Silly little parenting adage: the days can be slow but the years rush by in a flash. My original baby, the guy who made us into parents (the practice baby, as my mother likes to refer to him) turned fifteen on Sunday. Should I write refer to that silly little parenting adage and simply add enough said?
On the one hand, some days are so slow they make molasses look runny. I count amongst them the kid’s been sick forever days, the snow days that are icy or rainy and build-a-fort-y when all the kids wind up at your house (and, I’ve always wanted the reverse snow days, the ones when the house just ends up empty unexpectedly, fewer and farther between thus far) or just the icky boring days when you tire (well, I tire) of kids’ whines or demands or socks on the carpet.
On the other hand, my eldest is taller than me with voice low and humor witty. He’s smart and funny and he likes his family. He reads about the Supreme Court, watches Buffy the Vampire Slayer, follows the Guild, aims to direct a play senior year of high school (he’s in high school), has set his sights on Hampshire College, and law school thereafter. He’s studying Chinese. It’s all just stunning. I’m really and truly unclear how he got from curious toddler to this juncture.
I don’t think there’s a whole lot more to do this week than let myself be awed by this.
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The whoosh, though, the seriously overwhelming New England college town autumn push is upon us. While outdoors the leaves begin to tumble from trees at the increasingly brisk, strong breezes, the rest tumbles a bit more like dominoes, only not feeling so perfectly lined up: how many meetings, parties, meet-and-greet events, lectures, readings, fall festivals, fundraisers and soccer games can one family endure?
I won’t venture a guess on that one. My head is tucked in as if I’m about to race off or burrow through or whatever one does against the barrage of too much busy. The real truth is when it gets this activity-filled and hectic and the overload is constant, I kind of wing it and hope for the best. I’ve also noted that on quite a few nights last week, I had good intentions for getting lots done in the evening and instead conked out with the second grader. So, I’m taking it that rest is really important.
Sleep and overly packed schedules notwithstanding, I’m hoping we figure out how to schedule and pull off birthday celebrations with the kids’ friends for three of them, ideally in the next three weeks (the May guy’s 12th had to be postponed, plus two September kids). In that this-is-a-blog mode, I am sure to report back on how all that goes.
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Part of the ongoing stream or domino cascade is not just the events; it’s the work, the flyers and forms—and work. Although there’s so much coming in (and as always so much laundry to do, so many lunches and all that good stuff), the house reclamation project (Stop the Clutter!) continues.
At a lovely potluck breakfast for Saskia’s class, I noted two things about my hosts’ house: one, perhaps just for the purposes of the potluck, a bunch of cloth napkins were on the table, set in a big wooden bowl. Well, we use cloth napkins all the time and the one person-one napkin ring equation rarely holds up at a house with so many visiting diners, it seems. I didn’t find a similar wooden bowl. However, I found a ceramic colander, an object I adore but rarely use for fear of its breakability whilst being wielded from sink to counter, possibly with kids’ hands somehow involved—and I got some clean napkins from the creaky and often overstuffed (with napkins) drawer, and I filled the colander with napkins and set it on the dining room table. Having it out is a leap of faith, sure. The upside? I get to look at it on my table all the time and it’s a useful object, being used (even if differently than its original intention).
I’m also going to steal from my hosts one more idea, which I then went to see on the Internet: a line strung with wooden clothespins and my kids’ artwork. There’s an empty wall that can take the line. The wall’s been empty save for homemade banners (birthdays, welcome home) because sometimes a ball meets that same wall (yes, that rhymes, too). I have real artwork I’d like to put there, but for now, putting the ball there sometimes is really too essential for “real” art. Handmade treasures high up, though, could share the space (at least I hope so).
I was able to ditch a smallish bag’s worth of junk from the playroom this morning and shelve two short stacks of books. The laundry’s waiting, it’s true… As I glean ideas from others and as I chip away at my own self-replenishing chaos stream, I see that it’s like anything else: honing my awareness and developing some new tools and skills and habits, that’s what it takes to maybe just maybe find my way toward a happier relationship to chaos and home.
