Thank God for Naughty Children

Thank you, 4- and 2-year old. Thank you for disobeying me, for dumping untold cups of water on the bathroom floor while bathing. Thank you for tossing said water on your 7-year old sister, as she tried to use the toilet, soaking her completely while she screamed and peed. Thank you for dousing the toilet paper roll I had just replaced. Thank you for pouring so much water on the floor that it seeped out into the hallway and destroyed a wayward book.

Thank you for breaking the "no water outside the bathtub" rule for the umpteenth time. You know better.

And so, you have been sent to bed early, and my house is quiet.

No bed time struggles for me this evening; you are already asleep! Your three older siblings go to bed relatively easily; it's you two who make my evenings tortuous. But not tonight: and for this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Note to self: think of ways to get the wee ones to break rules at 7pm.

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Things We Say

We took the kids to a local Summer Concert Series on Friday evening; the weather was lovely, the music was good, and the kids had a blast. They ran around with a pack of insta-friends, the kind only kids seem to be able to make.

At one point, I noticed both of my girls doing the "gotta go" dance while trying desperately to keep on playing. So off to the bathroom at the pizza place.

Once inside, my four year old decided she didn't have to go after all. This has got to be one of the most frustrating bits of parenting: getting a kid to pee when you know she has to and when she chooses that moment to assert a little pre-K control.

So what brilliant words of wisdom did I pull from my arsenal to get what I wanted? For your edification, I present what NOT to say in this situation: "Fine, Elizabeth. I know you have to go, and I'm not bringing you back here in 10 minutes when you realize how badly you have really have to go."

Yeah, that'll show her. Cause I'm sure when she's back to the gotta go dance, I'll just let her pee down her legs and leave her standing in a puddle, just to make my point. She'll learn her lesson then, won't she?

What compels a person to say something so ridiculous? Because really, all it will do is make me look less credible in the future, for issuing empty threats and inventing unenforceable consequences.

Sure enough, 10 minutes later, I was back in the bathroom with Elizabeth. She won.

It doesn't seem like it should be so hard to keep one's mouth shut when one is in danger of saying something extremely stupid. Apparently it is.

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In other news, the girls and I made cookies yesterday. When I cracked the egg into the bowl, Lola announced to her sisters that a raw egg is really a baby chick. I was a little concerned that this would be upsetting to them, especially since right after this piece of news, I turned on the electric mixer and the little baby chick got all mixed up. These girls are hearty: they immediately got these bright smiles on their faces, waved at the bowl, and said: "Bye-bye, baby chick! Bye-bye!"

Not one to abandon a small defenseless animal, Elizabeth announced that after we ate our cookies, we could rub our bellies and thereby take good care of the little baby chick.

A little weird, but compassionate none-the-less!

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Maybe Ward and June Had the Right Idea

This is not a political post.

This is not about feminism, or equality, or glass ceilings.

This is about my family. And my family is living a common enough reality, with two working parents and still not enough money and children who just want to enjoy childhood.

And so, I find myself wishing that we could go back to the 50's, when one parent (mama) stayed home and worked as the family's CEO and one parent (dad) went out into the world of commerce (or wherever) and made enough money for everyone else to live on.

Who doesn't think this made all kinds of freakin' sense? Families -- children -- need someone around all the time, and families -- children -- need a CEO who can devote 100% of her or his attention to...wait for it...the family.

OK, I understand what I'm saying here. Here's what I'm NOT saying:

I'm NOT saying that women should abandon their career dreams and get back in the kitchen.

I'm NOT saying that the 50's were overall better for women.

I'm NOT saying that I would enjoy turning back the clock on the changes that have happened for women over the last 60 years.

What I am saying is that I wish I could give 100% of my attention to my children, or that I could go do some very gratifying and financially rewarding-enough work so that Rick could give 100% of his attention to our children.

But then again, who am I kidding? I am severly attached to these kids who came barreling out of me, who are flesh of my flesh, and I just plain want it to be me who gets to be with them. I want to be the Home Boss.

But I can't. We don't have that kind of life. Or rather, I have to be part Home Boss and part a bunch of other people, and so does Rick. We both have to work. We both have very flexible working lives, so that helps, but it's still incredibly hard on every member of our family that both of us have to divide our time and energy into so many different pieces of pie.

