Simplicity

Some days we long for "the simple life", especially when ours seems so frenzied and frantic.  Coordinating the family’s schedule makes us long to hire a manager, and we don’t know how we ever lived without smart phones and multiple Google calendars.  We drive our children on a daily safari, trying to pack as much stimulation as possible into their lives lest they miss a possible opportunity.

We have so many possessions we have to rent a storage facility or even buy a bigger house, yet we cling to these things because of their perceived value, turning a blind eye to their true cost. Our children hoard their treasures like a dragon, and getting them to part with their baubles (even if they haven’t noticed them in months!) frequently involves getting singed. 

Even vacations have turned into endurance contests, leaving everyone exhausted and unable to enjoy the family odyssey.  We return home not refreshed and renewed, but even more overwhelmed and exhausted. The knowledge of the imminent trek through the resulting mountains ranges of laundry only adds to our weariness.

Maybe we should take a step back, and peek at what our children find joy in.

Of course some of their ideas are better than others...

The Art of Negotiation

So last week our dishwasher died.  Pretty good timing actually, since for the week we didn’t have one either we had already planned on eating out or only I was in residence.  We finally go pick one up, install it, and promptly go back to our usual couple of loads a day pace. 

And we are left with a box.  A gigantic, pack-up-the-whole-family-and-ship-us-to-Texas size box.   

So Joyce and Marie start brainstorming what to do with it.  And the negotiations begin:

Joyce: “I want it to be a tent, to camp out in.”

Marie: “I want it to be a house, with windows and a chimney.” 

They agree with surprising speed that they will put the box down sideways (so it will be a tent with doors), paint it, and draw windows on it instead of cutting them out.  Next, we cover the outside of the box with a roll of white paper, and bring out the painting supplies.  But before they paint, they argue for at least 10 minutes about what to decorate the house with.  They finally agree to divide up the sides of the box and draw on different ones.

Joyce: “I’m drawing windows on my side.”

Marie: “I’m drawing windows on mine too.” 

Marie then walks around to observe Joyce’s progress, “Joyce!  You didn’t draw your windows right, they don’t look like mine!”  And she promptly fixes what she perceives to be the error…

Joyce: “Marie!  Don’t draw on my windows!  I don’t want them to look like yours, I don’t like how yours look!”  Joyce promptly grabs an eraser and tries to undo Marie’s “help,” while complaining loudly that Marie needs to stop drawing on Joyce’s side.  Marie is just bewildered why anyone wouldn’t want her to help make things conform to her picture of perfection.

And the painting finally commences.  They agree on a color each (different of course), receive their brushes, and begin, all the while commenting on how their side is going to look the prettiest.

Marie peeks at Joyce’s side again.

Marie: “Joyce!  You painted over your windows!  Why did you do that?  That isn’t right.  Look at mine, don’t they look better?” 

Joyce, in a very annoyed tone of voice: “No.  I like mine better.”

So they finally finish painting their respective sides, and impatiently stand there and fidget while watching the paint dry.  All the while discussing how and why each one’s work is superior.  

Their plan is to sleep in the box, so they drag pillows and blankets downstairs and arrange everything.  Before we leave for a lovely evening of adult conversation, I inform their babysitter of their plans, and fully expect to come home and have to carry 40-50 lbs of limp sleeping child upstairs to their bunk beds.  But, upon arriving home before I turn into a pumpkin, she informs me that they both decided to sleep in their beds because the house was too spooky (and I’m sure the hard floor had something to do with it too). 

At least they finally agreed on something.

Friendship

Friends:  Everyone has them.  They run the spectrum from casual acquaintances, to family.  Some beloved childhood friends we haven’t seen or heard from in 20 years, some brand new friends we’re still testing the waters with.  But our friends are the threads that make up the tapestry of our lives.

Each one is inextricably interwoven with a different part of our life.  If we’re lucky, maybe their thread meanders through more than just their initial appearance.  But more often, our friends are linked with a certain phase of our lives.  Like baby food, we have different friends for different stages.  We remember the innocent happiness of childhood play, the awkward discomfort of navigating the teenage years, the heady exhilaration of living on our own for the first time, and friends we shared pregnancy and raising our children with. 

