Calamity Days

I could blog about each hour of each day that I have spent trapped in a 1200 square foot house with four children who are only able to get along with each other for a finite amount of time, one of whom is always unhappy with what we are currently doing, one of whom will be displeased with what we are about to do, who can't even be unanimous when selecting a movie to watch (but the popcorn that accompanies it...that they can all get on board with)....and most of what I write would be negative, sure-fire birth control for the childless few who read my words.  But that's not why I blog.  (That all gets recorded in my journal.  And while we're on this topic, can someone volunteer to come over and burn them when I die?  So that my kids don't read all the angry, frustrated words I write about them every day?)  When I come to this space, I want to share how I am learning, being transformed, and I hope to always find a positive note.  It took six days of no school, sub zero temperatures, head splitting migraines to get there.

Today, we ventured out into the warming (8 degrees!) world outside our house, because we just had to not be in each others' faces for a while.  We headed to Playland, because its free, and they were finally open.  I brought a book, because, unlike at home, the kids are pretty much out of my face once we walk through the doors, and I find that when I am reading, other moms and dads are less likely to talk to me, which suits me just fine.  There we were, spread out, the kids running and climbing and yelling, me nose deep in my novel.  It lasted about 20 minutes.  Then the boys came over to me, giving me hugs, Michael kissing my leg (mostly, I think, because its right at his level, but also so he didn't have to jostle with the big boys to get to my face).  Winston said, "Now its your turn Mommy!"  Uhhh, my turn for what?  "Mommy, take off yours shoes and come down the slide with me!"  Okay, so here I am at a mommy cross roads.  On the one hand, this is my attempt at solitude and quiet (in the midst of screaming children, yes).  This is my one chance to read my book and be still, because eventually Playland will close, and we will go back to our dungeon house for several more hours of whining and fighting and general grumpiness, mostly directed at me.  Also, getting up to the top of the slide is no easy thing for a grown woman.  Especially on a busy day like today, I would have to crawl around other kids, go through tunnels of plastic that are very hard on my aging knees, all for the end result of 10 seconds crammed in a slide, getting charged up with enough static electricity to start a car.  On the other hand, my son is asking me to play with him.  My sweet four year old boy wants to amplify his fun by going down the slide with Mommy.  So I marked my place in my book, slipped off my shoes, clarified that this was only going to happen once (my aging knees, people!), and followed an extremely delighted boy up, up, up.  But that's not even the best part, making Winston's day.  When James and Michael saw me going up (or maybe they had worked this out ahead of time, letting Winston be the spokesman for the group), they came with us, so that at the top of the slide, my lap held not just one, but three boys, grinning from ear to ear, and down we went, squeals of delight (them) and groans (me).  I delivered kisses all around, then headed back to my seat.  "Again?" James asked, and as much as it kills me to say no to him EVER, I had to beg off, but thanked him for inviting me to go.

Because what I regret about the past six days is all the times I lost my temper, all the times I was short or tired or puking, and they were not my priority.  I don't regret sitting down with a pile of books and kids sprawled on every available square inch of me.  I don't regret making room under the blanket for a little body with freezing toes.  I don't regret crawling through Playland (especially when I saw another mom up there, doing the same thing).  I was struck today, swinging on the pendulum of indecision, at how short this time truly is.  I mean, how much longer will my kids actually WANT me to play with them?  How many more opportunities to I have to be their best friend?  How well can I love them today, so that future events won't make them doubt it?  And in this season of so much doubt of myself, my choices and my abilities, its nice to end the day knowing that I did something right.  And hopefully the kids remember this more than all the times I shouted, "STOP asking for more candy!  There's NO MORE CANDY!"