Many rambling maternal* thoughts
Aaaaah, the night is almost over. Once again, I'm a "single mom" for awhile; Stu is away for two days at a football clinic in Minneapolis. He could certainly drive home from Minneapolis but it sounds like a lot of networking (and frivolity) goes on later at night so he sometimes chooses to stay overnight at clinics even though they're close to home. The kids are sitting nicely eating graham crackers and watching "Pooh's Grand Adventure". We managed to get through the whole night (from about 5:00 until now; 7:20) with only one crabby meltdown. I asked Max to come to the dinner table and he didn't want to stop playing Mario Kart on the Wii so starting screaming and banging the Wii remotes around. I informed him since he was so rough with the Wii remotes, he would not be allowed to play Wii all day long the next day. I reminded him that being so rough with his toys could result in them breaking. He continued to have his meltdown so I decided I'd had enough. I calmly (I'm so proud of myself that I stayed calm) informed him that we were going to be done with the Wii for a while and proceeded to unplug all the various wires and bundle everything into our bedroom. All the while, Max writhed on the floor yelling (I'm not even kidding), "Noooooo, MOOOOOOMMMMM, plllllease don't put the Wii away!!! If I don't play the Wii, I'll get video game-sick!!!!! Ppppplleeeeeaaassseee!!!!!"
Yep, I think it was the right decision to put the Wii away for a while. We didn't even want to have any kind of video gaming system in the house until the kids were much older but Stu's brother gave his old Wii to Max and Ryann two Christmases ago when he got an Xbox 360. We've never purchased any games for it. We just play the games Uncle Pat had.
We started baths tonight at 6:15 and I let each kid lounge and play and splash and watch the water swirl down the drain so bath time was finally complete at 7:15. Sometimes people ask me how I do this - deal with three children all so close in age and all so young. I just finished reading Anne Lamott's "Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year". I found it absolutely fascinating and can't stop thinking about some wonderful gems she had. For example, when thinking about how mothers do what they do, she wrote she would be done with some grueling task before she had time to think about the fact that she didn't think she'd be able to do it. That's how it is at the Stewart house. We don't have time to sit around and lament the work and stress of it all (usually). We just carry on and live. And, to be honest, I would much rather have a one hour long bath time than an hour of unscheduled time meandering around the house. So far, none of my kids have been able to settle to a toy or game by themselves for longer than about 15 minutes. Maybe they all have ADHD. Kidding. I'm sure it's just their ages. I'm constantly being asked to play this or that imaginary character or this or that game. I have to admit that I get bored with their playacting games very quickly. I'm fine with playing board games or card games or sports but pretending I'm adopting and caring for a kitten for the 800th time makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit. Maybe I have ADHD.
Another thing Anne said in her book that struck me was that when her son was a tiny baby, she saw some toddlers playing at the park or something and thought they looked huge and gangling. I had forgotten, until I read that, I'd thought the same exact thing when Max was a tiny baby. When I was on maternity leave with him, I signed us up for an infant ECFE class. I think the age range of the babies was 0-12 months. I would sit crosslegged in the class, cradling my tiny, perfect, angelic infant and watch these crawling and toddling behemoths around me and, honestly, they seemed practically grotesque. Of course, now that Adam is one of those little monsters, he's all that is beautiful and bright.
Another thought that came to me after reading Anne's book, which I've thought many times since having children. Why on earth do we do it? Yes, God wants us to have children to populate the world but, other than that, it seems like such a masochistic venture. Two weeks after having a lovely time with your husband, you start to bloat and ache and puke and get dizzy and fall asleep while laying on the floor trying to play with your toddler. You waddle around for a few months and then heave a giant, slithering, wailing bundle of poop and puke out your most tenderest of spots. For the next 3 or 4 months (or 24 or so if you're a friend I know) you don't get to sleep through the night. You are covered in someone else's bodily fluids all the time and are driven mad trying to make a decent human being out of an animal. I haven't gotten much past that part yet so I don't know exactly what comes next but I'm sure it's more work and stress and worry and probably more dealing with bodily fluids. And all for what? So that someone will carry our gene pool forward? So that we have little people around who look like us and sometimes make us laugh and tell us they love us. But also sometimes make us scream and cry and have mini-heart attacks and tell us they hate us. It's all very mysterious. But it's the most wondrous miracle I've ever been blessed with and I wish I could do it again at least two more times.
*maybe not so maternal?
Yep, I think it was the right decision to put the Wii away for a while. We didn't even want to have any kind of video gaming system in the house until the kids were much older but Stu's brother gave his old Wii to Max and Ryann two Christmases ago when he got an Xbox 360. We've never purchased any games for it. We just play the games Uncle Pat had.
We started baths tonight at 6:15 and I let each kid lounge and play and splash and watch the water swirl down the drain so bath time was finally complete at 7:15. Sometimes people ask me how I do this - deal with three children all so close in age and all so young. I just finished reading Anne Lamott's "Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year". I found it absolutely fascinating and can't stop thinking about some wonderful gems she had. For example, when thinking about how mothers do what they do, she wrote she would be done with some grueling task before she had time to think about the fact that she didn't think she'd be able to do it. That's how it is at the Stewart house. We don't have time to sit around and lament the work and stress of it all (usually). We just carry on and live. And, to be honest, I would much rather have a one hour long bath time than an hour of unscheduled time meandering around the house. So far, none of my kids have been able to settle to a toy or game by themselves for longer than about 15 minutes. Maybe they all have ADHD. Kidding. I'm sure it's just their ages. I'm constantly being asked to play this or that imaginary character or this or that game. I have to admit that I get bored with their playacting games very quickly. I'm fine with playing board games or card games or sports but pretending I'm adopting and caring for a kitten for the 800th time makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit. Maybe I have ADHD.
Another thing Anne said in her book that struck me was that when her son was a tiny baby, she saw some toddlers playing at the park or something and thought they looked huge and gangling. I had forgotten, until I read that, I'd thought the same exact thing when Max was a tiny baby. When I was on maternity leave with him, I signed us up for an infant ECFE class. I think the age range of the babies was 0-12 months. I would sit crosslegged in the class, cradling my tiny, perfect, angelic infant and watch these crawling and toddling behemoths around me and, honestly, they seemed practically grotesque. Of course, now that Adam is one of those little monsters, he's all that is beautiful and bright.
Another thought that came to me after reading Anne's book, which I've thought many times since having children. Why on earth do we do it? Yes, God wants us to have children to populate the world but, other than that, it seems like such a masochistic venture. Two weeks after having a lovely time with your husband, you start to bloat and ache and puke and get dizzy and fall asleep while laying on the floor trying to play with your toddler. You waddle around for a few months and then heave a giant, slithering, wailing bundle of poop and puke out your most tenderest of spots. For the next 3 or 4 months (or 24 or so if you're a friend I know) you don't get to sleep through the night. You are covered in someone else's bodily fluids all the time and are driven mad trying to make a decent human being out of an animal. I haven't gotten much past that part yet so I don't know exactly what comes next but I'm sure it's more work and stress and worry and probably more dealing with bodily fluids. And all for what? So that someone will carry our gene pool forward? So that we have little people around who look like us and sometimes make us laugh and tell us they love us. But also sometimes make us scream and cry and have mini-heart attacks and tell us they hate us. It's all very mysterious. But it's the most wondrous miracle I've ever been blessed with and I wish I could do it again at least two more times.
*maybe not so maternal?
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