Crunchy Mom

I was cutting up strawberries for Ian when he decided to join in. “Ian cut too.” He ran off to get his orange handled IKEA knife. He sawed very nicely and diced those strawberries into little pulps and then tossed them one by one in his mouth. Strawberry goo covered his face and his hands. After he finished the strawberry feast, he got up, took his gooey hands and slapped them on the walls. Splat. He smiled proudly at his rose colored hand prints on the wall and announced, “A clue. A clue. Notebook.” I was laughing too hard to get mad.

When Ian was in school, I ran over to Jonah’s school to catch a bit of Field Day. On Field Day, the whole school is out on the field rotating between relay races and ball tosses all morning. Each class has a tie dyed shirt in their own color. And they look cute as pie. The school doesn’t really advertise that parents can come by, but they don’t shoot you if you crash, like I did.

I followed Jonah around the field for a while helping out with the games and chatting with the kids. Mr. Popular got a headlock and a noogey. The Wonder Twin girl and I laughed about our crazy street. I told Big Thuggish Boy that he better stop growing. “I ate half a steak last night,” he responded.

Then I realized it had happened again. Just as when we lived in New York, I had become very attached to my kid’s friends. The extra love for my kid spilled over and landed on the nearest people around him. Even Bored and Hyper got a punch in the arm.

I was planning on writing crunchy posts all this week. Not that I have a strong idea of what crunchy is supposed to mean. I suppose it means local, organically grown, socially conscious, environmentally friendly, responsible. I’m not as crunchy as some. I do walk as much as I can. I drive a small car and live on a small lot. I’ll vote for stronger environmental legislation and recycle. I’ll buy organic products when I’m in the mood and have an extra dollar in my pocket.

But I don’t wear Birkenstocks. I eat meat. I wear makeup and heels. I don’t dye my hair yet, but I’m starting to get that Bonnie Raitt, white on red hair thing and may have to soon. I’m concerned that crunchiness is a rich person’s movement. As much as I like a good trot through the woods, I prefer a warm summer night in the East Village bopping from outdoor cafe to club.

So, maybe I get a C+ or a B- for crunchiness.

I am, however, very crunchy when it comes to my kids. They are locally grown. I put a lot of effort into grooming them to be good people. I love cutting up strawberries, sneaking into school events, dancing to techno during the Sprockets Dancing Hour, and eating popcorn on Friday Movie Night. I love Ian’s crushing hugs. I love watching my six year old get so proud of his mom for visiting him at school and messing with his buddies. I like that I’ve been able to shape them myself. My little, organic babies.