At the moment, it is quiet in the house save for a little bit of almost whispered noise from the tv (which I have on though quiet to help me get through to when my other half walks in the door from an evening shift at work). Today was the last day of school, and I hope you'll all forgive me if I wax a little philosophical and more long-winded than normal (yes that is possible) while the house settles to the quiet whispers of a post-bedtime sleep.
A little while ago, I had an article recommended to me. It's titled "To Parents of Small Children: Let Me Be The First One Who Says It Out Loud". It is a great article that (or so it is quoted as saying) first showed up on The Actual Pastor (a website perhaps?), but basically it is a guy who has 3 kids under the age of 5 who is figuring out that it is ok not to be super human, and that parents of young kids don't have to be perfect all the time. That you are still a decent parent if you break down and yell at your kids for mouthing off at you, if there are times you'd rather be at work instead of at home, and even if you slightly lose your temper while dishing out a consequence for when those little darlings have acted the part of a terrorist. My favorite quote from the article, and one that has helped me regain my sanity a few times in the last couple of months in particular is this one:
"I have to confess that sometimes, the sound of his screaming drives me
to hide in the pantry. And I will neither confirm nor deny that while in
there, I compulsively eat chips and/or dark chocolate. There are people who say this to me:
"You should enjoy every moment now! They grow up so fast!"
I
usually smile and give some sort of guffaw, but inside, I secretly want
to hold them under water. Just for a minute or so. Just until they
panic a little."
There is no doubt what so ever that this is an incredibly apt description of the way a parent of multiple young children feels. I remember one evening about 2 months after our 3rd child was born. All my babies have come via c-section, and the repeat surgeries had taken their toll plus recovery was anything but smooth after this little one thanks to a funky fold in the incision as it had set to healing which exposed all the nerve endings until they finally (and blissfully) sealed over entirely closing close to 3 months of torture. In the middle of all that loveliness, our 2nd had been lucky enough to need surgery himself which miserably meant that he needed to be lifted and held even while I was unable to properly do so. We FINALLY managed to begin limping beyond that...and then someone gave our oldest the flu. I kid you not, I did not sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time for nearly a month between bouts of pain, struggling to snuggle a whimpering 2 yr old while nursing a newborn, and jumping whenever anyone started that brain clenching heaving sound with a bowl in front of them.....and then the bug hit me. That was when an incredibly sweet church member (a woman whom I will never forget and am still lucky enough to call friend) heard about our dilemma and surprised me at the door one night just after I realized my husband had run out the door to work (late because of all the insanity happening at home which he'd been attempting to handle by himself) without leaving any dinner for those hungry little tummies feeling up to it.
The quiet knock came just as I had started to stare hard at the fridge, knowing there was no bread left. Before I could stop her, my 5 yr old daughter (who was of course feeling better by now and all kinds of cooped up) had darted to the door and thrown it open. This sweet lady took one look inside at the chaos and me in my pj's, walked in the door, and proceeded to put dinner on the table for the little ones with one hand while simultaneously pushing me onto the couch to hold the crying baby with the other. Amazingly enough, even after she finished that, she actually stayed for a little while after to visit with me (I must have looked like one of those Looney Toons characters with the spinning eyes at this point) and help me put the little ones to bed. Then she quietly gathered her dishes up and went home, leaving me curled up in the corner of the couch and feeling the first sane peace I'd had in weeks. The very next day, since everyone was better enough to go, we risked our first trip to the grocery store to get some of the bread and such where a very sweet looking old grandma leaned over to me (after she'd heard me get irritated at the still energized 5 yr old and cranky 2 yr old) patted me on the back of my hand and said those same fateful words "They grow up so fast, and one day you'll miss these days". Fortunately, by this time I was pretty much numb so instead of committing aggravated assault I simply smiled and nodded, we got through the lines and the car ride home, put the kids to bed...and my husband held me while I cried and wished for that day when I COULD miss those days....
