Mother Magic: I’m Almost Too Loved
The kids view me as magical, why shouldn’t I join them?
Let me tell you, I ugly-cried at my oldest’s preschool graduation when he went onto the podium and answered the classic question “What do you want to be when you grow up?” with “My Mommy”.
I cried because I genuinely didn’t think he had reason to even like me. As an anxious mother, I find myself constantly yelling at my kids to “Get down!” or “Stop doing that!”, I feel like I don’t often get to be the fun parent. For some reason, they still love me. A lot.
In motherhood, I do not understand my kids’ point of view. It seems intuitive to know that kids see the world differently than adults, but do you know that they view me differently than I view myself? They think I can do anything, which is both a blessing and a curse.
This was apparent to me in one single instance, I was frustrated at my kids and husband and everyone was assuming I could magically make a lost video game controller appear. With my kids all three crying at my feet, I lamented to my husband “I’m sorry, but I’m not magic! I can’t just make it appear. Why do they think I can do that?”
In so many words he said, “Everything you do for the kids is magic, why would they differentiate one trick from another?”
Oh my God, he was so right. They do think I can pull a game controller out of my ass because they don’t understand the behind-the-scenes of the rest of the magic of their lives. The work I put into their birthdays, Christmas, and even just dinner looks whimsical from their point of view.
Kids view their parents as magical based in part on the grown-up’s problem-solving abilities. Mothers and fathers seem to have solutions to everything. We know exactly what to do if someone gets a hang nail, we know which drawer holds the band-aids, and why our fingernails do that. From the point of view of the child, we are nurses and scientists at that moment.
Kids see us multitasking and, without understanding the complexities of the world, see it as no less than magic. This is without a doubt the curse portion of my children’s love for me.
If I was standing in the kitchen, watching over some steak and eggs while I was on hold with my kids’ pediatrician’s office some four-year-old would most definitely assume it was the best time possible to demand I look at their drawing and help them spell “K-e-e-p O-u-t P-i-r-a-t-e C-a-v-e”. It’s very sweet that they think I can do all that, but baby, Mommy’s on the phone.
I plan to integrate how highly my kids think of me into my self-care routine, and I think you should do the same.
They think we are magical because we freaking are. Look at all the shit we hold together as parents, we are the executive directors of this circus and it’s going OK! Right? It’s going OK.
-LaChelle
