It's All About Pat . . .

by Terry J. Ward

     You know, one of the really fun parts about writing an article that people actually read is the ability to scare the wits out of your kids. I threatened my son Pat tonight that my next article would be completely about him. I must say, he did very well with it, but underneath, I could see the fear. "What will she tell them, now?" I could see it running through his brain. It felt GOOD.
     Oh, it's not that I was mad at him or anything like that. Pat is a great kid. We have a lot of fun together. But sometimes, well, you just have to level the playing field a bit Y say for all those times when you want to collapse after an exhausting day and your little bundle of joy asks when dinner will be ready (without looking away from the glowing TV god, mind you). And speaking of my child's favorite babysitter, did your kid ever shush you when you started to speak during the crucial moments of The Daily Show, yet expect you to hop to it and drive him somewhere just when your favorite Bette Davis movie is on (you know the one, they only play it every ten years)?  Please tell me I'm not a voice crying in the wind. . .
     My mother tells me that my last article was a cry for help if ever she heard one. Well, yes...  of course it was. What mother worth her oats isn't in a constant battle for her sanity?  Try having your kid rub your belly (which you can barely see over while watching TV - I got part of that monstrosity trying to give this child life, you know!) and make a wish for a new guitar. I keep telling him that it won't work, but . . . well, he did get a new guitar this year. It isn't that I really mind things like this, my kid is charming, but I think it's getting to that weird point where he benignly tolerates me. (I just shuddered.) He smiles indulgently at my little jokes and foibles. Next thing you know, he'll be patting me on the head. No, wait a minute, he already does that.
     That's OK, I'll have the last laugh. He thinks I'm kidding when I say that I'll dye my hair blue and wear hats with dead birds on them when I'm old. Old age is definitely covered. The problem is, how do I keep things on an even keel, now?  I suppose that I'm not sufficiently far enough gone to dye my hair blue yet (not to mention I have to work on the fact that I still cringe around dead birds - a few more brain cells have to go for me to deal with that). I can't embarrass him with my laugh anymore because he refuses to go to a movie with me again. (So, my laugh is a little loud - I enjoy life)
     Well, it's a little early for me to be doing this, but Pat has put my back to the wall. Let me tell you a story about when Pat was three . . . (You see, mothers do have the ultimate weapon . . . and if baby stories don't work to keep me one step ahead of my kids, I can always pull out those lovely baby bathtub pictures . . .).