Ode to “Me-Mowe”

January 7, 2017

Ode to Me-Mowe

(Pronounced like cow, but with an M. that is Cece’s word for Mickey mouse)

Dear Mickey Mouse-

Let me start off by saying I am a big fan. I have been since I was in diapers. You and your crew were my first friends. It is nice that you now spend so much time in my home again. At the risk of being judged by other parents, I am just going to come clean: I let my kids watch a lot of TV. I don’t mean to, but we are all happier people when the TV is on. See, you still bring joy to my life. But you already knew that, you are a smart mouse. I can’t quite figure out why you are still friends with Pete, he is seriously an asshole. But I am sure you have a reason, I won’t doubt you know what you are doing. You, little mouse, have become generation-less. I like how you have become quite musical in this new generation. The hot dog song? And kids eat it up. (pun intended) Anyway, like Goofy trying to remember quite how to say Toodles, I am stumbling over my words. What I really wanted to say was thank you for being there to help out this week.

The holidays passed and real life crept back in this week. New Years, the last desperate attempt to hold on to that last little bit of cheer while secretly counting the seconds until the tree comes down. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…take that sucker down Happy New Year! Cheers, I get my mantle back! Lets organize these toys and make resolutions. In my plans to clean and organize, lose twenty pounds, and get back to figuring out what the hell I want to do with my life, I did not anticipate the toddlers getting sick. Then it happened. Josh was back to work, the girls went back to school and the babies got sick. They are so calm and sleep a lot when they are sick. It is kinda nice, but I feel really bad for them. Liv so eloquently explained toddler sickness to me. They both ran fevers. They would go from listless to cranky back to just staring into the air. Their little hot heads would nuzzle into my chest, leaving a snot trajectory. Jackson got up at 4 am when the medicine would wear off. I fill the syringe with the grape miracle drug, always met with “Jackson do it” and he grabbed it, drank it, then tossed it to the side. He looked me, in the most pathetic vice, saying, “watch Mickey Mouse”. Just as the clubhouse was bouncing up over the hills, he was asleep again, and I doze off next to him. Cece wants to be held constantly. Her little arms begging to be scooped up as she points at the TV saying, Me Mowe. She will grab a smart phone for a complete stranger and ask for you. That’s how powerful your draw is. The TV goes on and they are immediately mesmerized. Jackson sings along with all the songs. He tells me what is going to happen on each episode and I act surprised as if I already didn’t know. Look, Donald is missing. He says, worried. Dondo missing. Cece repeats. Minnie rides the lellow car. He explains to me. Meeny car. Cece repeats. I smile at how you give them momentarily escapes from sickness; then I bolt into the kitchen to load the dishwasher before they need me again.

Today, they are finally feeling better. The fevers are gone and they don’t rely on medicine any more, but they heavily rely on you. Admittedly, I let them watch you way more than I should. They don’t just sit there blankly staring at you all day. While you are on, they will play. Jackson has his brigade of trucks and tracks sprawled out around the house, ready to be driven. He lies on the floor with a circle track pushing the cars in a constant circle. Cece is playing with her baby, rocking and licking her face. (They are both going through a licking phase). You and your friends are on, yet they barely pay attention. Your volume is low enough that you are a glowing constant in our living room, or in our basement, and at times both. I turn you off to watch “The Price is Right” and I am met with screaming. Me Mouse!! They both shriek in slow motion. Then tears, and screaming and the sound of two toddlers crying in harmony. They are each desperately grabbing one of my pant legs begging to be picked up and comforted. I look at them both, not sure which one to pick up. All done Mickey Mouse. I apologize then assertively state. I give them food; they don’t want it. I ask if they want to play Legos with me or go downstairs and play with cars, but no. They just want you Mickey. I barely make it to the first showcase showdown before I am bouncing my head along to the clubhouse theme song.

I know letting you raise my toddlers is not the most popular parenting technique so I am sure you don’t get thanked that much. I will admit it. I love that my babies spend hours so captivated by your little world. Thank you for helping me out so I can get laundry done, or pay bills, and especially write this post. On behalf of hung over parents everywhere, thank you for New Year’s Day marathon. Thank you for giving me ways to teach my kids about colors and shapes and singing and whatever the heck moo muffins are. I am not exactly discouraging this phase, dressing them in head to toe fan girl gear because of how happy they get when your little ears are on their clothes. Today the sun came out for a few minutes, I gave them a bath to wipe off the layers of snot and sickness, and they played all morning while you sang.

I have said it a million times; being a parent is not easy. So I dedicate this post to you. Thanks Mickey Mouse. Y? Because we love you.

Your Pal



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