Less than two weeks ago, my son had his 10th Birthday. Double digits! Very exciting for all involved.
This year, for presents, he asked for us to "surprise" him. That's a tall order from a little guy whose world gets rocked if we switch up seats for dinner.
Reason #1 I will not get Mother of the Year:
Not wanting to have a nuclear meltdown on his birthday - I figured cold hard cash was the gift to give. Use the money, and get what he wants. You can't go wrong, right? Wrong. We did buy a couple presents, of things we knew he would like, but it seems as kids get older, their interests get more expensive. So a couple of quality remote control items was not inexpensive.
Reason #2 I will not get Mother of the Year:
Our family tries to make a deal about birthdays. We are not much into other traditional celebrations during the year, but birthdays are a BIG deal in our household. We generally have birthday weekends, if not birthday weeks. My son's actual birthday was on a Tuesday. So, the weekend prior we did fun kid-activities that he loved. We went out to dinner at the restaurant of his choice. He had birthday cupcakes with brother and a friend. On his actual birthday though - is when he gets to open the presents. Not a moment before -
So, that morning, my husband and I made the (horrible) decision to allow him to open his presents at breakfast. 1 - We didn't think he'd make it to dinnertime, he was quite ready for the gift-giving, and 2 - I was hoping, with money-in-hand, we could head to the store of his choice right after school and he could pick out some stuff he'd been wanting. Win-win, right? Wrong.
My son had a brief meltdown that he only got to open 5 gifts - three of which were cards containing money. To calm him down, I kept telling him, "But now you can get whatever you want! It's money, so you can buy whatever you like."
Mmmmmphhhhhsts a amoney sosoyoua cadnandbuuysyswhatevryouoeulike. (sorry, if you are having trouble understanding me, but I am eating those words).
Reason #3 I will not get Mother of the Year:
I am a wuss.
Off we go to school. My son is upset about the lack of (surprise) gifts, and I am upset because this is supposed to be a special day and 2/3 of us are in a bad mood.
Part way through my morning at work, one of my son's teachers comes to inform that while he was initially upset in the class about his "horrible birthday", he was now calm.
Yay.
Why is he calm? I didn't think to ask this - I should have. It turns out the ever-so-helpful-younger-brother suggested that my 10 year old use this birthday cash windfall to get the Guinea Pig he has wanted all school year. Thank you, 8 year old son. Some day, when you have children, I shall get my revenge.
At this point, I honestly felt very beaten down by the whole morning. Guinea pig was what he wanted? He had been wanting one all year, we had researched it before (but decided, not yet) - maybe now was the time. I wasn't prepared to rain on his birthday parade anymore.
Welcome to the family guinea pig.
Reason #1 why maybe, just maybe I could get runner-up for Mother of the Year?
It turns out that Guinea Pigs should be sold in pairs. I've heard that before, but who really follows random advice? So we got one piggy. She was the most spastic and wiggly of the bunch. My son was immediately in love. I said, "Only one guinea pig." And he used his money and bought the whole thing: Guinea pig, cage, food, etc.
During the rest of the week, I found myself reading the How To Care for Your Guinea Pig book, and on every other page, the author makes a case for having two guinea pigs together. Guilt. It's a powerful thing.
While my boys were out of town that weekend, at Camp Grandma. I sucked up my pride and went to the store and got a second guinea pig to keep #1 company.
"Which one do you want?" The sales lady asked.
"Your nicest one." I replied.
She handed me a chunky, sweet black and white guinea pig, who snuggled right into my chest calmly. Okay, I thought. Let's go.
When my boys returned home Sunday they were ecstatic to find two guinea pigs. The girls (the store declared they only sold female guinea pigs), got along fairly well. The one I chose was quite calm. It seemed all was right in the world - and, as an added bonus, we added estrogen to our home.
I've joked before about living in a "frat house". . .even our cat is male. Well, take that testosterone. Two female guinea pigs and me - we are gaining on you guys!
Reason #4 why I definitely won't EVER get Mother of the Year:
I must preface this next part by declaring, in my defense, that when we get home from work/school, I have a little routine. Like ten year old son, I am a bit of a stickler for my routines (apple does not fall far from this tree). I need to unpack bags, check for communications/homework, get out snacks, and start prepping for dinner, etc.
So, I am in the kitchen and my ten year old runs upstairs to see the guinea pigs. He quietly comes down and tells me that I need to come see the guinea pigs, that he thinks there are babies in the cage, but he's not sure. In my frazzled, just-got-home-in-my-routine state of mind, I think, "There cannot possible be babies in that cage. I don't know what he's seen, but not that."
"Mom, come up." He says again.
"I am busy right now," replies Woman Who Will NEVER Be Mother of the Year.
"I'll go!" volunteers my 8 year old.
"Sure," replies Woman Who Will NEVER Be Mother of the Year on this planet, or any other. "Go see what he's talking about, and let me know if I really need to come up."
I have sent my youngest son to the slaughter.
Guess what? There was more estrogen in this house!
My youngest son comes down the stairs. He doesn't say a word. He looks like he has been traumatized.
I stop everything (as a true Mother of the Year would have done immediately). Go upstairs, to discover that, Yes. There are two - dead - guinea pig babies in the bottom of the cage. Our two guinea pigs are huddled in the opposite corner. I am sure they are scarred for life as well.
I stare into the cage - not wanting to, but not really believing what I am seeing, and not sure what to do.
This is not covered in the parenting handbooks. Or the Guinea Pig Care Book I've been reading.
I slowly and quietly go downstairs. The boys start asking questions. I don't know how to answer.
I ask them to give me about five minutes, and then I will try to talk with them.
I call the pet store. I think I calmly, but firmly made my feelings clear to the manager. He was rightfully regretful, and completely willing to help in any way I wanted. I didn't know what I wanted. I wanted to go back in time and not deal with this - but as with all things in life and parenthood, that is not an option.
We made an appointment for the guinea pigs with the in-store Vet for that afternoon, to see our pigs - since I didn't know which one had given birth, and I was worried about their health and well being. I also requested a bottle of wine (for me) and therapy (for my children). We got the Vet appointment.
The boys were full of questions. I explained that since we hadn't known a guinea pig was even pregnant, we didn't prepare properly for the birth of her babies (they are supposed to be separated from other guinea pigs). In addition, because I didn't know if the babies had been born in the condition in which I found them (fairly gruesome), or if that had been inflicted upon them, I explained that sometimes, in nature things don't come together as they should, and these babies were not meant to be.
Long story short (too late). ---- bonus points to anyone who knows what movie that's from.
The guinea pigs checked out as healthy. The black and white pig that I had bought later in the week was the Momma. We THINK they are both girls, but are to go in for a final opinion this coming week.
The boys and the guinea pigs have seemed to recovered nicely from that traumatic event.
I think I still need my bottle of wine - and the therapy.
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