The serenity of a sick day...

The tummy bug that has been circulating my kids’ preschool room has hit our house. It hit me first, gave me a few days of total food aversion. Now, a few days later, my daughter is in the middle of the same phenomenon. It’s day 2 ½ and I thought it was done. Sadly, when she threw up all over the kitchen this morning, my plans to go to work were thwarted. (Picture me, in work clothing, undressing a vomit covered child, followed by cleaning the floor while fending off two kids that want to “help”.) Fine… you can laugh! I don’t mind. I’m over it by now.

My son isn’t really sick, at least not by a doctor’s definition, but he’s not totally well either. He’s teething horribly and the drool he’s producing could seriously fuel a nation in drought. In fact, I might not inflict him upon that nation. It might actually be too much liquid, create mass flooding. He has a cold and his mood has been somewhat foul.

Long story short, a sick day wasn’t wasted on him.

Nobody wishes for a sick kid, for a myriad of obvious reasons. Quite simply, who wants illness when you could be experiencing good health? Right? Of course, right.

That said, it’s day 2 of being stuck at home with the kids and I have been enjoying some of the hidden benefits of this unfortunate situation. With two sick kids any rational mom drops all expectations of being productive. Laundry? I think not. Real independent play? Hmmm… not so much. Cranky kids don’t always share so well.  But that’s ok. I don’t work and play well with others when I feel like crap, and I have years of maturity on them. Why should they?

So, in the spirit of at least attempting to be the mom I aspire to be, I dropped all my expectations of functionality and embraced the role of caretaker in mess ready clothing. We read every book on the shelf. And wow, do we have a LOT of books!  It had been ages since we looked at some of them; it was a nice reminder of the literary variety represented in our personal kid library. And some of these books are really cute. We were able to experience them on a whole new level, reminding me of how much they have matured in the last few months.

Meals were haphazard and random. As queasy stomach was the symptom of the day, I was NOT going to feed them a huge meal. Seeing it again in the diaper is good enough for me, I don’t need a revisit in any other form, thanks. We had tiny little meals every 45 minutes or so and everything stayed where it was supposed to. Excellent.

I also caught up on my hug quota, big time. Day to day life, with healthy kids, allows for a tremendous amount of movement and rushing. In the rush of getting things done, we sometimes forget to stop and snuggle. I’d like to think that I accurately hear the difference between a distress cry and a tantrum cry, but there’s gotta be some screams in the gray area between. Busy moms sometimes reprimand when a comfort hug would have been much more kind. Oh, and much more effective as well.  I would be arrogant to claim that I don’t fall victim to such mistakes. With two sick kids, I was kid piled all morning, two munchkins curled up in my lap happily. My shirt may be snot covered, but my heart is happy and light.  And my kids’ glassy eyes are twinkling with love.

Physical health is a huge topic for most parents, but emotional health? Even the best of us lose sight of it. I don’t know about you, but I LOVE mental health days every once in a while. No responsibilities, no errands, no schedule.

I guess sometimes we have to stop and think. We like to complain that we don’t get what we wanted, that we lost control of our day. But maybe we got what we needed, even if we didn’t realize at that time.

I will tell you this. In my house, we will all be better off for having had two days of rest, whatever the cause.

And I appreciate it.

Thank you, Brad Paisley, for your wonderful insights!

I love country music. I really do. Let me tell you why.

This morning, as I was waiting for our morning activity to open up, we were just hangin’ in the house. It was going pretty well until I could feel the crankies start to creep in. Come on… you moms out there know exactly what I’m saying. It’s a little squabble over a toy that is usually peaceful or a gesture that’s usually taken as play, but causes tears this particular time. Independently, those incidents don’t mean much. Combined, you know that you’re doomed if you don’t act quickly and strategically.

It was time to save the room with some music.

I love music. Always have. I actually love most kinds of music in existence, just not all at the same time. Everything has its moment. I even love a little Raffi or Wiggles when I am totally immersed in mom mode. But this morning, I was only partially in mom mode and I needed a little adult to keep me sane. So I went for the country. Yee haw! My kids love music almost as much as I do, especially my son. I have no way of knowing if they love it for its own value, if they love it for the elevated mood it brings out in me (logically improving my patience and parenting skills) or if it’s really some combination.

