Ladies and Gentlemen, and children of all ages…
My husband turned 40 a few weeks ago. I turn 38 this summer.
Recently, however, we both found ourselves 4 years old with our children.
Why, you ask? Because we took the kids to the circus.
The kids had never been before; their only real experience
with the circus was watching “Dumbo” on DVD or reading a random Thomas the
Train book. Not exactly the real deal. Neither
my husband nor I could recall the last time we had the pleasure, but it was
most certainly during our childhood years.
Being a kid at heart, I always smiled when I passed posters
and advertisements for the circus. My kids, however, were too young to really
enjoy it. It’s loud, it’s overwhelming… and it ain’t cheap. And as I always
say, “I don’t pay for pain”. My husband and I would exchange a questioning
look, and then shrug. Maybe next year.
This year, however, when I saw the signs for the coming
circus, I felt it in my soul. This was it. The year we had waited for. My kids
had become significantly more comfortable in crowds and are now quite good at
behaving in a way that allows us to relax, knowing they are safe if simply pay
attention. They had asked to go and my daughter had asked repeatedly. I don’t
know if it was because she knew she was ready or because my response sounded
less like “no” when she asked the first time. I wonder.
So we bought tickets. The best seats we could. The credit
card shuddered a little when we clicked on the purchase button, but we just couldn’t
fathom paying for an obstructed view. And wow, were our instincts good. When we
got there, I actually giggled. These seats weren’t good, they were fantastic.
Perfect. Ground level, 2nd
row from the bottom. You could actually see the sweat on the performers’ faces.
Wow.
There were lions and tigers, elephants and performing dogs.
Flying acrobats sailed through the air with the greatest of ease and crazy
ladies hung from their hair. Motorcycles drove on the high wire. Clowns made
fools of themselves. Our kids spent the vast majority of the show in our laps,
eyes wide as saucers, hands clasping ours. They each had one moment of fear. My
son, a lover of motorcycles and all things that go, got increasingly nervous as
more and more bikes entered the globe to drive in patterns. It could have been
the noise, but part of me wonders if he realized how badly the drivers would be
hurt if they fell. Hard to blame him, either way. My daughter got scared of the
lions and tigers. She curled up in my lap and told me so. Her heart was
pounding. I pointed out that the man “playing” with the cats wasn’t scared and
she calmed down some, but my lap was still the place to be. I couldn’t question
her either. After all, I wouldn’t be caught dead in that ring. I was pleased
that they each only had one event. Overall, quite a success.
As we watched in awe, a metaphor popped into my head. Life,
in a house with kids, is 3 ring circus. I’d heard it said before, but never
really made the connection to where it originated. Whoever came up with that
metaphor certainly knew their circuses, and their families. I’ll elaborate.
1- The
organization of the circus was impeccable. A bright light shines on the center
ring, riveting everyone’s eyes to a clown or juggler… or something
fantastically distracting. Six feet to the left, a massive set is being
disassembled and reconstructed for the next scene. Is anyone watching? Not
really. They are too busy watching the fun, but the behind the scenes is always
in progress and it’s never just fun. There’s work to be done and the “fun” must
be supported by enormous amounts of unseen, unrecognized and unappreciated work.
Sound familiar in your home?
2- The
women hanging by their hair. Ouch, that’s all I can say. That looks painful.
They aren’t grimacing, however. They’re smiling for the crowd while they twirl,
making it look effortless. I have no doubt that they get headaches, but the
crowd will never know about it. Reminds me of myself at the mall (or some other
public venue) on a LONG day with the kids. I’m pulling my hair out, but do I
show the people around me? Nope… On the outside I am THAT mom. Smiling,
patiently reminding my little darlings AGAIN
that we aren’t buying candy right now. Answering the exact same series
of questions AGAIN, despite the fact that we have discussed this 10,000 time
already today and the last cycle ended less than two minutes ago. Yup, I can identify.
3- Some
of the stunts performed by the acrobats are downright insane. On more than a
few occasions, I found myself thinking “That man/woman has a mom. How does she
sleep knowing what her son/daughter does all day?” If you look more carefully, however, there
are men and women in black surrounding the acrobats, ready to step in and
support if/when they are needed. And needed they were. A few acrobats had to be
caught and guided when truly precarious stunts didn’t go as planned. I was
really glad the support was there. Without it, those acrobats would have been
severely injured.
It reminded me of being a mom, and
how you simply cannot do it alone. Sometimes you fall. Sometimes you get sick. Sometimes
you need to go to the doctor and cannot take your monkeys, uhm… I meant kids,
if you plan to have the necessary conversation with the doctor. In the last few
weeks I have had the opportunity to watch kids for two different friends. Those favors were returned when I was able to
send one of my kids for all day play dates so I could focus on the other. We
simply cannot do it alone. The sooner we come to terms with that, the less we
will suffer.
4- I
adore the elephants. Some people think they are ugly, but I think they are
adorable. Even the enormous ones. Their eyes are huge and I always feel like
they are telling me something when they gaze upon me. During one of the scenes, one of the elephants
just had to go. And when you gotta go, you gotta go. Gallons of pee flooded the
area and huge poops rolled onto the floor. I laughed way too hard. I must be
spending too much time with my kids. Watching the cleanup crew race in to pour
sawdust on the floor without interrupting the show was quite the spectacle. It
reminded me of my home. Pee accidents. Poop accidents. Lunch dropped on the floor.
Chocolate milk needing to be mopped up. Mess after mess, after mess. But the
show must go on. As they say, “no use crying over spilled milk”. Clean it up,
and move on.
Maybe that’s why I love the circus so very much… because it
feels like home.
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