choices

Parenting is a lesson (that should be italics: a lesson) on choice. Every day. Every minute it's another choice. What to do, what not to do, what's safe, smart, the "right thing." There are so many choices it's insane; it would literally drive you mad just to think about them all at once. As with all things, if you just take it one step at a time, there's a sliiiight possibility that you'll come out all right on the other side. Although, that's a really, really long time away.

If you visit the cereal aisle of the grocery store, you'll know about too much choice. It's insanity. I know some people who, nearing their 30's (or 60's, unfortunately, for a few), have a sort-of mental breakdown about what they "should do" with their lives. There are just too many choices. It's not like the olden days (NOT to be confused with the "good old days.") where if you were a woman you had about two options. Even not that long ago, 10 years maybe, in college, one of my best friend Dana's grandpa used to ask us what we were planning to do with the rest of our lives. "Whaddya gonna be?" he'd ask. He'd look us up and down, all us girls who were best friends. "A teacher, or a nurse?" When he met my friend Jenny for the first time, kind-of a hippie with long hair and a tiny nose piercing, he said "You gonna be a hairdresser?"

Nowdays there are so many choices it's hard to choose. It's hard to know where to begin. And that's really a lot like parenting. Okay, okay, I know. I relate everything to being a parent. But it's what I know. So, yep, it's just like the cereal aisle over here: what to do? I'm sitting downstairs after work, wondering if I should bring Helena something to eat. Nearly every night when she's being put to bed she very forlornly asks for something to eat as if we starve her on a regular basis. Tonight she woke up at 10pm when I got home from work with a bad dream, and when I calmed her down she said "Mommy," (this is in a very, very sad, small voice) "what would happen if you brought me something to eat?" That's because usually I tell her we'll get mice in her room if she eats in there. So normally I say, "I'll see what I can do" and leave the room, and don't return, and she falls asleep. But here I am, thinking "but it's late...I wonder if she's really hungry..." Parenting is: always wondering if they'll talk about this in therapy in 30 years.

Something really wonderful happened the other day that made me want to write about choice. We were having our friends over, Ms. Jody our neighbor and her 3 boys.The kids were playing in the yard when we heard her 3-year-old Max cry out. We both looked over to see him sitting on the ground under the swingset, freshly fallen on his tush, crying "I was tryyying to doooo what Sullivan is doiiinnnng," and we both looked to see his older brother standing on the swing, swinging, instead of swinging on his rear end. I noticed that Jody had the slightest second of hesitation, thought just for a moment, and then picked Max up and put him back on the swing. Standing.

Now, that's what being a parent is all about. Let me revise. Parenting is: choosing between what's safe, and what makes you feel like you're flying.

as good as it gets

Anyone regretting never having kids, or especially those who have chosen not to have kids and are wondering if they've made a mistake, since their friends and families are always saying "I guess I'll never have a grandchild/neice/nephew" followed by a big sigh... those people should come here for a weekend and spend some time here. I guarantee you'll be respecting your choices within a day or two.

Children are so, so wonderful that it sometimes escapes your memory, when they're older, and out of this stage, that there is a time of intense mania where they just whine all day and all night. I mean, if you saw my children out in public you'd think, my, what lovely dolls. But if you came home with me, for a while, and just listened, you'd be thinking, okay, how about a dog? Or a cat? Definitely an animal instead. Maybe a fish?

Lillian is almost one year old, which I absolutely cannot believe, and also means that she's currently 11 months old. I'm not sure if I wrote about this before with Helena but at age 11 months or so (give or take a month), children realize that they have free will. You might think your 6-month old is getting a little difficult, but let me tell you: you ain't seen nothin' yet. They go from, "Oh, well, you want me to play with this teether instead of that one? Waah, well, sniff, okay, ...hmm...why was I upset anyway?" to "WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN'T PLAY WITH THIS ELECTRICAL OUTLET AND SPOON?!??! YOU'RE THE WORST MOTHER EVERRRR!" Of course this is all in baby language, which is just a bunch of whining and crying and unintelligible gibberish. I used to tell Helena at this age "I'm sorry, I really don't understand Swahili."

