Kristen Anne Glover

Five in Tow

Birth Order Explained: It’s Your Mother’s Fault

Many smart people have spent many long years researching a strange phenomenon related to birth order.  The theory goes something like this: your personality is directly impacted by your birth order.  If you’re the firstborn, you tend to be a certain way.  If you’re the youngest, you tend to be another way.  I’m no psychologist, but I can assure you, it’s all true, and it all goes back to your mother.  May the good Lord help you if you were born after number five.

The Metamorphosis of Motherhood

After your first child

After your third child

Sometime after your fifth child

Maternity clothes are so cute!

I can’t wait to get back into my normal clothes.

These are my normal clothes.

Jake, come here!

Jake, I mean Susie, come here!

You—come here!  No, not you.  You!  Yes, you!  If I say “you,” I mean you!

Look at the homemade costume I made for you!

Let’s see what’s left at the costume store.

Here’s some aluminum foil and a Sharpie.

What would you like for dinner?

This is what we’re having for dinner.

If you don’t eat the casserole, it’s going in the soup for tomorrow.

Don’t eat that off the floor!

The floor isn’t that dirty.

Get it before your brother does.

Your birthday is only a month away!  We’d better start planning.

I forgot candles.  I’ll hold up five fingers and you can blow them out.

No, I didn’t forget your birthday.  It’s called a “surprise party.”

Would you like to learn soccer, karate, piano, origami, French pastry making, Spanish, or water polo?

You’re taking ballet because your sister takes ballet.

There are lots of great cartoons on in the afternoons for kids your age.

Let’s pick up before Daddy gets home.

Let’s pick up before Grandma comes.

Let’s just move.

Let me help you!

Let me know if you need my help.

You don’t need my help.

I’ve created a wish list of educational toys for Timmy’s first Christmas.  It includes all the Newberry award-winning books, a baby biology set, Latin fridge magnets, and a planetary motion crib mobile.

Don’t buy him anything that makes noise, needs batteries, might choke the baby, or requires parental supervision.

Just give us the money.

My husband wrote me a love note and rubbed my feet!

He watched the kids so I could go to the grocery store by myself!

He vacuumed!!!

We need to childproof the house.

How come the baby is the only one who can open the baby gate?

He’ll only do it once.

Please put on your new shirt.

Please put on a clean shirt.

At least you’re dressed.

I will never be one of those mothers.

I feel sorry for those mothers.

I am one of those mothers!

I didn’t know I could love anyone like this.

I didn’t know my love could multiply like this.

There’s always room to love one more.

The Bottom of the Hamper


At first I thought it was a dream,

A fairy-tale, or so it seemed—

A thing that happens on TV,

To moms more glamorous than me,

The kind who wear designer dresses,

And never pony-tail their tresses.

Yet there I was in sweatpants blue,

Running loads of laundry through.

When beneath some underwear

A glimpse of plastic did appear—

The Bottom of the Hamper.

It took a moment to realize

The significance of this great surprise.

“It really does exist!” I said,

And touched my fingers to my head.  

Not a single sticky shirt remained,

Or dirty pair of pants, grass-stained.

All the socks were put away,

“There is nothing left to wash today!”

I basked, I gloated, I even cried.

When a child coming close I spied,

With both arms full of play clothes vile,

And on his face, a little smile.

“Wait!  Give me just a minute,

To stare at it with nothing in it!”

But if he heard, he did not stop.

A jersey landed with a plop,

On the Bottom of the Hamper.

And there I stood as if awakened,

From a dream, like one mistaken.

Did I see it?  Was it true?

It was real, that much I knew.

And though I haven’t seen it since,

Of this one thing I am convinced—

There really is a Bottom of the Hamper.

*Disclaimer: No actual hampers were emptied during the writing of this poem.

 

Like this post?  Check out this one!

I Know Why You Had Kids

This is a post written out of anger, anger about the abuse that happens to children in this county and around the world.  It is written from the perspective of an abused child, a truly abused child.  It is not meant to be a condemnation of good parents who sometimes have a bad day.  It is meant to capture the voice of a child who cannot speak for herself, and what she might say to the parents who do not protect, defend, and cherish her, when she’s old enough to realize that they should.

 

I Know Why You Had Kids

I know why you had kids.

You had kids so you could be bigger than someone.

Stronger than someone.

Louder than someone.

You had kids because you had something to prove.

What does making babies prove?

I know why you had kids.

You had kids because you could.

You didn’t think about if you should.

And now you’re mad because you have to.

I wasn’t there when you made the decision

But somehow, it’s all my fault.

I know why you had kids.

You had kids so you could yell when you’re angry.

So everyone knows how bad I am,

And how hard you have it.

It feels good to say shut-up when you’re angry.

But it doesn’t feel good to hear it.

I know why you had kids.

You had kids because it was easy.

Now you say you don’t know how to do this.

But I didn’t know how to walk, and I learned.

I didn’t know how to talk, but I learned.

I didn’t know how to fight back, but I learned.

I know why you had kids.

You had kids because you wanted a pet, a toy.

You thought you could pick me up,

And put me down whenever you wanted.

You didn’t know I would still be there,

When you didn’t feel like it anymore.

I know why you had kids.

You had kids because you thought he’d stay.

Thought he’d love you now.

Or give you some attention.

All you wanted was some attention.

But he’s gone and all you have is me.

I know why you had kids.

You wanted something you’d never gotten,

Something you couldn’t give.

You wanted someone to love you,

All the time.

I wish I didn’t love you all the time.

I know why you had kids.

And it didn’t turn out like you thought.

But maybe it can.  Maybe you can step up.

Grow up.  Give up yourself.

Be the kind of parent you need to be,

So I don’t become the kind of person you are.