The first country to appear on the alphabetized list on the iPod was Brad Paisley, and he was a fine choice. I hit play and the mood evened out beautifully. Ahhh. Contented sigh. I danced while I finished some dishes and they played contentedly once again.

Here’s why I love country music. It has soul. It has content. It has depth. I mean REAL depth. I can appreciate the modern dance music with the best of them, but it doesn’t really say anything worth hearing. Its true value is in the rhythm of the music and the release you get from moving to it. The lyrics… well… let’s just say they’re there to fill space. All they discuss is sex, really. And while I have no objection to the discussion of sex in music, I’d like the lyrics to move beyond that topic as well. I mean really, how much of life’s relationships is really occupied by sex anyway? If your life has any real substance, the number ought to be somewhat low and should probably cluster in specific moments.  (In my humble opinion, of course) Country music, however, is like a sociological thesis in 3 minutes. A melodic short story. It’s fantastic. Irreplaceable.

One of Brad Paisley’s songs is about a boy who misrepresents himself in internet chat rooms. In real life, he’s a sweet, smart, overweight 15 year old that gets his snacks made by his adoring mom. Online, he’s a suave, sexy, 30 something with multiple homes, fast cars and a bangin’ six pack. I have to laugh, its every teenage boys dream. Made me remember my teens, although my perspective came from the feminine angle.

The song that really hit me, however, talked about Brad (presumably) writing a letter to his 17 year old self, assuring him that life would get better and that he would survive this epidemic called the teenage years.  He updates his younger self on future events, reassuring him that he will pass chemistry (and not get killed by mom and dad). That he will get married, have kids, and that high school will be but a fuzzy and sometimes endearing memory. He reminds his young self to show appreciation for those that are helping him along his way and to value family members that may or may not live to a ripe old age.

And I got to thinking…

Wouldn’t that be nice? To get a letter from yourself during a particularly difficult time. I can think of a few times in my life that I would appreciate the value of such a letter.  Just before I graduated college, such a letter would have given me comfort, convinced me that my lack of clear, future professional vision would not cause me to be a lifelong failure. So many of my friends knew exactly what they wanted. Or at least they thought they did. I was clueless and terrified. I would have adored knowing that my winding path to insight brought me the wisdom I needed to get myself where I am now professionally. And I like where I am now, it’s a great place to be.

Personally, at home with two young toddlers, a letter from the future self would be of high value. Documentation consoling me that I would reconnect more my profoundly with my inner self and that occasional adult tantrums didn’t wreck my children’s self esteem would be downright lovely. I’m not always as patient as I would ideally like to be and seeing that my “oops” moments didn’t do too much damage would be a comfort.

Wouldn’t that be splendid?

Guess we’ll all just have to go with faith. Well, that is until they create time travel.

Mommy's morning off...

My husband had been away for a week… a very long week. Before kids, it wasn’t such a big deal. I missed him and all, but life went on. I took care of myself and he came back with good stories. All’s well that ends well. But now… with kids… well…  It’s not quite the same situation anymore. You know the expression “How can I miss you if you won’t go away?” Well, by the end of the week, that’s sort of how I was starting to feel about my kids. I love them, but I was starting to contemplate what I could do to get some alone time. And I was thinking BIG.

So when my husband got home, I informed him that I was due a morning to myself the next day, a Saturday. He agreed without hesitation. Smart man.  He knew a man is only as happy as his wife. In my daydreams during the week, I had wonderful visions of how that time would be spent. A few hours in Panera with my laptop and no kids? Hmmm… Maybe a walk in the park.  Without kids. That could be nice. The possibilities were endless.

That Saturday morning, after breakfast, my husband looks over at me and says, “So, where are you going?”. The moment of truth. How big should I dream?

What did I choose? Don’t yell at me. Ok? I know I should have gone more extravagant. I KNOW that in all the mommy newsletters the experts tell you to save “you” time to do something just for yourself. No housework. No laundry. Read a book or go shopping. (And not food shopping…)I didn’t listen.

