At a party, a Mom is telling a group of us that she asks her son to write her notes and leave them on her pillow, to help him communicate his feelings better. And I think, wow, that’s a really good mom. Maybe in the spirit of Mother’s Day, I should try it. Find out what my kids want to communicate to me.
So I sit them down and give them each a pen and paper – which immediately prompts all the ‘what are we doing, why are we doing this, are we in trouble, and is this for a grade?’ Clearly, no one has a problem speaking up, but let’s keep going.
I tell them to share some thoughts - maybe something you’re worried about, or want to happen – just anything you want to share with Mommy.
The first note on my pillow is, “You are the best Mommy in the world and you are so pretty and do so much for us.” Okay, I wrote that one. But it still makes me feel good.
From my oldest: “One thing I would like for you to do a little better job of is remembering what we tell you. Sometimes we ask you to call someone to play and two days later you still haven’t done it.”
I see. You mean – sort of like when I ask you to put all your dirty clothes in the laundry room? Or take out the trash? Why can’t YOU call your friend, you can program a series recording of “Duck Dynasty,” but you can’t use the phone? I crumple up the note and toss it at the overflowing trashcan.
From my youngest: “I don’t want to wear long sleeves or pants.” Understandable. You haven’t worn a coat in three years, it’s probably time to eliminate any clothing that covers your limbs.
“I want to go to Spain to see Barcelona play soccer and see some bull fighting.” Noted. And then:
“I want to have a nanny so you can have more time with us because you’re always doing stuff in the kitchen.” When I ask what he would like me to do with them he says, “Go to Spain! These two thoughts are connected.”
The rest of the thoughts are more like requests – a MacBook, a dog, cotton candy, Coke Zero, bunk beds, a fun babysitter, and a football field. These were supposed to be thoughts, not a letter to Santa.
So to the Mother of the Year at the party I would have to ask, how do you sleep at night? I couldn’t be hit with all this right before I go to bed. And I don’t want ink on my pillow shams.
I think if I want to get their thoughts, I’ll just take them out for yogurt.