With five kids underfoot so much of the time, you might be surprised by how little Daddy and I have to advocate sharing. In fact, aside from this morning when Mag had to wear Jr’s shoes to school because her gym shoes were still muddy from this weekend (looks like at least one got out of the shoe cleaning time after our park visit), and other such apparel-related issues, I don’t recall ever having had to have the “if you can’t share, I’ll take the damn thing away!” conversation with them. And in truth, the sharing of clothes is a mostly stategic exercise for my own benefit when we’re low on time (or I’m low on patience), whose necessity is only exacerbated by the ridiculous growth rate of five-, six-, seven-, nine-, and eleven-year-olds. (One of my less successful attempts to implement the Strategic Sharing Plan was encouraging Jr to carry his sister’s pink One Direction backpack to school the morning after his own had ripped apart irreparably.)
I guess what I’m saying is that we just aren’t that sharing-and-touchy-feely bunch. That’s not to say that we don’t cuddle, or that I don’t do quite a bit of talking about, and listening to, feelings. We just know our roles and play them out as we know we should. This is actually an interesting aside, because, to elaborate on my point, I’ll mention that when Daddy and I moved us all in together, we had a serious talk about how our house was not an arena for anything that might be described as “cute” or “darling,” “inspiring,” “touching,” or “sweet.” We are not people who own picture frames emblazoned with words like “family,” “love,” “dream,” or “imagine.” (Sorry, Mag – whose full name is Imagine Destiny – Daddy was too young to responsibly name you when you were born.) We will never have wall decals espousing such nonsense as “live, laugh, love” or “dreams are the sparkly butterfly fairies of the soul” or what have you. We just aren’t cute people.
So I’ve digressed a bit, but I think what I’m getting at is that while we love each other dearly; while we have real values (sharing included); while we want to teach our children to help, support, and to build each other up, we aren’t interested in advertising it so loudly. Yes, we like each other – just don’t tell anyone we said so.
Daddy and I both grew up being encouraged, sometimes loudly and sometimes quietly, to take responsibility for our own issues, that if we want it we needed to find a way to get it ourselves, and that we’d do well to avoid counting on others.
So when Daddy found me sitting in my Happy Place last night, perched atop the washing machine wearing my stomach ache face, and asked me if everything was okay, I swallowed the anxiety rising in my throat and said that everything was fine. Of course, everything wasn’t fine, at least not in my head, and so just as soon as the words had left my lips, I began to tear up, and before I could stop myself, the stressors that had been weighing me down began spilling out of my mouth. The kitchen was still a mess, the kids’ rooms are in a state I cannot even describe, I don’t know what I’m making for dinner tomorrow…
And I just sat down with my syllabi for this semester (which is now half completed), so I’m suddenly aware of a paper due and a test to take the day after tomorrow, perhaps another quiz in a class I’m not sure I’m even enrolled in, and I’m suddenly convinced I somehow managed to miss a test last week and I just know I won’t be allowed to make it up.
Daddy put his hand on my cheek and shushed me (which did not produce what I assume was its intended calming effect, but he gets kudos for being understanding). He tells me we are a team, that we look out for each other, we build each other up, and support each other (this is beginning to sound familiar, not to mention that it’s nearly verbatim the pep talk I give the kids at least once a week over dinner). He promises that tomorrow when I get home from class he will do whatever’s necessary to provide an environment conducive to the studying and paper writing to be done. He promises to make dinner, regulate the shower schedule, help with kid homework, and clean up after everyone eats.
It was both a little blow to the ego, and a huge relief. I’m supposed to be super human, I can handle this! (The first person to say “powerless” or “unmanageable” gets a knuckle sandwich!)
I’m thinking: Daddy does so much. He works so hard, and such unpleasant hours to keep us clothed and housed. He drives the kids to and from school everyday. He drives me to and from school three days a week. He gets the girls to Girl Scouts. He keeps the boys in line. He puts aside an extra minute each day just to make me feel special.
If Daddy can do all of that, then each day I ought to be able to run the dishwasher twice, cook two to three meals, wash two loads of laundry, clean three bathrooms, pick up in four bedrooms, sweep, mop, vacuum, help with homework, get showers taken and teeth brushed, finish my own homework, do a little stepwork, and… I think I need a nap after compiling that list before I get started. But Daddy took my hand and told me to relax.
“If you can’t learn to share, I’ll take the damn thing away!”
Apparently being an adult does not exempt me from this. Apparently this is not limited to desirable commodities. Where I come from we say things like “you can only keep it by giving it away,” and “anything you put before your [serenity] you’ll lose.” I like these little bits of wisdom. I am especially fond of them as applied to the lives of OTHERS. Both phrases allude to the value of sharing (sharing feelings, sharing the work load, sharing the stress) and warn of the evils of hoarding those things for my own.
This morning I woke refreshed. I felt strong and confident. When I got to class I found that I’d recieved remarkably high scores on all my assignments, tests included. I hadn’t missed any tests, either, by the way. I wrote my paper in a few hours, studied for the test I just knew I’d fail. During my break between classes I wandered downstairs to find someplace to get a coffee, only to find that a barista from a nearby coffee shop had set up a cart in the hallway and was giving out free espresso drinks. I sauntered back upstairs, cappuccino in hand feeling terrific.
And tonight I made dinner for the family. Life can be pretty damn good. If only I could find a decal with that printed on it.
mommies be like... 