If we’re lucky, we’ll get to reconnect with our childhood friends later in life.  We carry unique memories of them, and wonder if they hold a piece of our past in their recollections.  We feel the urge to see them again, reminiscence together and share our treasure chest of memories, both becoming richer for the experience. 

With some friends we pick up right where we left off.  We may not have seen them in months or even years, our life situations may even be drastically different, but we instantly remember why we were such good friends to begin with.  Others we see again, and discover all that we share now is a friendship from the past.  We may want to explore these new people we are, see if we still want to have a relationship, or simply say thanks for the memories and move on with quiet sadness. 

Then there are those friendships marked by such intensity that we can never completely leave them in the past.  They shared such a vital piece of our lives that allowing them to fade away would be like ripping out part of ourselves.  Sure, these tend to be our romantic relationships, but not necessarily.  It could simply be someone we shared an intense experience with, or who supported us in navigating a rocky part of our lives.  But quite truthfully, we can’t map our journey to who we are today without including this person in the directions.

In our children’s early years their social life is dictated by ours: we make mommy (or daddy) friends whose children then make friends with ours.  But then our children start making friends of their own, without consulting us first, and it’s a bit disconcerting to realize that you now have to arrange playdates  for your child with someone you may not have ever talked to of your own accord.  If you’re lucky, the parents hit it off as well as the children do.  If not, well, it’s a good lesson in politeness.  

Reflections

We all see ourselves in our children.  The shape of their mouth, the pattern of baby curls, the dimples so similar to ours.  Even their facial expressions may be picture perfect images of ours at that age.

Then there are the mannerisms.  They start out cute, progress to irritating, and rapidly arrive at maddening.  Children copy what they see, so is it any wonder they quickly learn what makes us tick and ticks us off?  Even taking into account the whole nature vs. nurture debate, we are the source of both.  So it really is all our fault.

We see the good in our children and are positive they inherited these qualities from us.  The unsolicited acts of kindness, thoughtfulness, of course we take pride in our…I mean their…achievements.  They fill us with a sense of accomplishment, the knowledge that we must have done something right.

Then we see their darker side peek out.  A snide remark, a selfish act, the refusal to accomplish a necessary task out of sheer laziness.  We think “they must have picked it somewhere,” and look far and wide for where to cast the blame.  The further away the better, lest we bear any accountability.  But somehow, these qualities we find so blameworthy just don’t go away.

Maybe we notice these flaws more often now that we are aware of their existence, but we still strive to avoid the stark realization of where our children get them from: We need look no further than our reflection in the mirror. 

We don’t get to pick which of our behaviors our children will mirror any more than we chose which genes to pass on.  We can't pass them through a sieve, or pick over them like produce at the grocery store.  But our children do notice, and mirror, all those idiosyncrasies we are not even fully aware of (just ask your spouse, he/she probably has a list they can share with you). 

Children certainly do bring our reflections into focus, but it may not be the image we were expecting.  

Maybe we should think about a makeover.

Mom, can I watch TV?

Everyone has a list of favorite shows from their childhood.  We fondly remember trying so hard to wake up early enough to catch it (a fact that totally confounds our children in the age of TiVo), eagerly anticipating our transportation to another world for 30 minutes.  We remember falling off a cliff with Wile E. Coyote, running from the villain of the week with Scooby Doo, and singing “kill the wabbit” to the tune of Ride of the Valkyries with Bugs Bunny.  We wished we could say “go go Gadget Copter” and zoom away to save the world from Dr. Claw.    And really, who didn’t harbor a secret fantasy of being He-Man or She-Ra?

Now 20-30 years later, I’m sure many of us have revisited our childhood passions and brought our children along for the ride.  And somehow these shows that held our rapt attention as children still appeal to our adult selves.  Maybe it’s the universal appeal of seeing Wile E. Coyote blown up for the 100th time, or simply nostalgia for the simple joys and pleasures of childhood.  But there are definitely shows that captivated us as children and made the journey to adulthood with us too. 

Somehow the majority of children’s shows currently on the air seem like they would be buried in the attic and denied three times.  I’m sure the most of us of us have been subjected to our favorite bilingual explorer at least once (and if you haven’t, it only takes about 1 minute of viewing to see where I’m coming from).  Can you really imagine your children pulling out an old DVD of that and introducing their kids to it with anything but dread and embarrassment?

