After leaving New York City over eight years ago, it was nice to meet up with old friends on a bright morning in the city that boasts the oldest Goodyear dealer in the United States, in a county that contains more Hispanics than Amish – Lancaster. Eating at a Creperie wasn’t on my recent list of things to do, but it seemed to please these friends of ours, those of both the East coast mentality (New York City) and those of the west (Seattle). My wife, who’s culinary ideals align somewhere between Bombay, deep Ethiopia and the elite culture of France, was also too excited to wait long for her salmon and caper-filled crepe. I chose one containing fresh fruit.

What had transpired in the last 8 years (schooling, home purchases, multiple moves, time spent overseas, and 6 small children between the three of us couples) only gave us more to talk about – as though the few years we spent together so long ago had been merely a spot on the map we could now look back on together through the tunnels we had carved from there. I hadn’t laughed so much at once for a good while. Coffee was drunk freely, especially by Darren.

Harlan imitated YouTube, “By the people, for the people . . . Eagle!”, tried to explain MacGyver to Olivia, and referenced the Civil War about eight times. Olivia described her clinic, poked fun of her husband’s obsession with running, and asked Harlan pointedly, “so . . . do you have an ideal?” Marilyn laughed, couldn’t quite finish her crepe, and also referenced YouTube. Jen described the cultural landscape of Seattle, spoke of her wealthy Asian clients, and refused to help Marilyn make the wind noises of a wordless duet. Darren recommended a book on the history of debt, tried to explain the complicated language of his upcoming dissertation, and answered all of Harlan’s questions about the non-existent Left without getting upset. I tried to explain how to run down an antelope by using only one’s legs, argued for the tolerance of movement in children, and said of church, “well, you have to go somewhere.”

We’ll have to do it again sometime.

 

boredom, creativity, and other great stuff

as a sort of experiment in "real time" blogging, I'm gonna write this on the countertop of the kitchen while the kids play with their "doctor machine" (see photo above) that is made out of pillows, a chair, blankets, and other hidden items.  a couple of realizations: if I'm a stay-at-home dad, I may as well blog as one.  most of the impulses for writing that come these days, are ones dealing with children, raising them, or keeping the household functioning.  all things that I didn't necessarily dream about as a child or young adult, but if you have a hand of spades, you may as well play the hand.  if we use the feedback I get from this blog as any indication, my target audience may as well be other stay-at-homers, and in this case, women. 

realization #2.  children are most invested in ideas they come up with themselves.  if you clean up something every day or multiple times a day, you begin to analyze it's necessity in the home.  for instance, if your  1 year-old loves to take out all the puzzles and spread the pieces beautifully around the entire house and eat a few in the process; and after a few days of sorting the pieces and putting them back in their places, you decide, hey!  let's put these in storage shall we?  right.  so the objects we must sort and organize on a pretty much constant level, we really start to scrutinize and decide if they're really worth thier weight in plastic and are earning their keep on the toy shelf.  so in this vein, I keep a hypothetical list of "the worst toys you can spend your money on" or "good idea toys that just didn't work" - a sort of guide to toys that really ended up having any "play time" value for the kids or were just "logistical nightmares" for the parents.  one item I added to the list today was the little flippable workbench with the pegs that you hammer back and forth.  I am trying to remember if I've ever actually seen one of the kids use that thing in the prescribed method.  maybe a couple times on the day that Nigel opened it.  granted, some toys can be salvaged by hiding them away for a while in the basement and getting them back out in a cyclical way.  some toys end up being valuable, but only because they become part of a completely different narrative - such as a hot-pad glove that was intended to be for the playstove, but has been mostly used as a pretend sock.  by and large, the play of children that (from a parents perspective) is the most stimulating, creative an engaging for the child is derived out of their own imagination - objects inserted into their own created narrative, coopted and used for something other than their original intention. 