Where did I go? Nowhere. My husband decided to take the kids out to play for the morning and I stood there in my house. Silence. Total and utter silence. It was amazing. No kids yelling, no requests for juice, no desperate pleas to find a Thomas train. I sat there for a minute, immobilized in joy, and then I got to work. I poured a second cup of coffee, and I cleaned out the fridge. I cleaned out the drawer in my bedside table, and the downstairs coat closet. There were some shoes in there I hadn’t seen in ages. Not that I missed them.

I changed the sheets on all the beds. I ran a load of laundry and I folded the clean laundry. I got organized for a goodwill drop off.

Maybe I’m nuts. Or maybe my mom/wife spirit has taken over my woman spirit. (Terrifying as it may be.) But it felt good. Really good. The house looked seriously tidy and seeing the goodwill bags ready to go was positively thrilling. Scary thrilling… where did I go wrong?  The 20 year old version of me would have been horrified at that which brings me joy.

In the beginning of summer, I posted a blog about being a packrat and attempting to get the disastrous mess that is our house under control. I was working on the false assumption that having more time would result in higher efficiency. Really? When will I learn? The only time I get anything done is when I’m already too busy. Having “extra” time only makes me lazy. Gives me the urge to sit and relax. Dangerous… wanting to sit and relax. J

So today, on a day when I had so many other tasks to accomplish, I tidied up like crazy.

We humans are nuts. We moms are nuts. Certifiably nuts.

Motherhood- A great job with a crappy contract!

This weekend has been… uhm… let’s call it eventful. My kids, who are usually pretty good at being cooperative, have been cranky, tired and uncooperative. Outings that are normally a pleasure felt like an enormous chore. Sort of sad, really, as I love the time I spend doing fun activities with my kids. It’s disappointing when it doesn’t go well.

I’ve been feeling a little off, a little less patient, a little less tolerant of those minute to minute struggles that are inherent to developmentally normal toddlers.

And as I sat on my sofa, at nap time, dreaming about a vacation from my family, I experienced a revelation.  Being a mom is a great job with a crappy contract.

Having a child, being a parent, is an international goal. And a damn strong one. If it weren’t the human race would die out. I mean really, how many women crave 10 months of morning sickness, heartburn, back pain, swelling of the extremities and leg cramps? And labor? Seriously… who wants that? It stinks.  None, they crave the baby the pregnancy will bring them and they tolerate the unfortunate symptoms for the sake of the end goal.  They even come back for more; have multiple children via multiple pregnancies.

We either really want our children or we are gluttons for punishment.

I love being a mom. Anyone who reads my blog regularly knows the extent to which I love my kids. But sometimes, I have no interest in cleaning noses and refereeing between two kids over a silly plastic toy. Sometimes, I just want a day off to read a book and hear my own thoughts.

It’s a good thing there’s no mom contract to sign, because a day off wouldn’t be in it. Neither would the guarantee of a full night’s sleep, time to eat a meal or time for a shower. In fact, if the contract were to be drawn up honestly, would anyone sign it? I probably wouldn’t. Who, in their right mind, signs a contract that includes “restraining 35 pound toddlers in public shopping venues” as part of “other duties as assigned”? We would also have to include a few notes about the role of human Kleenex and creator of meals that get dropped on the floor carelessly.

I’d sign that. Wouldn’t you? Riight… me neither. But I would never trade my kids or my family life, not for all the money and freedom in the world. They are my heart and soul.

I guess that’s what makes me a mom. And I guess I did sign the contract. Silly me.

All I really need to know I learned on Sesame Street

I find it intriguing, the different sides of myself that I reveal with each blog entry.  In some entries I reveal the hidden (or not so hidden) geek in me. Other entries reveal my sappy side. A few have revealed my daily frustrations. Come to think about it, reveal may not be the best word. This implies I knew about it before and am choosing to allow you a glimpse of it on purpose. Sometimes I knew it well, long before writing. Other times, the process of writing about it is how I realized it’s there in the first place. Hmmm... Maybe that’s why I love writing as much as I do.

