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My friend Dax is sitting in a backseat of a taxi crawling through hot midday traffic.  The aircon conks out, so he rolls down the window.  The taxi is at a full stop when a scrawny little girl selling garlands of sampaguita (Arabian jasmine) walks over by the car window.  She looks like she’s 10.  Possibly older.  She waves the sampaguita at Dax and with a forced smile says, “Sir, buy sampaguita. For your lady friend. Or your mother.  Very cheap.”

“No, thank you.”

“Please, sir.  I really need money. Just one. I need to buy food.” she responds in a monotone.  Dax shakes his head.  “Please?  Just one?  I’m very hungry.” she insists, yet with an unchanging tone in her voice. 

“No.”

Then the girl takes one garland and throws it into the open window, landing on Dax’s lap.  “Take it.” the girl says, her face blank. “That’s my gift to you.”  She turns her back and slowly walks on to the next car.

“Hey!” Dax calls out to her.  He tosses the sampaguita back out the window and she catches it.  “I said, no thank you!”  The girl flings it back at him. “Keep it.  It’s a gift.”  He tosses it back again. “I don’t want it.” She catches it and throws it back.  "It's yours now." It’s becoming ridiculous.

“Fine. Let me pay for this one.” Dax says, holding on to the now bruised sampaguita garland and takes out his wallet.  He hands the kid a 20-peso bill.  It’s more than what the garland is worth.  She takes the bill, pauses and throws it back to Dax.  “Keep your money. The sampaguita is a gift. Enjoy it.”  They then resume one round of playing catch with the 20-peso bill.

Finally the traffic starts moving and Dax tosses the 20-peso bill at the scrawny 10 year old girl, the one who looks possibly older, for the last time.  She catches it.

The taxi drives away and Dax looks back at the kid.  She is slowly walking over to the sidewalk still with her dead expressionless face.  She takes all her garlands of sampaguita and starts violently whipping them against the concrete wall.

mommyfied!

Today I decide to be the quintessential patient, crafty and involved apron-clad mother.  The kids and I are doing crafts on this beautiful snowy Sunday afternoon. 

A tv ad for a cleaning product depicts a woman whose grungy children and wet dog running amuck all over her immaculate white carpet, covering it in slimy black grime and mud. The commotion startles her, but instead of going ballistic, she sighs, shakes her head and smiles.

It’s a load of crap, if you ask me.  It's a big fat lie.  Think about it.  Who smiles at a sight like that? 

But today, I embrace it. I choose to be THAT mother. I embrace a messy kitchen, that will be filled with happiness and joy.

Girl, 8 and Boy, 6 want to build a ginger bread house. I take pleasure in saying NO to them most of the time, but I am the fun mommy this afternoon, so ginger bread house it is.  They are ecstatic.  They are filled with excitement and happily discuss their plans for this edible house. 

Ahh.. the Ginger bread house: a wholesome fun activity for the whole family! This allows them to develop their creativity and encourage them to work together on a project.  Art, education and entertainment, all for a low price of $9.99! Everyone wins.

I get my camera ready.  I give myself a pat on the back and feel proud for creating this sweet memory for my children. (And realize that this is what actual normal mothers do. But who cares. I still celebrate my awesomeness.) Photos will be taken and shared with family members and close friends.  Then I decide I will capture a beautiful moment between the 2 kids and make that our Christmas card cover this year. Perfect.

I bring out the ginger bread house kit.  An argument ensues as to who gets the coveted role of opening the box. I give them my ‘look’.  Warning #1 is declared.  I open the box.

Type-A-personality Girl neatly lays all the ingredients on the kitchen counter. Devil-may-care Boy picks up a bag of candy from the neat pile, feasts on it.  Fight no. 2.  I threaten to confiscate the entire kit should any fighting strikes again. 

They start building.  The icing fails to completely glue the four panels of the house, and as soon as the roofs are placed, the whole structure collapses.  Girl gets frustrated. She tries again, this time crying for help.  I put more icing, and instruct her to wait a few minutes for it to dry.  She follows my instructions.  She pipes a beautiful pattern of icing on the roof, squeezing more than she should have.  The weight causes the house to flop again.  She gets on the ground in a dramatic fashion claiming she has caused the destruction of this edifice. 

The Boy, with mouth full of sugar balls, mimics and mocks her and this triggers an all out war.  One is high on emotions, the other jumping up and down, high on sugar. Candies and plastic knives are thrown in defiance. 

Boy drops 2 bags of colored icing on the floor.  He gets off the kitchen stool and accidentally steps on both bags squirting red and green icing all over.  He walks on the goo, slips and lands on the Girl who is still in the middle of her emotional outburst on the floor. They scream at each other, both turn to me and simultaneously argue their case, expecting that I reprimand whoever started this whole debacle. 

I blankly stare at them in surrender. 

The phone rings.  It’s my friend Abigail who is now a welcome distraction to the ongoing chaos.  I tell her to not mind the noise, as it is the sound of my reality that I want to block for a few minutes.  Abigail, who is not a stranger to crazy fighting children, offers an unsolicited advice: 

“You know, what you should do, get them to make a gingerbread house.”

Originally posted on ispepsiok.wordpress.com