realization #3.  boredom is completely necessary for children.  I mentioned to my wife this morning, after 4 year old Maggie was complaining about having to stay home because it was SO BORING, that BORING is the latest of Maggie's "power words."  power words, of course, being the words young children use to pry their parents' emotional selves apart, after learning that their words can have this incredible kind of impact when attempting to control their environment, which is admittedly, very much out of their control.  (they typically learn them from the older siblings.)  this added to her nice little arsenal containing words like HATE and DISGUSTING.  it is a common day to feel guilty about not providing enough "stimulation" or direct eye contact or one-on-one "floor time" play or whatever it is that we feel guilty about not giving the kids (trips to the museum? concerts? epic adventures?)  but let's be honest.  if we're gonna clean the house and do the laundry and get a few good meals on the table each week (and that's just the easy stuff), we're not gonna have alot of time to create daily epic adventures for children.  we're gonna give 'em all the adventure we can but one thing I've reaized is: kids have a whole lot of epic adventure already preprogrammed into their heads.  this relates to realization #2.  the best kids play, the most engaged creativity and the overall happiest times as a family in the working day, more times than not come out of a sort of "forced boredom" setup.  if children complain of boredom, it just might be a good indicator that they are in fact, not bored enough.  good golly, send me hate-mail if I start to sound like a patronizing know-it-all, knock-on-all-the-other-parents kind of parenting discussion.  but these are things I've noticed in my kids on the days that I was not overcome by guilt or depression. 

quality time

In terms of “quality time” with children not being what we expect.

We are parents – and we expect a lot of ourselves. Why don’t we have some good quality time with “this child” or with “these children”. Let’s take advantage of this moment we say. Perhaps we are feeling a bit guilty about shoving them off for the last while. The necessities of the day forcing us into our own tired out place of self regret - whatever the case, we make an effort to focus on the children – lets say, to play a game, play make-believe, something for which we have to abandon our own goals for the day, even if briefly, and sit on the floor or otherwise get on their level.

Great, fantastic. But what of the times when it feels as though we are wasting our time? Perhaps the children are only interested in arguing about the game? The older constantly corrects or derides the younger. The younger perhaps is exceptionally whining at every opportunity, or even at times when there shouldn’t even be an opportunity. Perhaps instead of enjoying the "quality time", we feel like we are pulling and pushing and otherwise keeping the whole thing from spinning out of control – keeping the little planet in orbit so to speak. The evening meal together could be another good example of this feeling.

So we are left wondering if this “quality time” thing is merely a myth. Or perhaps it will feel like quality time at some later point? Or better yet – maybe, as bad as it feels to sort out arguments, protect the weak, cheer on the disconsolate, and simply being there in the midst of the chaos as a proponent of relational “working it out” – is the best kind of quality time in terms of family building. Are the arenas of adult life any more functional or placid? Think of your workplace or that of your spouse – or anywhere else that humans have to form a group and work at a congregate goal.

I find myself believing that this groundwork, grunge work, in the trenches type of parenting – in the midst of the relational chaos of the children with their tensions, their moods, their discord and otherwise non-placid behavior – is actually the primary place that we as humans are able to learn to function as people. So what ends up feeling like a waste of time, or even failure on our part, is actually of exacting importance. Too bad it is so difficult to see in the moment.

Wearing the Shoe That Fits

Here is my once-per-week-or-so phenomena.  Shoes in their homes, aligned, semi-sorted and ready-to-go.  I continue to be amazed and startled at the ease and fluidity with which shoe collections emerge into the household.  I mistakingly thought we could make progress as the warm weather arrived.  We can get rid of these winter boots and make some space in here.  Ha!  Now we have rainboots and multiple pairs of variated models of summer footwear.  The summer flip-flop has evolved into the flip-flop, the croc, the practical sandal, the slip-on dressy sandal, etc., etc.  We haven't started talking about soccer cleats.  It is also the season for updated running shoes.  So I must bump my other shoes on down the line.  My "second pair" for rainy or muddy days.  My "third pair" for hanging out in the yard when I don't want to wear my workboots.  My "fourth pair" which must be thrown away?  It takes a moment of disciplined practicality to throw away shoes that I have shared so many miles with. 

A friend recently noted my pseudo-obsession with feats of discipline, or at least imagined feats.  A moment of self-reflection followed.  Why do I tend so heavily towards reigning the self in, securing the cargo, strapping down, quietness.  Last night I remained mum - choosing silence over what I imagined as tired and angry thoughts expressed for no particular purpose other than to initiate an argument, something I was too tired to desire.

Ours is an age of excess.  In every way conceivable.  We have to get up at crazy hours and perform incredible feats of mental agility in order to stave off the effects of food excess.  We have to buy books like The Information Diet in order to try and make sense of our excess media.  Today it is excess shoes.  Forgive me if I struggle to not become obsessed with discipline.  I so badly don't want to exceed.

