…survey says

Dear me,
If we knew, what we know, when we knew it, would having children even be an option? I’m doing a comparative analysis of parental headache and heartache vs. happiness payoff and with the day that I’ve had today, I’m losing the debate … T

On my last spin through the web, I was trapped by an old survey[1] that found that seventy percent of Americans wish they had never become parents. It was in response to the query, “If you had it to do over, would you?”

I was shocked! In a nation as diverse as America, I was floored! I'm amazed that an entire nation’s worst parenting moments could be coordinated with such precision![2]

But, other that that initial misgiving, the results didn’t surprise me. Surveys conducted early in the summer are often skewed by parents faced with the spine-chilling dread of coordinating their children’s upcoming summer activities. I am certain that the survey was further biased by being conducted in the ‘70’s. Parenting during that decade must have presented a particular paradox.

We may never know the real reasons behind those results, because it seems that by October of that same year, ninety-five percent of parents had responded in reverse to the same survey. The simple explanation for this spans the decades: Of course the entire nation, even now, heaves a universal sigh of relief once school starts.

To me,
This survey makes abundantly clear the ambiguous nature of this job and the unvarying constancy of those persons who adapt to this challenge. It solidly expresses the inconsistencies of parenting.

And if this double-spoken clarification doesn’t confound you, you should look into running for political office. T.

Reality Bite: If politicians don’t present Evolutionists with certain evidence of human beings devolving, I don’t know who does.

[1] June 1976 Ann Landers—two seconds research—love that internet.

[2] This was prior to the computerized survey skewing of American Idol.

…mum’s the word

I remember the day when I had these thoughts.

"I’m going to love staying at home with the new baby and being a Mum! Wow, no more work! This will be so great—just me and the baby, loving, tending, teaching, and no one bossing."

… or even talking to me, no one to sympathize with me. Every day, all day long, cleaning, and washing. I’m stuck here, just me and that baby. I’m pretty sure I’m in hibernation, sleeping, nursing and diapers are my life. I live in a cave. Unbearable me, T.

Just think of the savings, no lunch expense, no gas, no extra miles on the car, no expensive work clothes, working at my own pace and on my own schedule.

…nothing to get up for—I’m sleeping, and waking, living in sweats, because nothing else fits.! I can’t remember when I last slept four hours continually, I haven’t watched another adult eat in weeks. Still me…I think T.

I’ll have all this free time, because I’ll be at home. I’ll set my own hours; I’ll come and go whenever I need to with no interruptions. My stress level will decline. I can volunteer…

…at school, at church, in the neighborhood, and for the city. I organize this event, that fundraiser, and bake sales—I don’t even know how to bake! Everybody thinks that just because I don’t have a full-time job that I have all this free time! Me

I’ll daycare for a friend, so my baby will have company, and the income will help with the mortgage. Besides, having one is just like having two. It will make me become more organized.
…In fits of pique, I tell people they are twins, one blond, fat, and bald, the other lanky, dark, and curly. Don’t I look like a frazzled twin mom? How do real twin parents do it? Nobody can pay you to love their baby, as much as they do. Bedraggled x two, T.

I’ll work on the computer at home. I don’t have to get dressed up. I don’t have to commute; I am already here so I can slip downstairs to work, while they’re napping.

…where do the hours go? I’m sneaking down to work after dark. The husband wants an accounting of my life, to help me organize! I chortle, and roll my eyes. T., hee, hee, whee!

We’ll have so much time together, exploring the world, discovering beautiful things and enjoying every part of the happiness to be found in life.

All the seasons rush past. I look up and she’s one. Where did the time go and with whom? Yikes!

At least I’ll have some of the precious memories on paper, written on post-its that have slipped under the fridge, on receipts in the glove box of the car, on the bottom of unpaid bills and on the back of homework papers.[1]

Reality bite: I write so I can remember all the humor. The four-year-old remarks that he doesn’t know about diaries, but he does know all about diarrhea…


[1] Note to teacher: Please sign and return. I need my list back to know what’s on for tomorrow.

…a full deck

Dear Journal,
Just when life’s little snow globe is settling, things get shaken up again. I’m feeling bereft without my daycare daughter. I tended that girl from birth for two years and suddenly one day, Mom stops work and she’s gone!
Oh, and in other news, I’m expecting. T.

Here I go, I’m working at home. I’ll put the baby to nap, and run down to my basement office and work! Oops, I just need my day-minder, Oh, yeah, and the baby monitor. I’ll just mentally shift gears and get this work done. All I need is this notebook, and those receipts. Working at home is going to be so easy. I just walk downstairs ... I don’t need anything but, oh yeah that telephone log to return all those calls.

