Posts Tagged Under Maija Threlkeld
Quieter Still
I hear little slurps from my two-year old as she munches a dark plum, seated at our empty kitchen table. She and I have just returned from dropping her two siblings off for their first day in pre-K and second grade. It is now just the two of us at home.
All is so quiet.
The din of constant chatter mixed with bickering and laughter filled this home throughout the long summer days. There seemed to always be a child bounding down the stairs with resounding thudding steps (“Stop jumping!” I’d command) or calling after someone (“Stop yelling!”). Little lilting voices with eruptions of giggles or yes, more sibling bickering was our background ‘white noise,’ so constant it settled our home. Continue… »
By Maija ThrelkeldTechno Gratitude, Primal Blessing
A few months ago I came across a shoe box full of floppy disks on a shelf in our garage. Describing the disks as ‘old’ is as unnecessary as explaining prehistoric times as ‘long ago.’ In an era of technology advancing at warp speed, these disks are Mesopotamian archives.
But intriguing archives at that.
A few were labeled with obscure titles such as “creative 1996” or simply my initials, or those of my husband’s. What information they held varied from worthless to invaluable depending on my sentimental mood in the moment. Continue… »
By Maija ThrelkeldMy Pretty Pony Cry
Driving home after an all-around blasé late afternoon, I find myself sneaking glances in the rear-view mirror whenever possible.
Behind me sits my three-year strapped in her car seat, her face morphing into what I can only call grade B variations of preschool drama. First, a stern look to the right. Then head pivoted to the left. At my next glance: her eyes are shifted upward with her mouth forced into a comical downturn frown. Next: a furrowed brow, yet placid mouth. And on. Each gesture clearly not bringing on the desired result, affirmed by the eerie silence from my usual chatterbox.
There’s been a dark cloud lurking across her little face all day, just waiting for any storm clouds to gather. And now preceded with a soft “hick!” sound a flurry releases in a warbled “I never had a purpu Pretty Pony!” followed by “Ooooh-hoooo-hooooo” soft wails.
Continue… »
Holding Tight
“When Mommy’s old and shrively will you carry me too?” I ask my four-year old son hoisting him onto my side while walking into Whole Foods Market.
“Oh don’t ask me that anymore!” he snaps back annoyed, before instructing firmly: “When you’re OLD and shrively I will, but not while I’m a kid.”
I chuckle to myself at the response. I remember the first time his solid frame led me to ask that question. His face took a contemplative look before he eagerly offered “Yes!” with a jubilant smile. I think he too envisioned the “big and strong man” he hopes to become. Continue… »
By Maija ThrelkeldStay
I close the cover of our last storybook and reach over to turn off the bedside lamp while my son scoots down under his covers.
“Good night sweet boy,” I whisper while leaning down to pull the blankets over his shoulders how he likes it, making sure both sides of his Superman cape are still secured to his pajamas top.
“Good night,” a little muffled voice responds. It sounds heavy and resigning. I wait for its follow-up. “I love you, Mommy. Goodnight!” But instead tonight there is only silence.
By Maija ThrelkeldWhite Lies
Is it really so wrong that my three-year old son thinks his antibiotic medicine is peanut butter-flavored? That I, his mother whose duty includes teaching him right from wrong, has informed him of this, even though the medicine is actually that orange-flavored thick-coated stuff?
So I’ve lied. But it’s a white lie so it can’t possibly be so bad. Right?
Twice daily for 10 long days, as prescribed, I’m not having to force medicine into a clamped mouth while jousting the flailing appendages of a determined preschooler. My request is being met with “oooh, I like the peanut butter kind!” and a little mouth agape like a baby bird!
By Maija ThrelkeldPotential Havoc: Mom’s Sick
“Whoa,” is my immediate response. I hesitate after this initial jolt and then pull up again, trying to lift my heavy throbbing head off the wet pillow.
My condition shouldn’t have been a surprise. After all I’d been up throughout the night gasping for water and trying to double up the blankets around my shivering frame.
I blink back at the clock, trying to register the urgency of getting up after five snooze alarms. My throbbing head cradles the pillow, which feels like a rock rubbing a sore. You’ve got to get the kids ready for school. You’ve got to get the kids ready for school. It registers: a checklist of actions dart across my numb brain. The recognition of how impossible actual racing through the morning is also registers, and compels me to try again.
By Maija ThrelkeldNot a Girly Girl
My seven-year daughter isn’t into Barbies. Or the lip-lined Bratz dolls with their wide, disinterested gazes.
She’s not into princesses either – “They don’t do anything,” she once explained – or the color pink.
None of the “girly stuff” for her.
By Maija ThrelkeldChock Full of Vitamins & Minerals
My son is flopped on the beanbag tuned to the Discovery Channel on TV. I justify this past time as post-preschool “downtime.” He’s watching The Magic School Bus whose episode today is all about energy expansion. So it’s educational downtime. It’s also cold and cloudy out with a big chance of rain.
Truth be told, I need to get to my work so I’ve turned on the tube.
From the behemoth beanbag I hear my son call, “Can we get that cereal? I want it!” I look up to see the tail end of a sugary cereal commercial. It’s a rare occasion when my kids see such commercials given their general scarcity on cable kiddie channels. But this one had him hook-line-and-sinker.
By Maija ThrelkeldUnhappy Grocery Hour
Bewitching hour at the grocery store.
Dare to venture into Safeway between four-thirty and eight at night, or whenever your kids start to melt down in the evening.
Over the din of crying babies and the glare of fluorescent lighting a chemical imbalance occurs in children. I’ve seen kids go from complacent and mute to wild-eyed Mr. Hydes determined to torment their parents. Tired, testy parents are forced to brush past other tired and testy shoppers in single-lane aisles.
Oh, the horror.
By Maija Threlkeld
