Don't Let the Mama Be a Wuss

Becoming a mom is all about change. Somewhere between the time I saw two lines on that pregnancy test and today, I've lost complete track of pop culture (who is The Situation, anyway?), become unable to remember names to save my life (now I get why my dad constantly mixes up Jack Nicholson and Jack Nicklaus), transformed from a Type B procrastinator to a Type A list-maker extraordinaire...and, as it turns out, become a total wuss.

Granted, that tarantula encounter gained me a few Tough Chick points, but I've been reminded quite a bit lately that my mom-self is much more weepy than my old self was. I'm still not a "cry at the diaper commercial" kind of girl, and you'll never find me anywhere near a Nicholas Sparks sob-fest, but throw a little "your kid is growing up" in my face or sprinkle a little "nothing lasts forever" in my path, and I'm an instant mess. I love our little family exactly the way it is now, and would rather not be reminded how quickly time passes and things change.

Toy Story 3 and Mo Willems? You are not helping.

Seriously, enough already.

I've already chronicled Keira's trauma over the latest Toy Story movie, and three months later, I still can't think about Andy going off to college without welling up. OVER A FICTIONAL, COMPUTER-GENERATED PERSON WHO NEVER EVEN LIVED IN MY UTERUS. This is not the person I used to be! (I mean, sure, I've always welled up when Gandalf hears Frodo say, "I will take the Ring to Mordor," but I firmly believe that there's something wrong with anyone who doesn't). Kiwi is still so upset about the whole idea of growing up that she sobbed, "I just always want to be a little girl!" and practically had a mid-life crisis the night before her birthday last week. She was too busy with her own tears to see mine. Thanks, Buzz 'n' Woody, for parading the impermanence of childhood through our happy little home.

Where the hell are the Kleenex?

And as if that wasn't enough already, I had the bright idea to do an author study on Mo Willems with my kindergarteners this month. Sure, the kids loved it. Yes, they totally yelled "N-O! Nooooo!" every time the pigeon tried to talk them into letting him drive that bus.


They cracked up at Trixie's baby talk and delighted in finding the hidden pigeons as we read Knuffle Bunny and Knuffle Bunny Too.


They learned all about characters, plot, setting, inferences, and tons of other teachy-learny stuff, and were enraptured every time I cracked open a new book. Obviously, when Knuffle Bunny Free was published just as we finished part Too, I had to buy it pronto and finish out the trilogy with my excited little audience.


This was my mistake.

Mothers, beware...this book should have a warning label on the cover:

NOT SUITABLE FOR WEEPY MOTHERS. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO READ THIS BOOK ALOUD--ESPECIALLY TO 52 CHILDREN--WITHOUT SOBBING.

Unfortunately, it does not. Wisely, I did read it myself the night before and was well-aware of its tear-jerkiness, but I'd (unwisely) already told both the a.m. and p.m. kindergarteners I'd read it to them the next day, so I couldn't skip it. Instead, I mentally practiced my Tough Chick face and vowed not to frighten the small children with my uncontrollable tears.

Other than getting a little misty-eyed in a couple of places, I made it through the read-aloud...but I did not even attempt to read the letter from Mo to Trixie at the end. In fact, even typing the words "the letter from Mo to Trixie" has me reaching for more Kleenex this very second. It's ridiculous.

I hope to see my warning labels utilized by the book and movie industries immediately. And that Love You Forever book, by the way, needs to be banned altogether.

Who's with me?