The Road Not Taken

It's funny that parenting can be lonely given how common parenting is. On days when I feel that I'm in my own little universe, it is helpful to remember that millions of parents surely must have had the very same thoughts as I do, such as:

Thought #1: How can I spend all day trying to create order, yet the day's end looks and feels like chaos?

Thought #2: In any given situation, which is better: try to model kindness or play the stern parent role? (I brood on this one a lot.)

Thought #3: The right answer to #2 has got to be the one I did NOT choose!

Anger with a Touch of Love

This weekend, Clara and June got mad at Will. I have no recollection why, nor do they. But they wrote a very important note to express their feelings:

Translation: "Will is not alawd in are rume Love Clara and June heart heart heart heart Clara heart June heart." Quite a gushy admonishment, I'd say.

It's a good reminder, to lace our expressions of anger with a little bit of love.

Haikus

We have a quasi-tradition in our family to include a Haiku on our holiday cards, when we manage to send them. Since the poem is a throwback to our own 4th grade poetry in the 70s, many people are probably a bit confused by the jarble of words. One year, we got giddy late at night and found amusement in the following:

Three little cherubs

Wish a happy birthday to

The fairy Jesus

Clara was into fairies that year and had recently asked if Jesus was one, too. We thought it was quite funny, but when even my sister expressed shock at our card, I felt a little sheepish.

Still, we've stuck to the tradition - just because it's nice to do something different and we can't think of anything else. So here are a couple of contenders for this year:

Based on June's doll, Jeff offered:

A magical birth

On Christmas (or any day)

Sweet Clospar arrives

Will sounded like a young poet with this one:

The moon shines at night

Raining white light on the earth

Making all shadows.

Hopefully, we'll decide on one before the theme changes to Valentines.

Greed

The kids are out of school. We spent the morning in the kitchen and playing games. Then, thanks to Greed, the afternoon was remarkably smooth. Will, Clara and June made out their Christmas wish lists and were united and consumed in their "I want, I want, I want" euphoria.

P.S. When I fix my broken camera, pictures will follow...

Avoidance

We're not avoiding the birds and the bees conversation. Really. We just didn't realize (until Jeff watched it himself) that the Planet Earth-like bug movie we got for Will was really insect pornography. We may some day need to help transfer his knowledge to the human world, but at least we don't have to guess about his current level of sophistication.

Giving In

Lately, I am aware of the many moments when our kids are in suspended animation. It seems so unnatural, but at the same time, these circumstances are necessary to get from a to b, or just from hungry to fed:

• John, strapped down in his carseat (it always seems so unnatural) just waiting to get where we're going and be taken out. Or if we're already home, waiting there as I cart groceries and such from car to kitchen.
• The girls, standing before us at night with mouths wide, waiting to get their "finish" for brushing teeth.
• Everyone waiting for turns.
• June, holding my hand, just looking around while I chat with other moms.
• John, strapped in to his stroller, waiting for a push.
• John and June, strapped into the burley behind the bike.
• The kids sitting at the dinner table, waiting to be fed.
• John and June sitting behind a wheel in a grocery cart, with the cruel illusion of being in charge.

I prefer to feel in control of my life, and really want my kids to be in control of theirs, too, but a little bit of giving in sure helps everyone's sanity. Most often, the kids are in motion, in charge of their fate (with a small f). But in these moments when they're so vulnerable and dependent, I want to cuddle them up and say thank you, for choosing not to fight my dominion!

Engineering

Today, we went on our first hike of the season. I love cold weather hikes - the sunlight, the crisp air, the feeling of clarity. But, there was one more motivating factor: I want my kids to remember hiking in Chautauqua, all through the seasons, as part of their childhood.

Then it dawned on me: I'm like an engineer. Of the genetic variety, just post-birth.

All parents are really. You have to be. You have to plan. And you can't help but expose your kids to what you love at the expense of other things. It's not slimy. It's just something to be aware of. And goodness knows, there are plenty of times when it all feels like a big science experiment, so a little directed engineering is ok! Right?

Check out the tights June wore for our hike! Can't engineer that! (Nor can I engineer the picture so you can see the whole thing!)

Elephant in the Elevator

Recently, while taking one of my kids for an annual check-up, we rode up the elevator with a man holding a baby in a carrier. We "ooo-ed" and "ahhhh-ed" at her, before the man burst out: "O.K. Lets just dispense with the elephant in the room: I'm her grandfather, and they call me dad."

All this happened between the 1st and 3rd floors. I left the elevator, still unsure if he was the father or the grandfather - and I didn't care. I just thought the baby was cute. I'd hardly looked at this guy!

But it left me thinking of all the elephants in the room that parents THINK others see. I can certainly get absorbed with them. Little ones ("Why can't that mom ever brush her daughters' hair?) and big ones, too ("That mom clearly has no clue what she's doing...").

Maybe it would help to just dispense with it and shout out loud, like the guy in the elevator: "Honestly, I'm doing my best!" or "You have no idea what it took to get my kids out the door this morning!"

But really, it reminds me how easy it is to get caught up in our own worlds. Maybe people think the tangled hair is cute. Or my cloud of parental chaos might just make people laugh, or run, or reflect on their own freedom. Anyway, I recognize that I choose my elephants. And it's likely that as my circumstances change, rather than fade away, they'll just call for replacements.

Holding Hands

In the past five days, we've been holding hands with our cousins - for guidance and affection.

There was some virtual hand-holding between the oldest cousins of the group. Walking home from a Sunday brunch, they confided in each other their magical powers, their visions, the enemies lurking in nearby bushes. One would strike with a sword, the other with an outstretched paperclip.

They walked quietly. Thoughtful and steady. (Unlike the gait of their younger siblings.) Their 8-year-old selves are so strong, side by side. Poised to face the world.

Halloween

This Halloween, everyone was a bird. It just happened that way really.

CLARA decided some time this summer that she wanted to be a bluebird.

JUNE, in true little sister fashion, countered with a Cardinal. (The same, yet different.)

JOHN followed suit as a canary only the day before when I realized that I'd thrown away our tried and true baby bee costume before we knew there would be a John.

WILL chose to be Horus, the Egyptian God who happens to have a Falcon head.

Anyway, there were lots of feathers - boa-style around the neck, tucked in ponytails, painted on faces, draped onto footy PJs...

This was the best part of Halloween - the kids' anticipation as their costumes evolve, their glow when the costume is complete, and then the giddy running from house to house to reap the reward.

However, we had our moments, as we do every Halloween. I always end the day with vows to simplify, but it seems like we could simplify to nothingness and STILL have freak-outs!

Noses

John has discovered his nose. Today, as I am driving, June shouts, "Mom! John has his finger in his nose. It seems like it's stuck!"

I remember this phase with all the kids, the time they figure out this perfect fit for their tiny little fingers. For some, the phase lasted quite a long time. For others, it was a nervous tick. For example, "Hi, this is my daughter June" was code word for "Put your finger in your nose."

Anyway, John's personal discovery happened today. He seems quite enthralled. In fact, if you ask him about any body part, he points to his nose. I say, "John. Where are your toes?" And he points to his nose. Or "John, where are your ears?" And he points to his nose. Not a precise pointer finger to the tip of his nose, but more like a failed drunk driving test kind of point, somewhere on the side.

Anyway, we'll see how long the fascination lasts. It does remind me how parents are so blindly gaa-gaa over their own children: I think it's cute!