I like to think that this blog will reveal the depth to which my inner child controls my soul and it comes to you with the letter B and the number 5.

I love Sesame Street. I’m told that I loved it as a kid and now, in adulthood, we have it on our streaming Netflix so I can access episodes whenever I want… Uh, I mean whenever the kids want. Riiiight.

So, we were watching an episode the other day and it was about Baby bear going to school for the first time. Obviously, it’s designed to teach kids about the first day of school and ease their fears, answer their unspoken questions.  A noble cause. He goes to the storybook community school (being part of the 3 little bears, of course) and I just about cracked up watching them represent his first day. For example…

His classmates and teacher were an enormous source of amusement for me. They included:

1-    Jack and Jill- Jack kept asking Jill if it was his turn to carry the pail yet and Jill kept saying no. He kept falling over and saying “ouch, my crown”.  Then she would fall over too.

2-   Hansel and Gretel- They arrived, bustling, and speaking with exceedingly strong German accents. Their solution to every problem… throwing breadcrumbs gleefully into the air, of course.

3-   Mary and the little lamb- Mary with her little lamb, Mary complete with an overbearing Scottish accent and a crook. She informs her little lamb that coming to school with her is “against the rules”. She actually croons the word “rules” in accordance with the associated accent.

4-   Little Red Riding hood- She approaches every female and calls her grandma, remarking swooningly on the size of her eyes.

5-   Peter Piper- He actually introduces himself as the one who picked the pickled peppers. No joke.

6-   Mother Goose- She’s the teacher, of course. And she’s got the hat.

When the kids at the storybook community school get started, what activity do they complete? A puzzle. And what is the image in the picture? Humpty dumpty, of course! Can they put him back together again? That one actually made me snort a little. The kids turned to stare at me with questioning eyes. Clearly, snorting is not a noise they are accustomed to hearing from my mouth and they wanted to investigate the source. When they discovered that I wasn’t ill, they went back to watching their show.

I would like for you to picture the scene. My family room is covered in toys, like usual. The kids are sitting on the floor, watching the show and I am cracking up, giggling like a child. This simple humor is beyond my intellectual mind, it’s just too darn hilarious.

It reminded me of the Renaissance faire and the myriad of shows that are presented there. The humor, while quite racy and adult, is appropriate for kids because it’s subtle. I would happily bring my young kids to the shows (provided they would sit still long enough) because the adult humor would go right over their heads. It’s the well timed looks, unfinished sentences and double meanings that create the humor, not profanity.

So, to all of you out there who create children’s programming, I say THANK YOU!  Thank you for creating a multi dimensional experience, during which both my kids and I can enjoy learning and humor from the same source. Your contribution to this world does not go unrecognized.

The way things combine...

The other day I was starving (ok, not starving… but pretty darn hungry) when the kids went down for a nap.  When I came back downstairs from tucking them in, I opened the fridge and it hit me. Like lightning… PB & J with a glass of chocolate milk. Yes!!!

Ok, it’s not gourmet. And it’s not even particularly healthy. I like peanut butter by itself, but when you pair it with jelly it’s simply delicious. Add some chocolate milk and you’re golden. At least I am. You can eat whatever you want.

As I was sitting at my kitchen table in blessed silence, contemplating the beauty of life, I got to thinking about how things combine and what it means when they pair off.

When my husband I first met, we were both already good people, but we each had our own struggles. I struggled with staying calm and he struggled with large social environments with many unknown factors. There was many a time when he had to calm me down in a stressful situation. And equal numbers of times that he “used” being with me to quietly assess the room to allow for comfortable socializing. Years later, I am significantly calmer and he is much more social. We’ve had a good impact on each other.

As a teacher, my professional life is defined by the combination of chemistries. I firmly believe that I am a good teacher, but not every student is going to like me. I’m loud, for one. And I’m in your face. Sure, it’s in the friendly way, but it’s still right there in your face. If you are trying to hide, my classroom may be your own personal hell. Not everyone likes to be taught by everyone.

