Spring 2018. I was overdue for a highlight. Way overdue. It’s routine for me to fail to schedule a hair appointment until my roots are so long I might as well just go to a darker color versus highlighting the dark part. My stylist deserves a medal for dealing with me but time and again, she takes the mess and makes it right again. This appointment was especially desperate in nature because it turns out the remarkably bright, thick hairs sprouting up all along my head were not actually blonde. As much as I WANTED them to be blonde since I pay good money for blonde hair these days, they were, in fact, not blonde. As much as I believed them to be blonde when I looked at them without my old lady glasses, they were not blonde. I blame those faux blonde hairs for the reason it took me so long to schedule my highlight. I thought perhaps I had reached an age where my hair was miraculously blonde again. Hair age reversal, I wishfully thought. Turns out there was no reversal, just gray sprouts.

Or white. Whatever.

Regardless, I’m always happy to pay to return to some shade of blonde I may or may not have been at some point in life. Normally, I would fit this salon appointment over a lunch hour or on a day where I am off work but have childcare. Due to a number of factors too long to list, I had Thaddeus with me at this particular appointment.

Because every stylist or salon owner just looooooooves seeing a client walk in with a small offspring. Said no stylist ever.

My salon is typically quiet except for the occasional blow dryer and chatter.  I did what every health conscious, socially in-touch, earth loving mother would do. I set my child up with an iPad featuring Daniel Tiger, a blue Dum Dum and several soft pleas for him to leave me in semi-peace so the gray hair camouflaging could commence. I figured this would buy me at least ten minutes.

Wrong.

Within 60 seconds he was asking for another sucker. At this point in his little life the term sucker escaped him. He much preferred to chew said treats in rapid succession. I patiently let him know if he could wait a few minutes I would get him another sucker. Again, health conscious mother over here. I had no more gotten the sentence out of my mouth when he began asking for a sucker.

Again. And again. As I felt my mom cool fading into mom warmth and eventually TickingTimeMom heat. 

Before I could even think, the words poured out. Slowly and probably too sarcastically. Ok, not probably. Definitely.

“Do you hear my words? Are. You. Hearing. The. Words. I’m. Using?”

The questions popped out before I could catch them. I heard my stylist/friend chuckle. As a mom of four herself, I knew she got it. ‘It’ being the predicament of being in a less than ideal public situation and trying to contain the crazy before it all oozed out. The scenario that leaves even veteran moms tense. Calm surroundings. Not exactly a typical kid-friendly space. Mom a bit out of her element with kid in tow. Mom now extra frazzled. Mom using words that she thought were rather direct only to have child ignore or stare in confusion.

Which made me wonder……..DO my kids hear the words coming out of my mouth?  Are there even words coming out of my mouth? Am I just a hologram? 

I’m convinced from time to time that I either have the vocal drone of the Charlie Brown teacher or perhaps no sound at all. While I might be led to believe there are actual noises coming out of my mouth that form words that might be received as noises by my kids’ ears and then transferred into words in their brain, sometimes…… I’m not so sure.

Mwa mwa mwaaaaa. Mwaaaa mwa mwawwwwwwwwwwww.

This led me to conduct a brief analysis of recent events which only solidified my theory. Occurrences that leave me believing there is some auditory or verbal disconnect issue in our home. For example:

What I say: Boys, please lift the toilet seat.

What they hear: Please stand at the entrance to the bathroom, shut your eyes tight, spin five times, drop your drawers and aim at will. Please have no regard for the actual toilet. It’s just there for decoration.

What I say: Please hang up your towel.

What they hear: Feel free to lay the forty pound towel you just used to not only dry your body but soak up every last remaining drop of water from the bathtub in a heap on the carpet.

Me: Stay off of my bed when it’s made.

Them: Please grab the last remaining unopened roll of crackers, smash them as you climb into my bed wearing your muddy shoes and then open the package. Be sure to spill every last crumb on and in and under my sheets. Grind them with your body weight for good measure. Please have some cheese on hand, as well, to ensure the mixture smears and creates an epoxy on my favorite sheets.

