Nodding

You know those parents who nod…yes, dear, um huh, right. Nod, nod, nod. You see them in the movies a lot, eyes glued to a computer screen or yammering in to a cell phone while cooking dinner.

Tug, tug, tug, comes the kid.

Mommy, mommy look there are little green men under the table.

Yes, dear, um huh, right, nods the parent, eyes never waivering.

I like to think of myself as the kind of mom who would not miss the faeries, or the big hairy monster, or the pumpkins taking over the backyard, but, somewhere along the way, I’ve become a bit of a nodder.

The signs are undeniable.

Last year, I was home with my girls and trying to mark up a reporter's big story before he showed up to go over his work.

We want to play faeryland, the girls said. Mommy you are the queen of the faeries.

OK, um huh, yes dears, I’m the queen of the faeries.

I sat on the floor with them, story in my lap, and “played” queen of the faeries, while trying to puzzle through the best way to weave in and out of a riveting scene about a middle-of-the-night raid.

When the doorbell rang, I let the reporter in. He’s a nice guy with a serious, intent manner, like he is wearing a tie even when he isn’t. I like this about him. He’s as passionate about deep complicated stories as I am, and he makes me bring my A-game as an editor so I can keep up with him.

I put the girls down for a nap, and we jumped right into a deep discussion of Islam, politics, and the intricacies of time shifts in a narrative storyline. When he left, I felt like the story had gotten better. And I had one of those moments that chronically insecure people live for: I’d held my own.

Then I went into the bathroom and turned on the light.

And there in the mirror staring back at me was the queen of the faeries, complete with a jeweled tiara on her head and a collection of chunky, multi-colored, beaded necklaces hanging from her neck.

Apparently, I had nodded and yes-deared my way through an entire game of dress up. And my reporter friend had said nothing. Not even a blink. Is this what people expect now?

Multi-tasking had clearly run amok. I wondered what other unknowing characters I’d embodied as I ventured out in to the world. From now on things were going to be different. I would do one thing at a time. I would make like Ram Dass and be here now.

But a few weeks ago, I discovered that my nodding ways hadn’t changed as much as I thought.

Tug, tug, tug, came the 5-year-old twins.

Mommy, mommy, there are pumpkins in the backyard. Lot’s of them.

I was cooking dinner, and trying to do our family budget in my head, and worrying about the new tangle of swimming and soccer and music lessons and judo that had suddenly traipsed all over my fall calendar.

I nodded. Um huh, pumpkins. Lot’s of them. A whole Charlie Brown patch in the backyard. Yes, dears. Nod, nod, nod.

Kids. Aren’t they cute? Faeries and superheroes and spontaneous pumpkins. What will they come up with next?

I stirred the three bubbling pots on the stove, took down the colander, and started to set the table. The phone was ringing for what seemed like the fifth time in three minutes.

Tug, tug, tug. Mommy, mommy, do you want to see the pumpkins?

Sure, honey. Uh huh. …What?

Really mommy, there are a lot of pumpkins in the backyard.

I put down my wooden spoon and stepped out on to the back deck. I didn’t see any pumpkins. We are a flower family, and at this time of year the back garden is an explosion of State Fair zinnias, cosmos, and the ever-encroaching black-eyed Susans. We don’t have a vegetable garden because I got tired of watching vegetable plants die.

Tug, tug, tug. Come on mommy. Come see our pumpkins.

Your pumpkins?

We trooped down to the garden, and my daughters pushed away the long stems of black-eyed Susans. And there, underneath the flowers, covering a good 10ft-by-5ft patch of ground were pumpkin vines, and hanging from the vines were beautiful little burnt yellow globes. Pumpkins.

The girls were jumping up and down and both talking at once. It worked. It worked, Mommy. See, it worked. Remember last year at Halloween when we asked you if we could go outside and plant our pumpkin seeds?

I tried to move my head up and down in a convincing way.

And you said, yes?

Uh, huh.

And so we did. And now look.

They danced in and out of the patch like delighted faeries.

Don’t you love our pumpkins, Mommy?

I nodded slowly and wondered what other seeds had been planted while I wasn't looking.