The classroom experience is also impacted by the combination of temperaments of students, creating room chemistry. This chemistry can be wonderful or it can be disastrous. Throw in a dash of teacher personality and you have your final product. Let’s just hope it tastes good because it’s the recipe for the semester and it ain’t gonna change.

Recently, my husband and I decided to divide and conquer. It was between dinner and bedtime and we each had an errand we wanted to take off the “to do” list. I took my son to the supermarket and my husband took my daughter to home depot. My son was an ANGEL. Totally cooperative. Not a single moment of frustration. Really? I love my son dearly, but angelic is not the word I would use for him. Deliciously naughty. Sure. Angelic? Huh?  He was just as angelic as my daughter had been, way back when… when I took her alone for Saturday mornings.  Clearly, they are not the same apart as they are together, for better or worse.

I suppose it’s logical. When the situation doesn’t necessitate compromising, you are far less uncomfortable. It’s much easier. Not necessarily better, just easier.

Interesting… I’m going to remember that the next time I meet someone for the first time and it doesn’t go particularly well. Maybe I’ll change up some ingredients next time, see if it improves the mood.

You never can tell.

It's a chocolate Zen thing...

My kitchen smells awesome. It’s like a chocolate bomb exploded. Yummy…

About 30 minutes ago, the counters were covered with bowls, wrappers not yet thrown out, various cake ingredients and spilled flour. What a divine sight. The homemade icing was simmering on the stove and the cake was busy baking in the oven. The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes and a batter bowl was eagerly awaiting a vigorous licking.

Is there any better way to spend the hours after the kids go to bed? Not if you ask me…

It’s a Zen thing. You know that thing that makes your soul settle comfortably and your body relax.  That thing that makes you feel at home in your own body, in that perfect place between bored and active.  Focused yet calm.  You know… a Zen thing.

I have always loved to cook. At least in my adult life. I love the mess that is the kitchen in the middle of a recipe. I love the smells of cooking food, the sounds of food being chopped and sizzling in a pan. The feel of hands, wet from food and the sight of a finished meal on plates. Now THAT, my friends, is what I call instant gratification.  Excellent.

Everyone has something that they can identify as their Zen thing. At least I hope so, for their sakes. Some people cook, other people garden. Others knit or crochet. Playing on the playstation probably qualifies for some. I know people that see exercise as their Zen moment of the day. Still others have a location; the mountains or near water. Maybe they love to go fishing? Whatever the activity or location, having a Zen thing is essential, in my humble opinion. It’s the ultimate relaxation.  It reconnects you to your soul in a life that is far too busy for anyone’s good.

It's been a long week and tonight, my soul needed to bake. And it felt GOOD.

That religion thing...

My husband and I are in an interfaith marriage. That is to say, I was raised Jewish and he was raised Christian. I went through many of the traditions of Judaism and I even enjoyed some of them. My bat mitzvah was a wonderful event. Once it was over, however, I chose to cease my religious studies and didn’t reconnect with organized religion until my college years. My husband, well... Let’s just say he’s anti-religion.

Faith, however, is a different subject entirely. There is a grand assumption that faith and organized religion are inherently connected. I disagree. In my opinion, attending a service in a religious building does not necessarily give you faith. Alternatively, a lack of presence of organized religion does not mean that an individual lacks faith. In my humble opinion, the two exist independent of each other, with the possibility of coexistence.

I am a prime example of strong faith with little desire for organized religion. I have always had faith, a generalized sense of certainty that everything would eventually work out, either by my good choices or some form of outside intervention. When I was pregnant with my twins, I found myself in a state of serenity and happiness. A little back ache? No worries… came with the territory. I was having my babies. My feet a bit swollen? Who cares? My babies were healthy. I was unwilling to complain. I simply KNEW that it would all end well. And it did. (Well… despite a few bumps, a significantly early arrival and an extended NICU stay…)

My husband fell victim to the wealth of the internet, looking up every problem that can occur in a twin pregnancy. Unbeknownst to me, he spent the entire pregnancy in a mild to medium state of concern, never quite resting happily in the low grade stress of anticipating your children.

I sometime wonder if those with faith handle stress and distress more effectively. If you feel certain that all will end well, it’s easier to relax.