But then the previous night came to me. Suddenly, I was able to straighten up and dry my tears. And life picked up and moved on. School years have come and gone with the children growing with each of them, we've added one more darling to our choir of angels, started a business, and have actually begun to see the light at the end of the endless tunnel of diapers which has left me with a kind of odd, floating feeling. That feeling comes with the realization that I have only 1 year left with my littlest one and then....they are all in school. Yes, life will definitely have taken a firm grip on the other side of the parenthood survival mode that comes complete with dating, the non-stop round of sports events and concerts, scouts and youth activities, camping trips, teen drivers, and a likely never ending case of "Mom, there's nothing to eat in the kitchen", but....how is a girl supposed to prep for that while she's still feeling that the light at the end of the tunnel could possible be the light from the oncoming toddler-driven train?
The answer is surprisingly simple. You see, I did it. I survived the fog of chaos that can drive a parent to hide in the pantry where the chips and dark chocolate beckon. I have not been super-woman (you know, that woman who works 40 hours a week, ferries kids to every ballet, piano, and swim lesson along with attending the soccer and little league games with out missing a beat to make and serve a 5 course meal to the table on time every night, yet still magically helping the children get the homework completed plus one extra credit project for those kids to turn in at the end of the week all while maintaining that gorgeous size 6 figure with perfectly coiffed hair and enough energy to keep her husband eager to spend cuddle time at the end of the day)......I have been a real woman. A woman who succumbs to fast food or freezer meals along with a few homemade and some veggie snacks, who looks terrible in a hat but uses (even makes) them endlessly just to hide the hair and lack of make-up, whose children are typically turning in homework projects late (though thankfully, their test scores manage to look great thanks to their genius), and anticipates the moment when everyone is giving bedtime hugs and kisses just before racing ahead of the "mama ants" to get to bed before the pinching can begin just so she can breathe with the house a little and relish the adult voices coming from the tv instead of cartoon effects. (And no, not one of you is allowed to correct that horrendous grammar...not one of you.)
What's more? This real woman, while still struggling to remember all of the moments hidden by the fog of chaos from those sleeplessly insane weeks and months, can still giggle at the left over smell from a peanut butter kiss, loves being greeted by the stick-figure family portraits whenever the fridge door is opened, can't get over the rib-crushing hug attacks from a boy about to grow into that hulking teen, and grins teary eyed as she is watching the 12 year old bounce from secretly mooning over "that boy from 6th period" to diving into the pretend games invented for playtime with the littler siblings. In some ways, I'm still there...I still hit the panic button when the terrorists emerge and begin arguing, when the "That's MINE!" screams become claws on the chalkboard, and I still have that secret stash of dark chocolate chips hidden where even the husband hasn't found them. But....THAT moment, the moment when you find yourself saying to some poor, blank-eyed mother with toddlers spilling out of the grocery cart "They grow up so fast" is staring at me.
I guess this is what I'm trying to say, in all my meandering broken grammar is this: You can do it. You can find your way through all the pain, through all the vomit-bowls, the doctor appointments, the diapers, the midnight feedings, the terror-frozen parent-teacher conferences with preschool teachers to please "I'm trying"...to find this amazing moment in time when you can look yourself in the eye and say, "I did it. I'm there, and I didn't have to be perfect because what they really needed was the real woman that I am. They are now and are going to be amazing...because I did it, and that simple success is sweeter even than heaven-kissed chocolate."
I still don't know what I'm going to do with this next leg of life. I know it is coming, and waaaaaaay too quickly too. But for this brief moment in time, even if it only lasts this one night, I'm going to sit back and just smile because I am so lucky that tomorrow will bring more PB&J sandwiches, more friends crashing through the door and calls for babysitting, more jelly-printed fingermarks on the wall, more laundry than even Mt. Everest could hold, and an endless day filled with the sounds of giggling, crying, "Mom!" yells, and above all the heart that just keeps on gushing..."You're the luckiest woman on earth. Enjoy this moment, because they grow up sooo fast."
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