Two-Hour Delay

This morning our little school district has called a two-hour delay, so at 8:12 a.m. we cluster around our woodstove.  L (9) sits directly in front of the fire, reading a book of short stories, her "other" book before she delves back into fantasy.  We have agreed that instead of reading only books about dragons and magic, she will take turns with other types of books.  M (4) sits with her blanket and stuffed animal of the day (eagle) on the couch and twirls the Perplexus puzzle expertly in her sensitive fingers.  She takes great delight in creating shortcuts for the metal marble, jumping the rails to end up in the end-pocket, much to her sisters despair and glowering eyes.  N (almost 3) stands/runs/jumps on the couch, cheering on the Perplexus energy, giving me constant updates on its progress, and running Kleenex back and forth to his older sister, who experiments with delegation even at such a tender age. 

I assume that the delay is for the wind chill, (-10 F) as there is little visible snow on the road.  This is as a about as cold as we want it to get here in rural Ohio.  We aren't used to weather that compromises our cars' batteries.  It is easy this morning to believe that my day has a two-hour delay as well.  And so I decide to try my hand at blogging in this little window of opportunity, before the weight of housework sets in for the day.  Finish up laundry from yesterday, begin cleaning today, dress the children, gather wood, etc. 

One of the benefits of non-centralized heating is that the woodstove provides a natural gathering point for the family.  Like heat-loving bacteria around a sea floor vent, we prefer to be close to the source of warmth - and our mornings and evenings usually find us in close proximity.  (yes, we have a convenient backup natural gas furnace in the basement, but during the day our living room woodstove becomes our sole source of heat).  So on days like this one, we can feel the cold seeping into the house's edges; I am extra attentive in keeping the fire banked. 

I have found myself laughing more frequently and heartily in the last few weeks.  My wife wonders if I have reached some new level of zen - I tend to think I've learned to let more go, accept new levels of chaos and uncontrol.  Child #4 arrives in six weeks, give or take.  The existing three provide enough trial, angst and surprise for my heart.  They unseat my anger, and my complete adoration; exhaust my emotional self thoroughly and in every way.  The 9-year-old, while fiercely independent shows signs of care and tenderness.  The 4-year-old finally emerges from years of grumpiness to a wonderful delight and prank-filled robustness.  The two-year-old becomes deeply two, and experiments with tantrum and rebellion. 

 Mario Brothers

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.