Not that there aren’t modern shows we actually enjoy watching with our children.  Disney/Pixar films come to mind, Phineas and Ferb can be quite entertaining, and Cartoon Network’s new somewhat satirized version of Scooby Doo is often hilarious.  The ability to imbue a program with subject matter, language, dialogue, and comedy that children understand, and yet sprinkle in enough humor that we adults can appreciate it too is a rare skill. 

On one hand, we don’t want to sit through 30 minutes of baby babble by the Teletubbies, yet we are (rightfully so) not ready for our children to be exposed to the more mature themes we find so compelling.  Walking the tightrope between the two to produce an entertaining program is a recipe few chefs have perfected. 

Maybe when our children have children of their own there will still be a few gems left they can enjoy together.

I Am Cool

I am a cool mother.  

Yes, I do drive a minivan, ferry children all over town to various activities, coordinate schedules like a manager, and have at least 3 conversations simultaneously on such diverse topics as our new school schedule, what Transformer toys we have gotten from Burger King, and if we are having dessert today.  

I undoubtedly have days where I’m not as nice as I should be, or have just heard “Mom, can I do ____” one too many times and lose it.  And I definitely have days where I dream of an extended vacation all by myself. 

Despite all those flaws, I do have a few things going for me. 

I climb trees to shake down pecans for the girls to collect.  I point out the dead possum in the road, tromp through the woods to find where it was deposited, and describe in detail the stages of decomposition (Joyce and Marie were very disappointed to find that a scavenger had carried it off a few days later and we wouldn’t get to watch it finish decomposing). 

I let them play in the dirt, and bury each other up to their necks in playground sand.  They have used each other as a canvas to paint on more than once.  I take them to international festivals and make them try different foods, learn how people dress, hear what languages they speak, watch how they dance, and listen to what their music sounds like.  They are regulars at my bellydance shows, and even participate in open dance time.

I catch lizards for them to keep as pets.  Joyce loves to tell the story about how we caught Suzie, our Broadhead Skink.  The second lizard, Alex, was caught while Joyce was in theatre class.  Since we had to go directly from class to Chick-fil-a for dinner, the lizard rode along in my purse.  There was a lot of giggling going on at dinner that night, but no one told about our secret passenger.

I bring “overnight pets” home for them.  My usual exercise route takes me past a pond, and I frequently see frogs and toads on the sidewalk.  We enjoy observing them for a day, look them up in a field guide and read about them, then return them to their natural habitat. 

I let them check out books about almost any topic they want at the library.  We have learned about hurricane Katrina, the Bubonic Plague, Vincent Van Gogh (although they couldn’t understand why he cut off his ear), and of course dinosaurs.  We went to a presentation there on medieval arms and armor, with real weapons to play with.  They had great fun practicing with the wooden sword and shield, and wearing real chain mail.  I just had way too much fun playing with the swords. 

I know they don’t realize what atypical mother they have now, but I hope at some point they will comprehend this in retrospect.  

Maybe when they grow up, they will even remember the time we found a snake in the pool. 

And appreciate that instead of running away screaming, I caught it and we kept it as a pet. 

Because I really am cool.

The Mystery of the Writing on the Wall

Some of you may have already seen this, but it’s one of our more memorable incidents and worth sharing again.

Our kitchen has a short wall separating it from the playroom, and a table pushed against it.  That means I can’t see the wall unless I crawl under the table.  I just happened to do this one day, probably retrieving something that dropped.  This is what I saw, written in pen of course.

So of course my first question is “WHO DID THIS?”  Neither would admit to it, so we decided to do some forensic analysis.

Each child had to give a writing sample. 

A perfect match, but not from the one named!  We originally thought it was Joyce, but she was acting confused and upset when we accused her and Marie isn't a very good liar.  Thus the writing sample. We didn't know Marie could write lower case letters, apparently she's been learning at school!  

So Marie wrote on the wall, lied about it, AND tried to frame her sister.  Joyce was ecstatic that she proved her innocence and Marie not only got in trouble for doing it, but also for lying about it and trying to get Joyce in trouble.  We asked Joyce what we should do about Marie.  
Needless to say, Marie did not have a fun rest of the evening. 

Joyce was in such a good mood after that and drew this later in the evening.  I love her depiction of my face and hair, and her innocent smile.  The picture pretty much says it all!