The Kindness of Strangers

My tooth is killing me. I've been needing dental work for a while, but just keep putting it off. Like most mothers, I equate my pain threshold to child birth. So when at about 3:30 this morning, I started lamenting the fact that I did not know a drug dealer to get me some heroine -- a drug that I am told is closest to nubane - which they give you during childbirth - I realized that I needed to see the dentist. It was either a visit to Dr. Johnson (whom I see regularly for cleanings) or I call my "acquaintance" ST whom I have the suspicion would know how I could get some heroine .... I decided on the former. But, Dr. Johnson could not see me until tomorrow. So today, I spent the day nursing my tooth ache with Advil and Darvaset and some peace as the house was quiet and I could try and rest.

But the silence was soon broken when the kids came home and Brian had had it. He had a bad parenting drive home - something he rarely does - he doesn't usually drive the kids. Tonight, they got the best of him and I realized that my dream (yeesh - I guess I do dream) of staying in my pajamas, and watching Betty White on the new version of password was short lived (a reason why I don't dare to dream). I had to get the kids out of the house.

And so it was after a quick dinner, I took the four kids to Meier to get a birthday present and grocery shop. I realized after about two items in the cart that this was a mistake. Lucas was tired, the older kids were not interested in groceries, but toys. And so I gave in - I figured, I'd just let them look at toys while I picked up to large tubs on wheels - which are conveniently located across from the toy aisle. This seemed to work. And that's when my second mistake occurred. I locked into getting pasta sauce and ground beef to make meat sauce for dinner next week. As I navigated the kids and two large tubs through Meier looking for the pasta sauce aisle, I realized that most folks shopping on a Thursday night have no patience for an overworked, overtired Mom trying her best not to knock over displays. When I finally reached "ethnic" aisle for my pasta sauce, a stranger was kind. One of the employees stocking the shelves engaged me in conversation. He admired how I had my hands full - and offered help when the two large tubs fell off the bottom of the cart. But his help came in a form that I wasn't expecting ... which ironically is how most of the help I receive comes to me -- he offered a suggestion of letting the kids ride in the wheeled tub while one pushed them -- a suggestion that my six year old took to heart. Matthew promptly placed Lucas, whom he had been walking through the store, a top the tub and sent him sailing down the aisle. Nicholas soon followed self propelling himself down the aisle. I stood there paralyzed, watching my children quickly fly pass Mexican, Asian, and Middle Eastern foods -- Lucas squealing with delight. I snapped out of my paralysis at the sound of Emme's voice "looks like I'm the good one now ..." and yes she was - as she laid there across the bench part of the cart (the reason why Lucas and Matthew were walking - she was being stubborn and not letting them on) - she realized that her stubborness was no match to the fact that my boys had now turned the corner and all I saw was a glimpse of Nicholas' butt and all I heard was Matthew yelling "use the force Luke" ....

And so it was as I tried to muster what little dignity and grace I had left, to run through the Meier after my boys, who much to their dismay had to stop their wild ride. And while I appreciate the kindness of strangers, I understand why the stock boy said what he said - he knew the boys would have fun - but what I can't understand is why no other shoppers thought to stop a one year old who was gliding down the center meat aisle followed joyfully by his brothers. I mean, did they honestly think that I said "hey kids, have at it?" - and not want to get involved? Our exit from the store was as graceful as expected. My stubborness (gee, I wonder where Emme gets it from?) made me force the kids through the checkout lane. I was buying those damn tubs if it killed me. Lucas was wailing as if it were severing his arm, Emme was insisting on candy because she was the "good one", Matthew was trying to see how fast he could spin the bag area, and Nicholas was trying unsuccessfully to get on the mechanical horse ... and I was pretending like this was perfectly normal for my life. And sadly it was ... which is probably why even now at 9:40 p.m. I still won't call ST to alleviate my tooth ache .....

