Rough week...is it Friday yet???

I was pretty great with kids when I was just an aunt. I had unlimited patience, creativity and energy. I knew my nieces and nephews were the smartest, funniest kids around, and I spent as much time telling them that as I could.

Well, things are a little different when you become a parent. First off, turns out the job is full-time. You can't just leave when you're tired; "OK, kids, Mommy'll see you next week" doesn't really fly.

You realize that sleep is overrated (for you, not your kid) and your appreciation for the mundane expands in ways you never thought possible ("Yes! I've got 30 minutes of free time -- I can totally do laundry and empty the dishwasher!").

As a mom, you realize that even if your kid is smart and funny, he's also pretty demanding. For starters, he requires at least three meals a day, plus snacks, which is a huge deal if your previous cooking experience was defrosting frozen boxed dinners. And that was on the days you actually did cook -- more often than not, dinner consisted of happy hour appetizers or Taco Tuesday.

Pre-child, my life was full of social engagements and cultural events. It still is, though now those social engagements are solely my child's, not mine, and I am relegated to chauffeuring him back and forth. And cultural events are more along the lines of Sponge Bob than art exhibits or concerts.

There are plenty of upsides, though. For example, my multiplication and long division skills are improving, after lying dormant for a good 30 years. But sadly, my grammar skills are diminishing. Mark asked today for help distinguishing common, abstract and concrete nouns, and I looked at him blankly. I had no idea there were more than one type -- and I'm a professional writer!

But I don't mind all the work. I really love my kid, and though he sometimes drives me crazy, he also cracks me up. He's taught me a lot about life (savor it), about my capacity for love (limitless when it comes to him), and about patience (not quite as unlimited as my love).

And he's taught me to appreciate the simple, wonderful things about being a parent. That no matter how burnt out or fatigued I become, no matter how rough the day, there's always hope, there's always another chance tomorrow.

I may run out of patience and forget he's just a little kid who needs constant reminders to wear clean clothes and brush his teeth (with toothpaste). But when I do, he reminds me, in his own sweet way, that I have more patience (and love) than I think.

My friend Jill always says God makes 'em extra cute so you don't kill them. She's definitely right about that...

New shoes

Last week, I took Mark shoe shopping. The boy was positively giddy -- he LOVES shoes, and the prospect of new kicks sent him into hyperdrive.

Inside the store, I measured his feet and set him free. Before I could blink, he had four boxes of shoes spilling out onto the floor beside him.

He tried on the first pair, black skater shoes. He smiled with appreciation, then took off running down the aisle. "Pretty good," he admitted, then ran back.

The second pair sported white leather with a red and black skull on the side. I honestly thought he'd choose these, because he loves skulls, and any clothing items that feature skulls. But then he saw the third pair, and he immediately dropped the white pair right into the aisle.

I thought he was joking with the third pair. They looked like low-top Converse shoes, which wasn't surprising (he'd just outgrown his Converse shoes). What surprised me was the color:

"These are tight!" he yelled, and shoved them on as quickly as possible. He couldn't stop smiling.

And that's when I broke into a cold sweat. I have a natural aversion to anything too pink or too girly, and I'd thought having a son protected me from all that.

But I broke into a cold sweat for another reason as well. I always imagined I'd let my son be an individual, and that I would love him for exactly who he is. But this...these pink shoes...this was confirmation of exactly who he really is, and it scared me.

That's right, my worst fear was being realized. I couldn't hide from the truth, and I couldn't protect my son from who he is any longer. It pains me to admit it, especially here in a public forum, but turns out Mark is...gulp...another attention-grabbing Dinsdale.

I guess it shouldn't shock me. I've spent the last three years immersing him in our family, a loud, crazy bunch, with nary a shrinking violet in the lot. Of course he's going to pick shoes that stand out and make people notice him.

Personally, I don't care what color his shoes are, I just didn't want to waste my money.

"Those are the shoes you want?" I asked.

"Yes!" he cried.

I picked up a similar pair that were brown with pink stitching and trim.

"How about this pair?" I asked. "They have pink in them, too, just not as much."

But I couldn't sway him. He wanted the pinks, and held tightly to them.

"Fine," I said. "I just want you to be sure. I'm not buying another pair if people make fun of these, so be sure."

He was. He got a mischievous little glint in his eye and said, "I like to shock my friends. I can't wait until Gabi sees these!"

And so he walked out of the store proudly, strutting in his new hot pink shoes.

I followed behind him, admonishing him to tie his shoes. I was proud of my little man, who wears what he likes, and isn't afraid of what other people say.

And then I shuddered for exactly the same reason, as visions of class clowns, smarmy retorts, and being the center of attention filled my head.

Just what the world needs...another Dinsdale who loves the spotlight!