Growing up, I found myself drawn to religious environments, even if I wasn’t fully dedicated to the complete message being delivered. I spent 2 years in a private high school, and we attended chapel a few times a week. The chapel itself was a beautiful room, with gorgeous stained glass windows, well situated for ideal flow of sunlight. Cloudy days were hypnotic, with a wonderful “fuzzy light” filtering through the shadows of the room. The “sermons” discussed friendship and community, and were rarely pure religion. Being a music person, I loved the hymns. They FELT good to sing.

When I have traveled overseas, visiting cathedrals was always a favorite activity.

When I became a staff member at a Jewish camp, years later, I expected to tolerate the daily morning service and other religious elements during the daily routine. In reality, I loved it. They were kid led, so they were down to earth and grounded to real life. Kids don’t do lofty or arrogant. It’s awesome.

The best, however, was the dancing. The dining hall (on rainy days) or the basketball court (on nice days) became a dance arena for Israeli dancing. And wow, was it a party. I had never seen religious music have that effect on a room. Being a dancer, I was in heaven.  

My children started preschool this fall and we enrolled them in a Jewish preschool. We didn’t actively search out a Jewish school, or even a religious school, but we found ourselves there when we researched the schools that were in our price range with our interests. Our second choice was a church preschool and it was second choice because it was a very new program, less well established.  Being a teacher, I wanted a well established learning environment for my children. Overall, we found that religious preschools were more spiritual, took more opportunities to teach core values. That was important to us.

So what does that mean?

I’m not entirely certain, to be totally honest. At the moment, we are content to raise our kids on family holidays (because the family is the focus) and give the preschool a chance to infuse some religious values into our kids. In the future? Who knows? I look forward to seeing how it unfolds, with complete faith that it will turn out well, the way it is supposed to.

Regaining your magic...

When I was a kid, everything was magical. Probably because I didn’t understand it, but that’s not the point. The point is that I found it to be magical, wondrous and overall exciting. Every day was an adventure.

Then I grew up. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. Saying it that way makes it sound like it happened all at once, and that’s not the way it works. We just begin growing up and lose some of that magic along the way. Perhaps it’s because we gain more knowledge and understanding. The amazing becomes logical, understandable. And for some reason, something we understand is less likely to wow us. That’s tragic.

When I graduated college and went out into the “real world”, I took an enormous leap into adulthood, and I didn’t quite land squarely on my feet. I landed on one foot, on a rock, and then wobbled a little before I fell into the grass and got back up again. Unshaken by a few bumps and bruises, I took off again on a weaving and unsteady path. I got some great views from above and I ran into a few dead ends, forcing myself to turn around and go back. I even landed in a few rivers and ravines. Overall, not a bad trip.  Not sure I would repeat certain stages, but no real regrets.

But in the process, I gained an enormous insight into “real life” and my “real self” and much of that beloved magic just slipped away quietly. I didn’t even notice, really, I was too busy surviving, being an adult. Until I had kids. And then I began to notice the magic of the world again.

Let me explain.

1-    I’m no scientist but I have a decent idea of why an airplane flies. Something about velocity of speed, shape of wings and air resistance.  I’m close anyways. And even if I’m wrong, I’m right about one thing. It’s not magic. But my kids LOVE airplanes, especially my son. When he was little he called them “birds”. He would see an airplane and squeal “bird!!!!!” with total glee. Now he squeals “airplane”, but no joy has been lost. And even when I’m alone in the car, I find myself watching airplanes with wonder. They really are fantastic, even if they’re logical.

2-   Toddlers love to build things and knock them down. It helps them understand the process of doing and undoing. Building with blocks is a prime example. They build the tallest tower they can and then “baam”, they knock it down with joy. Then they giggle and build it again, repeating the process.  I know all about how things are built and I understand why some towers stand while others fall. Regardless, the sound of an enormous tower collapsing is a thrill. I don’t even have to pretend when I laugh with my kids. I actually enjoy it.