Sixth Place

"Tell me again what's good about being second?" - it was a fair question that Emme asked, it just took me off guard. We were traveling back from her t-ball game and as I was trying to explain to her that even if she knew the ball traveled farther when she rolled it to first base (like you would a bowling ball) - it wasn't the way the game was played. But, this was Emme and the t-ball game was in the past - albeit five minutes in the past - and she was on to more serious issues - like how Matthew - who is first - gets all the cool playdates. Last Saturday he got to go to Knights Action Water Park and tonight he went to dinner and a movie with a friend much to Emme's dismay. According to Emme, being in second place was a bad place to be in because you didn't get any fun. My attempt to alleviate her angst by telling her it was better than third place failed miserably as it put my very smart three year old into a tail spin as he realized he was now in fact third in line for all the fun. Parenting is hard - just when you think you have figured out the game, the rules change or more players are added or more clouds appear when you think you are bringing some sunshine to the day. My attempts to have Matthew be more of a kid and less of a 6 year old going on 40 ... is working for him, but for the others - it is failing.

And yet, I have to wonder - what is my place? I mean if Matthew is first, Emme second ... you get where I'm going - given my family dynamics I could find myself in 6th place. And clearly, if second and third place is no fun, imagine sixth place. And so I did. I imagined sixth place for the rest of the drive home. I realized that my son has a better social life than I do, that my daughter is better able to convey her feelings than I am, my three year old is swift enough to get what he wants out of a conversation - which is a playdate with a friend that he'll make "tomorrow" ... even Lucas in fourth place is sitting - err - sleeping pretty well as he was able to crash in his car seat on the way home from the t-ball game. And then of course, I wondered if I could I be in fifth place and came to the conclusion that at my core, I'd never let myself take fifth place - that would be for my husband. So then - who would tell me what was so good about sixth place?

And as I thought about it - this past week, most of my close friends have told me what is so good about being in last place. In last place, your friends cheer louder so that you finish the race. In sixth place, your friends remind you that you are not alone as you run the race. In sixth place, your friends will tell you that you aren't mean and selfish if you do things to make your life easier. In sixth place, I realize I have the opportunity to watch the others finish their race - one whose course is never really well-defined because life's adventures may change the path. In sixth place, I realize that it isn't so important that you are fast at finishing your race, but that you can see the direction in which you and those you love are headed.

And so to my dear Emme, as I pulled into the garage, I was able to tell her that she was right - that sometimes the fun is being in sixth place....

Mom's birthday

My birthday is tomorrow. I've never liked birthdays. I don't know why - I just never have and now that I'm a Mom it is a source of conflict. My kids can't understand why I'm not excited about it and I can't get beyond the fact that I really am not a birthday person. I don't think there is anything wrong with not being excited about a birthday. Perhaps to me, the person who should be celebrating is the Mom who gave birth. I mean when you think about it, the person who really should be honored is the woman who gave birth. What did I as the child do - take a trip down the birth canal, live comfortably with all the food I wanted for 9 months ... really - I think it should be "happy you gave birth-to-day" and for that, I'd be more than happy to celebrate a day for each of my kids.

A mom's "you gave birth-to-day" day would come with a party bag that included sleep, dinner in a restaurant without 6 trips to the bathroom, toilet paper on the roll, and laundry that is clean and put away. The cake would come without frosting and ice cream, but have a silky, creaminess to it that just melts in your mouth - or maybe be made of vegetables like carrots! - the party games would be defined by a contact sport, the drinks would not come in boxes but in bottles - chilled, and the gifts would not be tangible, but uplifting to the heart and the soul. Yes, I imagine that if I got to celebrate "you gave birth-to-day" I'd be more excited and more inclined to honor the day.

But for now, I guess I'll get my few hours of sleep before I have to drop the kids off, drop off Brian, pick up the dry cleaning, sign the kids up for camp, check in at work, pick up cupcakes, pick up the kids, have lunch, take cupcakes to school to celebrate Nicholas' 3rd birthday (which by all accounts should really be my "happy you gave birth-to-day" , but i didn't get to pick out the cupcakes), defuse arguments from cranky kids, pick up Brian, and oh yea - celebrate the day for me .....