"Cleaning and scrubbing can wait for tomorrow,
For babies grow up, I've learned, to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust, go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep."
(Ruth Hulburt Hamilton)
When she’s at home, my mother-in-law is a consummate housekeepr. Her trash cans are emptied daily (at least), her dishes are washed, dried and put away after each meal, and each night she straightens whatever mess her kids, grandkids, husband and in-laws have left.
My cousin Becky managed to design and build a house and parent two elementary age boys while living in a two-car garage for a year. She’s organized, calm, and her boys are well-behaved, all-around good kids.
My friend Tricia designs a summer-long program of chores, activities and recreation, down to daily menus for a balanced diet.
And then there’s me.
My laundry grinds to a halt mid-cycle and lays in piles of madness that grow every time I throw a dirty bib up the stairs.
I stick up my nose every Thursday, thinking, Aw man, it’s been a week already since I cleaned the house?
The dishes get washed at least every third day. But not necessarily put away.
And last week I took the kids up to the farm for a daylong outing, and I left the diaper bag at home.
My friend Jim chuckled when I related that. Then he quickly curbed it. “Well,” he said graciously, “you’re one of those creative right-brained people.”
Scatterbrained is more like it. And the more I think about it, the more I think he’s right—only there’s more to it than that. I’m scatterbrained because my attention is split in too many directions. School liturgies. Weekend liturgies. Music projects for publishers. New music projects. Novels. Short stories. Articles. Reading about writing. Reading in general. The kids. NFP recertification.
Oh yeah, don’t forget the housework.
Last weekend the readings at church said, “From those given much, much will be expected.” I guess that’s me. I just wish part of the bequest had been a brain capable of keeping it all straight.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Alex's First Halloween
Nov. 1, 2007
All Saints Day
Last night, Christian and I took Alex trick-or-treating for the first time. He was Bob the Builder, outfitted in blue plaid and too-big jeans that fell down around his tool belt, exposing gray big boy briefs. He wore his yellow construction hat perched at a rakish angle on his head and completed the outfit with light-up Star Wars tennis shoes (garage sale special, 50 cents).
I enjoyed Halloween in a whole new ways last night. We stood back and let him go to the doors and ring them, and every time we had to tell him to say thank you. After 45 minutes of “Ooooh, how cute!” from every woman who answered the door (yes, OK, he’s adorable, I admit it) he was ready to stop “getting more candy” and to go eat some. We went home and turned on our own lights.
Christian served the first several trick-or-treaters, and then I took over till time to put Julianna to bed. Then…“Wanna give candy to the kids!” Alex said in his slow, deliberate way. Christian let him do it up till 8:00, which is bedtime, and then began a 45-minute pitched battle between the parents and the overexcited 2-year-old.
When at last he was ready for bed, the late rush—all the big kids—started. So we let him come downstairs. By this time we just wanted to get rid of as much candy as possible, so we let him take whole handfuls and put them in kids’ bags & buckets. He was in Heaven. But the part that made me really proud was that he was taking all the pieces of candy that he thought were the best ones and giving those out. He wouldn’t let me give out the cheapie eyeballs that I bought because they were cheap. He thought they were gross, and he wasn’t going to let me give them out. No, he was going to give away all the Kit Kat, Mounds, and Milky Way.
Christian tells me I shouldn’t read into that, but it seems to me that selfishness is so innate that even a 2-year-old ought to be well-versed in it. I’m so proud of him for giving the best to others.
All Saints Day
Last night, Christian and I took Alex trick-or-treating for the first time. He was Bob the Builder, outfitted in blue plaid and too-big jeans that fell down around his tool belt, exposing gray big boy briefs. He wore his yellow construction hat perched at a rakish angle on his head and completed the outfit with light-up Star Wars tennis shoes (garage sale special, 50 cents).
I enjoyed Halloween in a whole new ways last night. We stood back and let him go to the doors and ring them, and every time we had to tell him to say thank you. After 45 minutes of “Ooooh, how cute!” from every woman who answered the door (yes, OK, he’s adorable, I admit it) he was ready to stop “getting more candy” and to go eat some. We went home and turned on our own lights.
Christian served the first several trick-or-treaters, and then I took over till time to put Julianna to bed. Then…“Wanna give candy to the kids!” Alex said in his slow, deliberate way. Christian let him do it up till 8:00, which is bedtime, and then began a 45-minute pitched battle between the parents and the overexcited 2-year-old.
When at last he was ready for bed, the late rush—all the big kids—started. So we let him come downstairs. By this time we just wanted to get rid of as much candy as possible, so we let him take whole handfuls and put them in kids’ bags & buckets. He was in Heaven. But the part that made me really proud was that he was taking all the pieces of candy that he thought were the best ones and giving those out. He wouldn’t let me give out the cheapie eyeballs that I bought because they were cheap. He thought they were gross, and he wasn’t going to let me give them out. No, he was going to give away all the Kit Kat, Mounds, and Milky Way.
Christian tells me I shouldn’t read into that, but it seems to me that selfishness is so innate that even a 2-year-old ought to be well-versed in it. I’m so proud of him for giving the best to others.
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