Bump in the Night

image Why Me by rosiehardy via Flickr

Abram left on his business trip to Alabama yesterday and while I always know he’ll be back before I know it, this time I knew it would be different since I’m not out of the house at work (distracted) for 8 hours a day.  The first night always sucks the most.  Getting ready for bed after I lay Charlotte down kind of freaks me out a little when Abram isn’t here.  I go through locking up the house in a much more paranoid way, which is silly when I think about it since Abram isn’t bionic or anything and couldn’t do much more than I could if someone actually really broke in or something.  Of course, he could serve as the distraction for Charlotte and I to escape, but that’s morbid and I hate thinking of it like that…but yes…knowing my husband would sacrifice himself as cannon fodder for whatever crazed ax murderer that breaks in helps me sleep better at night. Sue me.

I shower faster, not liking that I can’t hear any noises out in the house, I make sure the dogs are in the bed with me, and even leave extra random lights on around the house.  Oh, and I swapped out the cheap-o alarm clock with one that has a radio so I could hear someone else alive and talking as I tried to fall asleep.  And the bathroom light stays on, door cracked, you know, so I don’t trip in the middle of the night.  Riiight.

I’m really not this much of a wuss normally.  It’s only since becoming a mom that I’ve gotten more and more cautious.  I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve laid awake, even with Abram next to me, thinking about the fastest escape route from a psycho or what I can easily reach for to use as a weapon in an emergency.  Can you tell I’ve watched too many horror movies?  Typing it out makes it seem more OCD than I realized, but I can’t help it.

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Weeds

Princess of the Weeds

It amazes me every day how Charlotte (my daughter) finds wonder in everything around her.  Things I’ve taken for granted, things other people find annoying or even simply trash.  A prime example of this — my mother came over the other day and witnessed me blowing the dandilion poofs in my yard with Charlotte.  You know, the white, seedy, circular poofs that float away and look so pretty when you blow them?  Well, Charlotte loves blowing them, and doesn’t really understand that you don’t blow on all flowers when you pick them now, but it’s adorable to watch her try to “blow” yellow flowering dandilions and buttercups in the yard.  But my Mom had a mini freak out when she saw Charlotte blowing the seeds and me encouraging her.  Why?  Because “they’ll make more baby dandilions and your yard will be covered!”

GASP!  Seriously, I don’t care one bit.  And thankfully neither does my husband and he’s the one doing the yard work.  Charlotte loves to go out and pick as many flowers as she can for no other reason than she likes to rip them up.  Occasionally we get one handed to us, but mostly it’s a 17 month old little girl exploring outside and if all we had was perfectly manicured grass for her to do it in I think it would get really boring, really quickly.

I’m wondering how different our parenting style is from other parents with kids the same age.  Does it really bother some parents that their child perpetuates the growth of weeds in the yard?  What about just generally getting messy outside?  I don’t chase Charlotte around with disinfectant wipes and Lysol and she doesn’t always have to have shoes on when we go out in the yard to explore but I think she’s a clean, happy kid.  Not knowing many other parents of young children makes you really question what all you’re doing right and what could be better.  I have a clear picture in my head of how I don’t want to parent, but instituting and living that ideal isn’t always as easy as picturing the well-functioning, creative kids that are the result of said parenting style.  It doesn’t help that I watch way too much Law & Order: SVU — that show will warp anyone’s view on parenting and what lengths to go to to keep your kids safe and healthy.  Charlotte will be locked in our yard with a chastity belt and all the dandilions I can produce until I keel over at the ripe old age of 124.

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