A momma's role

This past week, we took The Daughters to their very first theme park, complete with giant roller coasters and expensive food.  As we walked through Mt Olympus Theme Park in The Dells, they were wide-eyed with awe and thought they had died and gone to heaven.  It was actually Wisconsin, and I actually stole that line from Field of Dreams, which we visited on our way up.


Just inside the park entrance, but after the pesky photographers, was the entrance to Zeus, the first Mt Olympus roller coaster.  We, of course, hopped in line and were quickly in our carts.  With a hiss and a jerk we were off.  The Daughters were ecstatic during their first roller coaster ride.  At one point, Daughter 2 turned to me and across her face she bore a beautiful smile. When we skidded back to our starting point and exited Zeus, they asked to run ahead to the next roller coaster.  There was a part of my being that wanted to run with them, all the while giving them advice to slow down or be careful or stay together.

Instead, I smiled at them and let them go off as sisters to the next roller coaster.  This was, after all, what being a momma is about.  It's about teaching them to take risks and to be independent - it's about learning to move on with or without their momma.  It's about life.

Or at least that's the crock of crap I plan on feeding The Daughters when they ask why I didn't ride the next roller coaster with them.

The truth is that the laughter of my 20-year-old self was ringing in the ears of my 40-year-old self, and I couldn't even hear The Daughters actually speaking to me.

Three guesses what's coming out of my mouth at this point.

My 20-year-old self would've jumped on the coaster, held up her hands and screamed, "Do it again!" when the ride was over.

My 40-year-old self didn't let go of the safety bar and screamed a string obscenities that caused Daughter 2 to turn around mid-ride and scream, "Oh Geez, Momma!  Language!"

My 20-year-old self would have emerged from the coaster feeling triumphant at the adrenaline pumping through my body and would have sprinted to the next coaster.

My 40-year-old self tumbled from the coaster cart and whimpered at the shaking in my knees and wondered exactly how my boobs had bounced to a position located under my arms.

My 20-year-old self would have wished for one more ten-story drop; my 40 year old self prayed for a malfunction that would require us to walk down the gigantic mountain on the maintenance steps.

I looked at The Dad as The Daughters skipped toward the next roller coaster.  "How was it?" he asked.

I could only whimper.  Sometimes it's all a momma can do.