The Fairly Odd Mother

I Love My Type B Kids

July 2, 2009

To my children,

There’s been a lot of talk lately about us moms being “bad” or “Type B” which I take to mean that we aren’t fitting into what society has tried to feed us as the New Rules of Mothering. Instead, we may let you watch too much TV, eat sugary cereal, jump on the couches, go outside without the right coat, pick your nose, or draw all over your body with magic marker, all in an attempt to eke out a little “me” time to work, meditate, watch Oprah, sneak cookies or whatever.

And, while I can’t speak for everyone, I think I’m getting good results for my less-than-perfect effort. You guys are good kids, even with my lack of patience, short attention span, intermittent distractedness, and penchant for using electronics to buy myself some time alone.

I know I could do some things to be a better mom, but this isn’t a one-way street kiddos: you could step up your game too. In other words, if you want your mom to become that Perfect Specimen of Motherhood, you’re going to have to make some changes too.

For example,

1. If I cheerfully ask if you’ve done your morning chores, you will not look at me blankly, as if you’ve never heard the term “morning chores” even though we both know that they are written on a piece of paper hanging outside your bathroom door.

2. If I carefully create a full-course dinner with representation from all the major food groups using organic foodstuffs, you will eat it all cheerfully and proclaim me the best cook ever. You will not tell me that “dinner is yucky”, refuse to touch anything on your plate and then whine that you are h-u-n-g-r-y after I’ve cleaned up the dishes.

3. If we sit down to play a rousing game of Candy Land for the 10th time of the morning, you will not flip the board over in protest when you end up with Plumpy. No, a Type A Mother would not shuffle the cards to send you back to the beginning.

4. If I were to shut off your Lego Star Wars video game or your Webkinz session because I just want to spend more quality time with my children, you will not proclaim that I am “stupid” and that you want to “kick” me.

5. At bedtime, if I were to make it through our multi-step bedtime routine of PJ’s- brush teeth – story without yelling or complaints, you will not then jump all around your room until 9pm. No, a Type A child goes straight to sleep and does not wake her Type A mother until 8am.

See what I mean?

So, when you are ready to become a Type A child, just let me know and I’ll see what I can do. And, if you’d rather keep things the way they are, I’m ok with that too.

In fact, I’m better than ok with that.

Now, shhhh, I have this Tweet to answer.

Love, Mom

Filed Under: Fairly Odd Kids, Fairly Odd Me 66 Comments

I Wish That I was Jessie’s Girl

June 30, 2009

(this originally ran two years ago as a guest post on Chicky Chicky Baby. Two nights ago, Belly saw Jessie’s photo on my desk and asked about her; it made me want to retell her story here)

More than a dozen years ago, on my first day as a volunteer for a local animal shelter, I was taken for a tour of the tiny facility and grounds. This was a town shelter; a ‘kill’ shelter, where space was always needed for the constant stream of unwanted and lost cats and dogs. A volunteer took me to the back of the shelter where the dog runs were—the barking was loud as every dog tried to plead his case: “Take me! Take meeeeee!”

We paused in front of one cage. A small black dog was channeling Tigger, bouncing straight up and down in the air, and barking wildly.

“This is Jessie”, the volunteer said. “She’s been here for almost a year.”

Those words hit me hard. A year? In a cage? But why? It seemed pretty clear that Jessie was going to be hard to adopt. Hyper, jumpy, loud. . .why had this dog been allowed to live for so long when many others had died?

I soon found out why, and also became one of her biggest supporters. For while Jessie was hyper, jumpy and loud, she was the kind of dog that smiled and made you feel like you were the best playmate in the entire world. She was smart, sleek and cheerful, even after months and months in her doggie jail cell.

But, so help me, she presented herself to the public so badly. No sooner would I start to tell a prospective family about Jessie then I would see them recoil from her cage as she leaped vertically off the ground again and again. If I took her out into the play yard, she would race around us in circles at top speed, like a sheep dog trying to keep its flock together.

Her one-year anniversary was getting closer. Her name was put on “the list” more than once, but I argued that she was still adoptable, we just needed more time. This became my sort of “Sophie’s Choice”, as I continued to pick one dog over others. Each time, afterward, I would walk out to my car, get inside, and cry.

The object of my affection

Then one Monday evening, I arrived at the shelter and saw a funny look in one of my fellow volunteer’s eyes. “There are two couples looking at Jessie”, she whispered to me. I ran out to the play yard and saw Jessie playing fetch with a young couple, about my age. They were smiling and laughing, not recoiling and frowning. The other couple watched Jessie from outside the fence. “We like her too”, they said, “but we can take another dog.”

An hour later, paperwork complete, Jessie walked out the door with her new family. I asked them if I could say goodbye and gave Jessie a hug. I cried big, fat embarrassing tears and tried to explain that they were tears of happiness. Of course, I was happy, but I was also saddened beyond measure that this happy little creature was exiting my life.

Months later, I visited Jessie in her new home for a follow-up story to run on our low-budget “Pet of the Week” cable-access television show. Her new owners were warm and funny. Her yard was huge and completely enclosed by a fence. She even had a dog playmate, as they had adopted a second dog a few weeks after Jessie. It felt good to see her happy and running free on the grass, under the trees.

I turned to walk back up the porch stairs, and Jessie darted ahead of me. She turned, a few steps ahead of me, and sat down so that her face was level with mine. I reached my arms up to rub behind her ears one last time. She picked up her front paws and put them on my shoulders and smiled her goofy little grin.

I had wondered if Jessie would remember me. After all, I was just another volunteer who played with her twice a week for a few months. But, as she sat in front of me, I felt like she was trying to say, “Hey thanks! It all worked out in the end”.

And then she bounded away to play beneath the trees.

Reunited and It Feels So Good

June 28, 2009

Our main reason for traveling to Pennsylvania this month was to visit Fairly Odd Father’s aunt and cousin, two people we have grown very close to over the past few years.

We enjoy seeing them so much and consider them such a part of our family, it is almost hard to believe that they were not at our wedding, didn’t receive our first Christmas cards, weren’t invited up to our home for the first several years of our marriage.

For reasons I can’t discuss, it wasn’t until a few years ago that a curious email found its way onto my husband’s computer. It was his cousin, wondering if this was indeed the same boy she had last seen many years ago. I am so thankful for the internet, for its ability to reconnect people in this way—just one Google search and years of distance went POOF! into history.

And, you know who has benefited most from this reunion? The kids, especially my girls.