisters!) are who showed the light onto the path that I now strive to earn the right to walk.

The screaming is again subsiding. Rainbow Bunny learned earlier that I cannot afford to buy her a toy at this store. No. Correction. She learned that I refused to buy her a toy, am an evil mother, probably will starve her beyond recognition, and, of course, am likely saying mean things about her to her brother. "Afford" is not in her five year old vocabulary.

AG mom, where are you?


I am here, relax, don't worry. Everything will be fine. Ignore anyone who looks at you. (http://mom-101.blogspot.com/2006/11/sanctimommy.html) Outlast. Outlast.

Outlast? This volcano of emotion? AG Mom, you've spent too much time with patient, angelic Little Puffin. That's not reality. I steal a glance at my hyperventilating princess. That, that is reality.

Spending more time with my children over the past few years has improved me as a parent. Many parents, driven by the parameters of their lives, also drive their children to sports, from afterschool care, to a friend's house, to their next drop off point, but never truly spend time with them. By concentrating on Rainbow Bunny these past few days I've learned that she can swim "if I'm careful" in "the deep" (a resonant phrase for the place in the pool where toes cannot reach), she truly loves her brother ("No wait. He needs his goggles!) and ...sometimes... loves me, too. ("See my drawing? That's you!"). Because I have spent more time with her, I understand this too, shall pass.

Silence.

Without trying to show too much interest, I casually pick up my car keys. "Are you ready?" I ask. "Okay", is the heated reply, as Rainbow Bunny slams her bottom in her chair. She's not done being mad, but she wants to go home now. Now.

Ready, AG Mom?

Ready.