Helena is actually getting out of a pretty tough time, which is 2 and 1/2 to age 3 and 1/2. I kept talking to parents who were saying, "Terrible two's? HA! Try TERRIFYING Threes." That worried me somewhat. But we got through it, both of us, and she's getting older now and a little more refined. She got pink eye (thanks, preschool) last week and I would say, "Time for your eye drops" and she would begin to freak out, and I'd say, "Well, you just let me know when you want to do them in the next five minutes," and she'd say "Okay, I'll just say 'time for eye drops now.'" And in about 2 minutes, she'd just say "Time for eye drops now," and I'd put them in. What a kid! She said they burned, so she'd maybe cry for a second, but then it would be over, and on with the next thing. At the moment, Lil' is NEVER on with the next thing. I seriously believe that I upset her at 6am when I remove something dangerous from her, and she spends the next 12 hours yelling about it in Swahili and then 1/2 hour whining about how tired she is before bed, and then it's bedtime. It's pretty tiring around here.

Now, you know, a fish, or dog, or cat will never take care of you in your old age. (I mean, they can't be, like, power of attorney or anything.) They won't love you in the same way as a child. They certainly won't give you grandkids, for heaven's sake. But I tell ya, they don't whine, either. Good heavens. Kids can make you feel like the best and worst person in the world all in five minutes. But before you have one...well, at least, visit the pound.

death and dying

My uncle Reid died this week. He was diagnosed with cancer and given "10 months to live" 10 months ago. Almost to the day. It's strange, because I feel like you constantly hear "they told me I had 10 months to live...and that was 12 years ago!" stories, but it didn't happen here. They said "10 months" and in 9 and 1/2 months, he was barely hanging on. It was terrible to see. The last days my sister and I went up to Michigan, held his hands, talked to him, and knew it wasn't going to be long. On Sunday, early in the morning, he died, leaving 2 brothers and 4 nieces and nephews.

Ben and I and both of our girls, my sister and her husband, all went up for the viewing and funeral. It was a lot to handle, as funerals always are, and especially tough considering the inherent unfairness of it all--if I can say that. That question of "why??" hung over our heads all week. Helena, who will be 4 in June, was her typical self, gave me a big hug when I cried, played with our 4-year-old cousin... But the death thing stuck with her, and I wondered how it would come out.

When we arrived back in Pittsburgh, as we unloaded the car and got bags and boxes unpacked, I noticed Helena putting her bear into a laundry basket and carrying him around. When I took a minute to listen, she was saying "Beary lost his voice." (She says "boyce.") "Beary is dead." I hadn't noticed she was even paying attention to the verbiage, as we all were fairly careful to say "Uncle Reid is in Heaven," and the like. Someone at the funeral said (of our 4-year-old cousin) "She has a pretty good grasp on what death is." And I replied "Really? That's better than any adult I know, then," since I do not know of anyone with a "pretty good grasp" of death.

I went to Helena, and held her, and said "what happened to Beary?" She said that he had lost his 'boyce,' and is dead, and is sleeping. I said "Like Uncle Reid?" and she said something about when "Papa loses his boyce..." I told her "Papa is not sick, and he isn't going anywhere." Papa is my dad. I said "Uncle Reid had Cancer, and his body was really, really tired. So his mind had to go to Heaven, where they eat ice cream sundaes for breakfast every day!"

If you know my daughter, you probably know that she didn't buy it.

I tried to talk to her, and what happened eventually is that she wanted to play with Daddy. Which was a good thing, a positive sign. Life does indeed go on. But death? It's one of those things, again, that parenting is all about: wanting to protect them so badly from the hurt in life, while at the same time struggling to leave them informed and equipped. What does a 4-year-old grasp? What does a 30-year-old grasp? Maybe it's about even, I'm thinking.

Hug a loved one, and thank whoever you thank that they're healthy today. And don't argue with me about Heaven--what do you know? No one has any idea what it's like after we die. They just might serve ice cream sundaes in heaven for breakfast. At lest, I dare you to prove me wrong.