February 27, 2009

  • Vignettes

    There is no getting around it–being a parent can be draining. It is easy to think sometimes that the sleeplessness, the stress, the strain and exhaustion of it all is somehow the fault of the parent–that if only one could plan better, or do less, simplify somehow, it would be easier. There is truth to that. I know mothers who are willing and able to back out of outside obligations and minimize outings in order to have more time for focusing on the kids and home responsibilities. I can only assume that this helps with the stress level. But there is no arguing that no matter what we do to simplify our lives, the fact that we are responsible for a little person or several who can’t care for themselves is a load–sometimes a heavy one.

    I love my load. And I love my non-simple life with the errands and Mother’s Day Outs and my stay-at-home job and the house that never stays clean for more than a couple hours. I chose it after all. I signed up for these kids with my eyes wide open, knowing full well that there would be sleepless nights and way too much to do. I don’t get bored, do I? I will never be bored again; count on it. But on mornings like this when my shoulders ache, and another load waits for the dishwasher, and my laundry day is going to have to wait for next week because I still need to vacuum crumbs off the sofas and enter receipts–well, on mornings like this I welcome the little vignettes that remind me just how much I love my load.

    It’s simple things that give me a private smile on my face and hope for the future. Those are the things that expand the day-to-day neverending RESPONSIBILITY into the bigger picture that reminds me of what my purpose is, after all. When my kids argue with each other, or whine to me, or ask for things like candy or negative attention, I wish I had a large apron like Suzanna Wesley had when her many children would overwhelm her. She would sit on a chair, throw the apron over her head, ignore the screams, and just pray. Eking out a quiet time in the midst of chaos is a skill I have yet to acquire. My first thought is usually Excedrin, chased down with caffiene, and followed by a forced bedtime for everyone because surely that’s better than the complete loss of sanity that threatens.

    I was on the phone with my parents the other day, and they told me that they weren’t sure how John and I do it all. I confessed that we don’t do any of it well. Between us, we work six jobs. Two of the jobs are mine, in addition to full-time parenting. Hearing the understanding in their voices was a balm; it was one of those moments of realization I was alluding to–every parent goes through this at some level, and remembers it always. There is true and sincere empathy on the part of every seasoned parent on behalf of every relatively new parent. Parenting is hard. When you add to it the stress of making a living and keeping up with life, it’s downright difficult. Most parents would say that it’s worth it in the end, and I would certainly raise my hand with them even at this beginning stage. It’s going to be worth it. And some days, it’s already worth it.

    I sent the boys outside to play today. It rained in the night. The days that have been beautiful this spring have more often than not been the days we’ve been away from the house. I treasure the few days I get at home when the day is warm enough to play outside, and the grass is dry, and the children get along with each other and play happily while I frantically grab at moments of accomplishment in the house. More often than not, the day isn’t quite warm enough, or the grass isn’t quite dry, or the kids are sent outside wearing rain slickers and crocs in the drizzle and only last long enough to get wet, miserable, and muddy enough to need a bath. Today was somewhere in the middle–the sun shone, and the air was warm, but the ground proved the night’s storm, and there was water in the empty sand table. They asked to go outside, though, and in the interest of getting a few things done, I let them. Knowing that it would end with a bath.

    They played well. The play sand that over time has ended up on the ground around the sand table was dug up and added to the water in the table. They took their boats and cars and made a game of it. William came to the door once crying, and I came out onto the step. “Ste’en bite me!” Stephen used to bite a lot. Now, he waits until we’re sure he’s over it, and then sneaks one in just to keep us off balance. It’s his compensation for his communicative siblings–if he can’t talk, he can sure let them know how he feels. After hugs and reconciliation, I went back inside to work, with one eye on the window at the back door. A while later, Stephen came crying to the door. I went to the window to look down on them, and that’s when I had my vignette. That tiny little moment in the day when I’m reminded why my job is better than any other career, and why sleepless nights are worth it. Stephen stood there with William at his side. They were wearing matching navy sweatpants and matching green hoodies, with feet sockless in waterproof crocs. Stephen was soaked to the bone. His hands were wrinkled with damp, and muddy, and he wailed in distress at his sodden sweats and saggy hoodie. William kept one eye on the door for me, and placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, patting it kindly. This, for the brother who had just bit him in the back and left a mark. He placed his arm around his brother.

    I don’t care what I have going on in my day; if I can just see one moment like that, it’s like a shot of Excedrin and caffiene straight to the bloodstream. I’m going to get through this day, because my children love each other, and demonstrate it without promptings from their mother. When true misery hits, they can put aside their petty arguments and jealousies, and just love on each other. It’s exactly what I need to see.

    It’s such a small thing, that to explain the significance of it requires seven paragraphs of introduction. Even with all that, it’s possible that my heart is the only one that melts. It doesn’t matter. I opened the door, and William immediately started explaining things with his stilted English. “Ste’en fall down! Ste’en fall ground!” Since there’s wet earth but no mud on the ground to speak of, I can only assume that Stephen crawled into the sand table and wallowed in the rainwater until he was unspeakably cold and miserable. I soothed him and told him to wait, that I would get him a dry sweatshirt. “GET SWEATSHIRT!” William yelled the new word at the top of his lungs in reassurance to his brother. They both waited for the change of clothes, and then in one accord, they headed back to the wet table, Stephen with his dry too-small hoodie and soaked sweats, and William with an eye of solicitation for his brother.

    Life isn’t perfect by many standards right now. It’s exhausting, demanding, frustrating, and overwhelming. But these moments in time are just what I need. They’re hard to explain. But somehow I felt the need to try. I can’t imagine my life any other way.

Comments (4)

  • that’s beautiful and encouraging!

    hope you have a blessed weekend!

  • So beautifully put…you don’t know haw much I needed that! Thank you! :)

  • Honey, that was so sweet.  (My suspecting nature couldn’t help but think of the time your Auntie Edna pushed me into the water puddle at the end of our driveway, dressed in our patent leather shoes, lacy socks, and flary dresses, while waiting for mom to finish getting ready for an appointment.  Auntie Edna’s 4 year-old legs speedily got her away from the scene, while my three-year-old shaken wet and muddy body attempted to stand up.  I was soon yanked into the house and spanked for playing in the water in dress clothes.  My grandfather who was working on the roof saw the whole thing and later told my mother what had happened.  I must have forgiven and forgotten, because the story was told to me 30 years later:)  But brother William would not have thought of such a thing since there was no large puddle.  Right?

  • You made me get vaklempt.

    And, where do I buy one of those aprons?? You think they have ‘em on etsy??

Post a Comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *