Silly (Putty) Perspectives

Perspective. It's hard to get, and hard to keep. It's hard to know you have the right one. It's hard to know if there even is a correct perspective. Perspectives are pliable. They change with every season, every life event, every phase of the moon. Heck, they change every day.

Perspectives involving children are particularly metamorphic. A child's perspective on the world is magical. Everything is new and bigger than life (at least their life). Slowly, as they gain more life experience and lose their naivety, their perspective on things takes a sour turn until they have children of their own (that means we get old too).

Ahh... children. You love them (but not necessarily always like them), but they're always better for others than for you. The cashier at the grocery remarks on how sweet they are. You inquire as to whether their establishment accepts payment in children. The funny look the cashier gives you gives you the answer (and maybe a visit from child services).

You desperately try to get rid of the kids for just an hour (please, just FIVE MINUTES OF PEACE. Please let me go to the bathroom ALONE!!!), and when the shining moment appears heralded in with the heavens opening up to reveal a choir of angels singing and a band of trumpets blaring the respite you so desperately deserve, all you want is to see your kids.

Perspective. Your parents probably didn't like you, but they love (or will love or won't if you don't have) your kids. Because THEY know. THEY know what's coming and that keeps things in perspective.

My children are much like others that have gone before them... completely insane. They turned me from a mild mannered house wife into (no, not a super hero) some kind of super villain. It may have been all the times I had to be the Megatron to his Optimus Prime (or the Lex Luthor to his Superman, or Green Goblin to Spiderman or Mama-Be-The-Bad-Guy-So-I-Can-Beat-You-Up), or maybe not (That's an argument for nature vs. nurture). But, one thing is for sure, I had crazy eyes, lowered inhibitions (what have I got to lose, I could plead insanity), and always had that frazzled look about me. Slightly panicked. Other mothers recognize the look.

Then I had surgery. I had a break (and a breakdown). It was a glorious break. Pain medication, bed rest, and all the terrible SyFy shows I could handle. The only thing that could have made it better was a beach... and maybe an umbrella drink... and oh yeah, not being post-op (but you take it where you can get it).

Then suddenly it changed. My perspective. Suddenly, I adored my children (I was on drugs). They were fantastic specimens of the human race. The world was going to be fine after all. There was hope for everything... all embodied in these two little precious bundles (Pandora's boxes). A few days later when (the meds wore off ) I started getting the frazzled look again... you guessed it, perspective. Only this time, it was as if I were home. It was like a dream and you were there crazy eyes, and you, loud mouth, and you, frazzled hair (and Toto too).

And now, when my children drive me to the brink, I smile and think that There's No Place Like Home.