I think sometimes of the various ways in which Western Civilization seems to be falling apart. Ya' know, what with all the body piercings in out-of-the-way places, all the multi-cultural senstivity trainings, all the elevator music (complete with impassioned arpeggios) that passes for idol-worthy talent. But one of the biggest ways I see this world -- our world -- falling apart, is the pressure that families live under in the modern age. We are working more, supervising more, involved more, coaching more, volunteering more, expecting more, having more expected of us, than parents before us were subjected to, and I for one, in my own family, feel the toll acutely.

I wish for a simpler life, for fewer demands on our time. I wish I didn't have to work to keep up with life in the Bay Area. I wish we weren't busy too many nights in the week.

I also have other aspirations, besides my desire to be the primary caregiver to five astounding human beings; so I guess it really is as complicated as it seems. How do I balance what I want and need, with what they want and need, with what the real world is foisting upon us?

I fairly ache when I read or hear stories about people who have devoted themselves single-heartedly to one thing: to a sport...a cause...a skill...a mission. I am a woman divided by causes and responsibilties, seeking wholeness anyway, seeking one direction among the many things pulling me this way and that.

I may not ever want to bake cupcakes or sew clothing for my children (while admiring those who do); but I will forever wish that I could do one thing, and do it well: raise these kids until I can go on to my life's work, which of course, I still need to discover as I continue to grow up.

Maybe June Cleaver went on to become a great artist after the kids left the house. Maybe she started a non-profit in town, or volunteered for a local community organization. If she got to go on and do something in addition to raising her children, something she found fulfilling and gratifying, then yup: June Cleaver had it all. Where can I get me some of that???

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An Old-Fashioned Family Fourth of July

Grandma Lola, behold your gift in all its glory:



Is she ready for July Fourth, or what? She definitely was the best dressed kid in the family. The others were lucky to have matching socks. Oh, and Tallulah wore her finest shade of flushed red, as she spent the day with a fever, so home with Rick away from the festivities.

The rest of us went to a Fourth of July Festival, home for quick burgers, and back out for fireworks. Sounds lovely, yes? Well, it was about as lovely as overly heightened family events tend to be. Too much sugar, too many people, too much stimulation, culminating in too many tears and too many tired children. Oh, and my personal favorite, too much yelling from mommy.

It was fabulous. Can't wait till next year.

But the well dressed kid up there? Truly lovely, so thank you, Grandma Lola!

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Second Chances

I am amazed at how many second chances I have gotten in life. Second, third, fourth, ninety-ninth. It's humbling and mercifully kind.

So I'm thinking that it would be a good idea if I could somehow internalize this merciful kindness and spread it around to my children.

Hmmmm. There's a thought.

Here's hoping I am able.

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Crunch

My youngest child has been up since an ungodly hour. My job has been to manage her, and keep her occupied in a quiet enough fashion so that everyone else stays asleep. The activity that fascinated her the most? She spread out her blankey in the middle of the kitchen floor, and placed a bunch of delicate sea shells on top of it. She busied herself taking care of them, arranging them just so, moving them, going back and forth between kitchen and ... wherever the shells are ... and bringing more to her collection.

Each time she added one, or changed one, she would admonish me: "Don't step, mama!" I was under strict instructions to take as much care as she with her shells.

This was tricky: she had positioned herself right in front of the coffee pot.

Still, I managed to step delicately and keep the shells -- and the girl -- whole and happy.

* * *

Dad just barreled through the house, en route from the garage, and went straight to the coffee pot. Big man boots, with no regard for baby blankets, thundered through the little shell babies.

Dad: Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Girl: Crying, screaming, gnashing of teeth.

Mom: Sigh.

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Picture Picture

My 4-year old loves to visit grandma Rose and Poppa. She gets so excited when it's her turn for an overnight, and equally distraught when it's someone else's.

She always has fun, and talks about her visit for a few days afterwards.

But today, she told me that last time she was there, a few weeks ago, she saw photographs of all of her brothers and sisters, and it made her miss everyone.

"I just couldn't look at the pictures, because it made me sad to look at them, so I decided not to look at them so I could be happy and have a good time."

This made me smile, tear up, and wonder all at the same time. I can just picture her getting a little teary herself, and then setting the pictures aside and bouncing back into her "happy place." This is one of the photos that made her wistful:



This is all the more remarkable because she takes a fair amount of abuse from all four of them, probably more so than anyone else in the family; it seems to roll off her back most of the time, and she enjoys giving as good as she gets. And apparently, she feels the love anyway. Amazing.

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