I know this will come as quite a shock to you, but your parents aren't perfect.
I'll give you some time to let that sink in.
Of course this is no surprise when it comes to me. You remind me daily of all my shortcomings. You both know how to keep a woman humble.
Comments like, "Mom, why is your hair striped like a zebra?" and "Moth-ther you are so embarrrrrresssssinnnnnngggg." and of course the "Mommy, your boobies are little like mine," leave no room for ego-inflation.
But your Dad, well, he is a super-hero who can do no wrong. In fact, he is on such a pedestal that you beg me not to tell him even the smallest of your shortcomings. And it's certainly not because you fear some sort of crazy Father-wrath but simply because you think he is perfect and you want him to think that you are too.
Mia, you always ask me not to tell Dad if you have gotten in trouble, made the tiniest mistake, or even when you have a loose tooth ("I want to surprise him when it comes out. He'll be so excited.").
But the gig is up.
Remember this? Well, it didn't happen.
And yes, there was a race. A race that Mommy ran in pouring rain, horrific winds, hail, and freezing temperatures. It. Was. Miserable.
But Daddy wasn't there. He has this thing called a job. It pays the bills and puts food on our table and is truly one of the greatest blessings of our lives to date. And Sundays are insane. That's just the way it is for us. And that's OK.
(Oh and there is this minor detail: Your Father gave the training a decent effort and still HATES running.)
So I plan to move on to my next unsuspecting victims - you, my children. I have already spent a shameful amount of time daydreaming about how adorable you will look in tiny running gear with little numbers pinned to your chests. (Everything is so much cuter when it's miniature.)
And if running is not for you, I will still love you as much as I love your almost perfect Father, which is slightly less than I love running.
That last sentence is a joke, of course.
I'll give you some time to let that sink in.
Of course this is no surprise when it comes to me. You remind me daily of all my shortcomings. You both know how to keep a woman humble.
Comments like, "Mom, why is your hair striped like a zebra?" and "Moth-ther you are so embarrrrrresssssinnnnnngggg." and of course the "Mommy, your boobies are little like mine," leave no room for ego-inflation.
But your Dad, well, he is a super-hero who can do no wrong. In fact, he is on such a pedestal that you beg me not to tell him even the smallest of your shortcomings. And it's certainly not because you fear some sort of crazy Father-wrath but simply because you think he is perfect and you want him to think that you are too.
Mia, you always ask me not to tell Dad if you have gotten in trouble, made the tiniest mistake, or even when you have a loose tooth ("I want to surprise him when it comes out. He'll be so excited.").
But the gig is up.
Remember this? Well, it didn't happen.
And yes, there was a race. A race that Mommy ran in pouring rain, horrific winds, hail, and freezing temperatures. It. Was. Miserable.
But Daddy wasn't there. He has this thing called a job. It pays the bills and puts food on our table and is truly one of the greatest blessings of our lives to date. And Sundays are insane. That's just the way it is for us. And that's OK.
(Oh and there is this minor detail: Your Father gave the training a decent effort and still HATES running.)
So I plan to move on to my next unsuspecting victims - you, my children. I have already spent a shameful amount of time daydreaming about how adorable you will look in tiny running gear with little numbers pinned to your chests. (Everything is so much cuter when it's miniature.)
And if running is not for you, I will still love you as much as I love your almost perfect Father, which is slightly less than I love running.
That last sentence is a joke, of course.
3 comments:
Well, I took the Bodester and Greyson for a walk today. Bode insisted on running everywhere we went despite my attempts to make a non- runner out of him. You have succeeded.
When you mentioned the little running gear, I couldn't help but picture the three of you in red track suits a la Chas Tenenbaum and sons.
Well, you are doing a great job as a Mom and wife if your kids think that! And if you keep running, those kids will want to be a part of it in some way...look at me...5 years after his first marathon I finally started doing something other than take pictures!
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