Mom: It’s time to get ready for bed.

Kids: Hey, guys, it’s 7:45 PM so now is the time to ask for another snack. Scratch that, a snack won’t do so be sure to ask for a full-fledged meal. Cry for something that would require me to get out the skillet. Ignore all previous comments I’ve ever made about the kitchen being closed at bedtime. Plea, sob, shriek for food because you are starving since it has been 90 WHOLE MINUTES since you last filled your belly.

What I say: Get into bed.

What they hear: Go make three more trips to the bathroom. Decide that oral hygiene is super important and we never spend quite enough time brushing. Take this opportunity to brush for eight full minutes and then search for lost floss and dental rinse. 9 PM is the right time to assess every tooth, ask about the Tooth Fairy, search for old Tooth Fairy money, contemplate the legitimacy of the Tooth Fairy, ask about Santa Claus, ask about Baby Jesus, discuss the trinity, crucifixion and resurrection. Please let me know you’d like to know more about all 12 apostles before turning out the lights.

Me: Lights out. It’s nearly midnight.

Kids: Last call for bedtime drinks, another trip to the toilet (don’t forget to close eyes and spin) and a few more requests for the 45 page, 12 font bedtime book.

What I say: It’s 7 AM. GET UP!

What they hear: Kids, school is totally optional. If you’d rather stay in bed, with your head completely covered by your comforter, that is fine by me. If you decide you want to get up, make it around 7:40 and don’t you dare pick up the pace. Take. Your. Time. Change your outfit a few times. Do not, under any circumstance, brush your teeth until I’ve asked you fifty times. Why, yes, I do realize that you brushed your teeth yesterday so that should cover you for a few days.

What I say: It’s 7:50 and time to head to the bus.

What they hear: This is an ideal time to ask me to make your lunch. While I have enforced for four years that I need to know the night before if you want your lunch packed, I really, truly, secretly love it when you ask me exactly 60 seconds before we need to walk out the door. I THRIVE ON CHALLENGE!! Thank you for sharpening my skills and making sure I remain on my toes. If at all possible, please make these last-minute requests for lunch on days when I desperately need to grocery shop. The sheer delight of making three lunches out of two heels of bread, the last questionable, somehow chunky peanut butter (even though it clearly says smooth on the jar) and random fruit snacks from the bottom of last year’s Halloween bin, which are our only remaining ‘fruit’ items, into a meal that won’t embarrass us all is my joy as a mom. So thank YOU!

What I say: Your dad and I need a few minutes to talk about something that doesn’t concern you. Please give us some space.

What they hear: Your dad and I are about to engage in a brief conversation about something that has nothing to do with you but is SUPER interesting. We’ve been hiding the fact that mortgage payments and taxes are really like grown up versions of MEGA CANDY LAND! I’ll need you to interrupt us at least ten times, hang on our every word about escrow and cry when we ask you to please leave the room ’cause this topic is so fantastic I don’t want you to miss out on a single detail! If we go into another room and close the door, please gather your siblings, press ears to door and bang until you break our will. It won’t take long. Trust me.

What I say: Please don’t bother your sister.

What you hear: Could you please go downstairs and make the most irritating noise humanly possible directly into your sister’s ear? If she doesn’t respond immediately, pull her hair, touch her paperwork and squawk like a deranged bird. Irritate her to the point that she is screaming at a decibel that matches you own hideous noise. When I come downstairs to referee, be sure to act completely innocent and ask repeatedly “What did I do?”

Me: I need some help cleaning up.

Them: RUN!

I could go on for days. Years. The list is endless and I remain convinced my children have some form of ‘my mouth to their ear to their brain to actual action’ deficiency. Until it’s diagnosed, I’m working on a book of translations. I write a little each time I get my grays covered. Considering these rogue hairs increase by the minute, I should have the book done in a week.

Where are my mommas who suffer the same? I need to hear from you! How do your children show their confusion with the English language in your home?

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