3-   Picnics on a beautiful day. Can anything beat it? The sun is shining and you’ve found a shady spot under a beautiful tree. There’s a gentle breeze and lots of yummy food.  I recently took my kids to a local park and had the wisdom to think ahead, pack a lunch that I left in the car. Oh, and I remembered a blanket. Go me. When the kids had finished playing, we went to the car and quickly pulled out the supplies. PB and J sandwiches, juice boxes, chopped up fruit…  Anyone who tells me that moment wasn’t magic wasn’t there. I assure you, it was magical. The air felt perfect, I couldn’t have planned it better if I had tried. When my kids think back on their childhood, they are ten times more likely to remember that day (that unplanned, inexpensive day) than any fancy day we have planned for them. I have no doubt.

So I charge you, all of you, to find that missing magic you have lost. It’s what I do every day now. And don’t tell me you haven’t lost it. You have… Maybe it just left so quietly that you didn’t see it go. And when you find it, DO NOT bring it to where you are. GO TO IT! See where it takes you. Trust me. You’ll be pleasantly surprised.

The relativity of time

A lifetime ago, I was single and working in a daycare center. As I was walking down the hall, towards the end of the day, a little girl from the 4 year old classroom stopped me with a slightly forlorn look. “What time is it?” I told her it was 4:30. “Oh”. She responded. Then after a brief pause. “How long till my mom gets here?” I asked her what time her mom came to get her. “5:00” she stated. “Great” I told her. “Then you only have half an hour!”.  “How long is that?” she sighed. 

“Well”, I said. “You know how there are long cartoons and short cartoons?” She nodded. “30 minutes is a short cartoon.” Her whole face lit up. “I can wait that long” she proclaimed, and skipped into her classroom, pony tail bouncing.  

Time is relative. Always has been. Always will be.  I could have told her that 30 minutes is how long you have to sit in a dentist’s chair, but that would have made her wait feel like eternity. But it would have been accurate too.  They way we feel time is so dependant of how we feel about the manner in which we pass that time. So how long is time, really?

Our wedding was approximately 6 hours long, and it went like a flash. I loved our wedding. I feel like I must have blinked for too long because before it knew it, it was over. So much fun and so worth the hours of planning it required. 6 hours can also be the length of a school day when you have 4 tests or an eternal day of meetings that seemingly accomplish nothing, bar giving you a splitting headache. That day, as we all know, does not go by in a flash. It drags and pulls, wreaking havoc on its path. . By evening, you feel like you lived 2 days, not one.

Today has felt somewhat eternal, and (as I write this during their nap time) I have only had the kids for 6 hours, the same length of time as our wedding. My son has rash/bumps that we thought might be chicken pox so I had to take 2 kids to the doctor, only to find out that he is teething, has a sore throat common to the start of the year and a myriad of bug bites I can’t explain the origin of. Hmmm… Guess I just got paranoid because one of his classmates had it. Add to that the fact that my daughter is teething too and has been whining incessantly for days now.  We have not been sleeping well, thanks to our little lady bug and I am exhausted from the start up of a new semester and house guests.

I took my little angels out for pizza to celebrate the benign diagnosis, and that went well. Getting them back in the car with 2 hands, two kids, a diaper bag and a leftover pizza box was less than smooth and efficient.  I could actually see my car but couldn’t get there for almost 5 minutes.  Perhaps distance is relative too.

Suffice it to say that my nerves are a little jumpy right now. Time is dragging.

But I know, with absolute certainty, that when I look back on the time period that encompasses this day, I won’t remember this. (Unless I read back on my blogs, of course). I will remember how tempestuous and sweet my daughter was. I will remember that earnest pout my son puts on when he has a “really big” problem. I will remember the glee on their faces when their pizza arrived for lunch and the vigor used to consume said pizza without fuss, mess or complaint. They even took turns eating off each other’s plates and giggling. So they can share when they want to. Interesting.

I will remember how lovely kids are when they were 2, how innocent and funny.  I will also remember the struggles, but not with the clarity of the current moment. Time, that wonderful relative entity we all ponder, will erase the bad and maintain the good.

Maybe that’s on purpose? Maybe it’s simply our way of unconsciously protecting ourselves from our less than perfect memories?  Whatever the reason, I’ll take it.