Morning News

before it is time to wake up, M (3) yells out in her sleep, as she is prone, and I attempt to salvage the wee hours of darkness by stumbling over to her bed, perhaps to rub her back or tuck in her blanket.  instead she grunts, as though peeved, yells something about a giving her a snack.  having failed in the offer of comfort, I bestow a stern, "be quiet now."  she is dreaming.  before I can regain the warmth of my bed, N (1.5) yells from his room.  in the last few weeks he has decided to take on the grumpy morning demeanor of his sister.  so now instead of happy mumbles and chants in the morning, he half wails and moans in mock agony until I am forced to get him up out of desperation for ear solace.  even though it is a much more stressful way to do things, when I am too tired, I will not get up bofore N.  such is the case this morning, yet I go downstairs to clean out the woodstove and restock it with wood before I go up to save N from his own despair.  I also happen to have a stiff neck this morning, my wife and I have long discussions about stiff necks and what they imply.  for my current purposes, it implies that it is harder to hold two grumpy children on my lap as they try to wake up and try to whine the other out of their space, daddy's lap.  we sit in front of the woodstove in the morning darkness, I try not to move my head too much.  N is taking great delight in eating cereal and milk from a bowl like his sisters and has done well.  until this morning when he decides to dump his bowl down his front.  I'm not sure how much milk has dumped, how much has been drunk, until I observe a puddle of milk forming underneath his high chair, dripping out of the slot designed for a strap.  I wipe him off and postpone a thorough cleaning of the chair until L (8) is on her way out the door to the bus (or the "cat bus" as M lovingly refers to it.  or the "BSSSSSS!" as per N.) having completed her morning routine with a few smart alec comments, almost forgetting something, and kisses all around, although N trips while trying receive his kiss and must now wail instead of receive his sister's blessing.  I now turn my attention to the high chair and discover there is a decent amount of squished food/milk packed neatly into the fittings of the chair strap.  I decide it is time for a complete overhaul and am required to get a few tools out of the drawer in the kitchen in order to take everything appropriately apart.  M and N also must watch and help hold the tools as I do this.  eventually all the straps are removed, the packed food bits are painstakingly picked off the floor and appropriate surfaces cleaned with spray.  I work the straps into the first load of laundry for this "laundry day."  my wife is rustling in the kitchen, staunchly making hot oatmeal and pours the coffee I have managed to make in between the kids.  M informs me that N has pulled yet another glass ball ornament off the tree.  I search in vain for the balls matching cap and wire, and while I am kneeling in front of the small tree, M and N decide to parade around the tree.  N half trips over the light cord and pokes his face in the branches.  it is too tight for a good parade and I redirect his enthusiasm.  I remind M to wash her hands after going potty and make sure that N does not try to wash his.  my wife has time for an impromptu conversation and after several failed attempts we let the kids watch an episode of Maisy so that we might have our 5 minute conversation over breakfast.  we speak about the nature of stress and back aches, stiff necks, the on-going "Amish project", what the day may hold and why are the holidays so stressful?  what are we doing wrong?  how can we simplify? etc.  I ask about a few of her Amish patients and offer to start her car.  (which happens to be my Dad's truck - as her car is no longer working, long story)  we wife does not keep the habit of hanging keys up on the key hooks I bought at Lowes last year while carting around two kids and deciding to get the "real wood" mounted hooks even though they were more expensive.  instead they usually are in her brown bag, her purse, or one of her coat pockets.  after exhausting these possibilities, she remembers that she set them on the ground beside the raised beds last night while peeking at the spinach.  I retrieve them in my flip flops and start the truck, taking care not to back over any children that may have slipped out the back door without my notice.  my wife rubs my neck briefly until the attacks by N are just too much, she shows me a few stretches for shoulders and is on her way.  I water the outdoor cats, who in the winter only get small windows of opportunity to drink as their dish freezes so quickly.  I start the laundry for the morning, after finding a brown bag with handles for M who is asking for a "basket" to carry things with.  I attempt to negotiate a parallel play opportunity, as N also wants the bag.  this works until M informs me that N has torn the bag.  I find another bag.  we have about 3 days until the holidays break loose upon us.  it is now 10:03 on a chilly Monday morning.