Talking About Parenting

I've been thinking about this topic a lot lately.

When I'm panicking because I can't find my ten-year-olds on the playground after their swim class...
When I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to make it to two drop-off times, ten minutes apart, at two schools, a ten minute drive apart, five days a week, until next summer...
When I'm worrying about who is going to pick up my four-year-old from half-day preschool if I've got class two days a week...
When one of my kids suddenly comes down with something awful on a Sunday and we have to take her to urgent care...
When I put my four children to bed and I finally feel relaxed for the first time all day...

Parenting is hard. There are about as many "parenting styles" as there are children to parent in the world, I would guess. I would also guess that not a single one of them is easy. Raising children saps your energy and steals your time. If you're not careful, it can destroy your health and seemingly denature your home. But future/new parents don't want to hear these horror stories.

The weekend before last, I got to go to the local botanic gardens for the first time. I am head-over-heels for botany, in case you didn't know. But I've never been to the botanic gardens because there are a number of other places my kids would rather go. Finally inside the gardens, I spent my entire trip eating lunch at the cafe, and then standing outside a bathroom stall while one of my kids was sick. Then we went home... where I lounged in the bathtub so I could be next to her while she suffered.

Yesterday, I spent almost 9 hours doing homework... mine while my kids were at school, and helping them with theirs once they were home. I'm certainly learning to love math, but I still don't love homework. And, by nature of priorities, I didn't get any housework done and we ate delivery pizza for dinner while watching the second half of Wonder Woman because I was entirely spent by 6 o'clock.

Today, my four-year-old son is hanging out in Papa's office for a while because I have to be on campus and Papa has to be at work, but Cub is only at school until noon. He's eating Wendy's for lunch, because there was no time or planning to prepare him his usual sandwich and fruit.

So, to those who find this grim honesty about parenting distasteful: Maybe just don't have kids. If you can't stomach a story about an outing gone horribly wrong, an adult life given entirely over to the needs of a sometimes unreasonable and ungrateful child, the sadness, tiredness, depression, anxiety, anger, frustration, and loneliness that visit upon those who have chosen to raise the next generation...

If you can't bare to see the pain of it all without losing your will to procreate... maybe just don't. Because it seems to me that the beauty of parenting can only be seen through a thick lens of suffering. I give pieces of myself to my children every day. I lose sleep. I eat things I hate. I cry when I sing songs about unconditional love. I rarely go out with friends. I schedule my life such that it works for them. I pay loads of money for them to learn and experience life. I drop everything when someone is ill. I enter a weird state of fugue when a birthday is coming and give myself over into elaborate, all-day, sometimes multi-day, cake making and decorating. I love all of that, and I wouldn't want it to change.

I love them in a way I never knew existed before they were born. It is incredible, but it hurts.

Through Love all that is bitter will be sweet.
Through Love all this is copper will be gold.
Through Love all dregs will turn to purest wine.
Through Love all pain will turn to medicine.
Through Love the dead will all become alive.
Through Love the king will turn into a slave!

-- Jalaluddin Rumi

It Gets Different

I've made myself so busy with school, a research project, kids (and their homework and extra-curricular activities), and otherwise avoiding my blog... but I just couldn't let this story pass without mention.

The girls were all with their Daddy and Papa and I had some important parenting topics to discuss (namely, screen time restrictions and allowance/chores) so we decided to go out to eat. Papa really wanted southwest egg rolls, which is a pretty surprising craving. We haven't been to Chili's in... 

Anyway, we had a waiter-in-training whose name was David. He was unusually nice and attentive for a waiter, probably because he was new and hadn't figure out what a time-sink a four-year-old can be if you let him talk to you about your tattoos. It was pleasant, though. 

At one point, while Papa was trying to make sure the steak knives weren't going to end up in Cub's hands, David commiserated, saying he has a little dude of his own. He said he's seen a video game in which the objective is just to keep your kid out of peril, and it seems pretty true to reality. He asked, "does it get easier?"

Papa and I shared a knowing glance and I said, "It gets... different."

Fast forward...

We get home and pretty much immediately start cleaning the kitchen. I'm on spring break and we're leaving for a week-long vacation on Thursday, so we want to get the house relatively in order while we have the chance. We're already partly packed. Since the girls are sharing one big suitcase (but they don't share a room) their luggage is open in the middle of the common area of the house. 

Cub is playing with the dogs, just on the other side of the bar. I can see his face, but not the rest of his body from where I stand in the kitchen. Then, suddenly, I see him fall and he screams as he picks himself up... off of the open luggage. 

I get around the bar in time to see his devastated face, quickly reddening with upset flush and blood, just before he escapes to his room. 

He always goes to his room when he's hurt. 

In no hurry, I walk to his room. Let's not overreact. Let's not feed his panic. But when I get there, he's much bloodier than I expected, and this is an exceptional amount of fuss he's making. This little dude has cut himself, bit his lip, bloodied his nose and variously injured himself many times in his very adventurous and hyperactive life. I'm pretty desensitized and I've become quite good in a crisis. Still, this was more blood than I was expecting, and he never screams this much.

I calmly picked him up and his screaming paused long enough for him to say, "I want to look in the mirror." I took him to the bathroom... but seeing himself in the mirror definitely did not slow the screams. So, wailing like a fire engine, he was ferried to the couch in the common area... where he discovered that there was blood on my arm and the shoulder of my shirt. 

He said, "this is definitely not cool." To which I agreed. 

So, long story short... he got an ice pack and a wet rag and some cuddles. Once the bleeding stopped and we could see the wound, we realized that the wound itself looked more ragged and angry than we've seen before. Papa took him to the hospital to make sure he doesn't need stitches. 

Now, they're checked in and waiting to be seen, and Cub is telling everyone all about his lip, asking them about their various injuries and illnesses, and convincing other kids to chase him around the waiting room. Never a dull moment.

It really does just get... different.