I wasn't sure where I was going to go with this post-- as I have been in a damn reflective mood lately. But last night I found the perfect way to frame up what is going in my head.
I struggle with parenting- yell too much, count to three more times than is ever effective, and feel late no matter what I am trying to get done. Yet, it's oddly rewarding. And funny.
I have a hard time articulating what it is exactly that makes me love this job- especially when so much of it is just plain fucking hard. I often feel like a foreigner in someone else's land-- crossing borders that I judged in the past- such as apologizing for the stickiness of the counter or the naked kids getting ready for bath time. Don't mind Deirdre- that's just poop on her nose. It'll be gone soon... we're taking showers.*
The weird blend of pain and suffering and joy seems to be the normal dichotomy in my life. As a self-proclaimed moderation-hater, I seem to enjoy life best when it's lived in the extremes. Extremes of parenting are hard to really explain even to myself. I seem to jump back and forth between the joy /frustration threshold minute by minute As I have transitioned from career gal to SAHM to somewhere in-between this identity and confusion has really left me pensive. Is this the greatest job ever? I've been told so- but man it's hard.
And then this happened--
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| Go Get Those Horcruxes, Bud. |
This is James who thinks I can't see him underneath his cloak of invisibility.
I often spend much of the hours between 7-10 escorting children to bed.
We've been struggling with bed time and some night time phone thieves,
milk capers and non-essential pee-ers. In effort to claim my evening, I
decided to take a bath with the door open so they would have to pass
the door if they were out of bed.
Cymbals clang, lightbulbs pop and the thunder clapped-- that's it. That is frustration, lack of sleep, counting to three, time outs
and joy all in one little boy.
I called out to James-- and he continued to creep past the door, careful not to make any noise. Those floor boards are a death trap. After he safely made it back to his room with a phone (I presume). I continued to call to him and he popped on over as if nothing had ever happened. That's right, the blanket WORKS.
Yep, I think that is happiness.
It's pretty fucking awesome.**
* " "Tonight. We are big into changing our own diaper lately. Which works, you know. . . most of the time. Until it REALLY doesn't.
**As I write this post with a baby in my lap- a glass of wine in sight and spaghetti stuck to the wall next me.