Now I’ll just ... take that checkbook to enter all reimbursable expenses. I don’t need anything, except for that box of envelopes outside in the trunk. [1]

Okay, one last look around, the arms are full. Items are stuffed in the neck of my t-shirt and in the waistband of my sweats and now am I ready to go downstairs. It’s a good thing. . . working at home.

On my way into the dark, cavernous den, I stop and drop everything to toss in that load of laundry. I make a mental note to remember to whip out a belated card for the brother’s birthday last week, …and take those books and preschool CD’s back to the library. Better write it down in my day-reminder—when I remember where I left it.

The littlest one wanders out of the TV room, his educational programming ended. He is so cute when he insists that I get off the computer so he can have a turn “working.”

He is back watching TV, maybe he’ll nap too—I need just one more hour. Don’t they take naps in daycare too? I only work one or two days a week, so it’s much better at home.

I whiz by the post office, whip by a fast-food drive-by for lunch, drop off a negative for a photo shoot, zoom by the printer, skip by the office supplier, pick up paint for the front door and slip into the library. Rats I forgot the overdue books, but I’ll pick-up some more challenging CD’s, and the dry cleaning.

Back home I reward them and me for driving around all afternoon with that ever-so-nutritious pizza dinner.

Dear Diary:
One hour. Wow, what I could accomplish if I had just one more hour in the day! Maybe I’ll get it when they go to sleep tonight because right now it’s time to pick the oldest up from school, change clothes and play the wife again. Wee, T.
P.S. Get me off this coaster!

It’s a new day. Babies grow and toddle off to pre-K and come back six foot tall and seventeen. Where did just one more hour, or day or year go? Did the time disappear while the baby was napping?

Everything changes, yet some things remain the same: There is still no time.

Reality bite: Well, I was at home. Were there benefits? Who knows?

[1] Inklings of Steve Martin in The Jerk?

…saving baby stuff

Okay, I’ll donate the crib. I planned on keeping the last baby keepsakes until the youngest was driving, but he’s reached grade school and I’m ready. It’s time that I let go.

To me,
I sort through the baby detritus from infanthood and struggle to part with the stained bibs and leaky sippy cups. I’m exhuming boxes of bottles and nipples, chewed up pacifiers, stretched out plastic pants and memories. Sniff, sniff, T

Reviewing the past stirs up memories and reflection of faults and successes. There is a rededication to put things from the past into the proper perspective.

Dear me!
Twenty-five receiving blankets? Was there some reward for the biggest blanket collection? I vaguely recall those first frantic days that consumed diapers by the dozen—when blankets doubled as burp cloths and bath towels. Has anything really changed? T.

It’s gone now—the crib. I know… big mistake! I should have kept something, a crate of diapers, the four-foot-tall potty bear or the jogging stroller that in reality was mostly used to move groceries. I guess I could have kept any puerile object as insurance against accidentally repeating this whole thing.

I expect to be pregnant again tomorrow.

Reality Bite: I should be safe though because I’m still wearing all the maternity clothes.

…logic flies

To me:
Contrary to my parenting manual, logic is not what keeps the children from being pills, but rather, it is the bitter pill you have to swallow for having birthed them to begin with. T.

I’m stumbling along the road less taken down the winding parenting path—the one I thought would allow me to loiter with the child. I expected a meandering pathway to greater understanding, with hills and valleys in plain view and plenty of time to reconnoiter.

Unfortunately, the freeway I ended up on is perfectly suited to me—skidding past stop signs at a ducking, dodging, feverish pace, with detours for peanut butter, and freeze pops. An average day is enlivened with explorations and experiments and only interrupted by scatological[1] moments and the ongoing excitement of each new discovery.

The rudimentary nature of the journey can become so boring as to be physically exhausting and mentally draining, so I shake it up sometimes. I drive a different route to school, whip up a flavorfully new smoothie for breakfast and then … baby look out ‘cause that is when I live a little!

To me,
If I’m not careful, I find that the soothing sameness of television becomes overwhelming and I discover that it can be watched just as successfully from inside the bed. Locking the door with both of us inside, takes care of the supervision situation. Save me from myself, T

Every day I try to rededicate myself to the importance of the mission, by reminding myself of the long-term benefits and the ultimate goal.

Reality Bite: …which is to keep from foisting an alien onto an unsuspecting society. We’ll see.

[1] Potty, sorry, I couldn’t resist another moment of big people talk.