Justin, after a frustrating night on the hunt, pawed home, growled, and stalked off into his den. Not wanting to rouse the beast, I determined to keep the pups quiet... Me and my nob-noggined determinations.
A parade with a poorly-trained, but very proud high school marching band could have tromped their way through our living room with more grace and quietude than me attempting to get shoes, jackets, and ... oh really again?... pants on all of us. I hovered an ear over the bedroom door, to see if the werewolf was, by some miraculous anomaly, sleeping. I heard nothing. It wasn't the nothing of sleeping, though. It was the nothing of a man trying very hard not to turn into the Incredible Hulk. We hurried out. Before daddy decided to SMASH.
I had intended many fun and energy-expending adventures out on the town. But it was windy. To those of you shoveling eighteen inches of snow, this may sound rather wussy, but let me assure you: Texas wind is mean. I think the wind in Texas wasn't loved by its mother or was picked on in Junior High by the big popular weather patterns. It's got a chip on it's shoulder. The wind here is just plain ill-tempered. We had to go to H.E.B. to get peanut butter. (For you non-Texans, H.E.B. is Texas' grocery store. It stands for "here everything's better." Or "Hell, everything's buttery." Texans have a reckless disregard for nutrition. H.E.B. should really stand for: Here, Eat your Beef.) The entire walk from our car into the store was filled with Noah's screaming because the wind was gnawing his ears off and starting in on his cheeks. I couldn't bring myself to drag them all over in that miserable gale, so we went home.
Ok, not true. We had to stop at the credit union first. In outer darkness, next to our Beast Wagon, will be the Texell Credit Union.
Then I dragged them home.
Which is when the day, their attitudes, and my parenting went from phenomenal to utterly awesome (please don't make me tell you that's sarcasm).
We ended up here:
Oh yeah, that is the Hurricane in fuzzy pink kitty slippers, and the Wild Thing in dinosaur feet and a buffalo hat riding in the double stroller with the visor in front of them because it sort of blocks that foul-tempered wind. And what pray-do-tell is blocking that vicious breeze from mommy? Nothing. Because mommy doesn't care. Because they are out of the house and not crying, not waking up daddy, not smacking the dog, and not having a pushing tug-of-war with their beautiful little craniums.
There are several excellent sources of parental advice who declare that we must avoid "Desperation Parenting."
Which sounds like very wise counsel. Like, "Just give it to the Lord." Great. Any practical idea on how the raving, foaming, blubbering mess in the corner might go about that very mature process?
Back to desperation parenting. There are some simple things you can do to avoid desperation parenting.
1. Don't have a husband who works nights and has to sleep during the day so he doesn't make some exhaustion-induced mistake like, you know, injecting his peanut butter and jelly sandwich into someone's vent tube.
2. Don't have a bulldog who has a biological compulsion to bark at every squirrel, lizard, doorbell, and gust of wind in a five mile radius.
3. Don't leave behind your entire support system, baby sitting team, and pep-talk club, and move yourself halfway across the country to where people are different and use phrases like "all y'all", which is chalk-board-scratchingly poor grammar, and maddeningly redundant.
4. Don't move to little Podunk, Texas where there is nothing to do.
5. Don't allow gustering winds to occur.
6. Don't have two children that are less than fifteen months apart.
7. Don't have a two year old.
8. Don't have a three year old.
9. In fact, the very best way to avoid desperation parenting is to not have any children at all. It's really the only way to be sure.
The desperation isn't in dealing with your children. I love them. Even in my madness I want the best for them. The desperation really unhinges its gaping maw when the lies begin to assail. "Terrible mother. Terrible wife. Terrible Christian." The lies are like the wind, but their assault begins inside and gnaws it's way out. You would think I would know love well enough to stand in the face of the lies. But sometimes, us big adulty people need child reminders. We need truth in small moments, said simply... with asparaguses. (Asparagi? Asparagigies? Asparageet?)
I cried when I watched Veggie Tales, folks. That's where I am at. First off I cried tears of joy that everyone was seated, quiet, and free of senseless violence for a span of time greater than 6 seconds. Then I cried because Lenny's mom sang him this song after his horrible day:
When your day's been a mess and you feel it intensely,
Don't forget Whose you are and Who loves you immensely.
God made you His child and you're treasured as such
You're precious, you're cherished, He loves you so much!
And this is the day the Lord has made
You're special to Him you'll be okay
Tomorrow will dawn, and He'll love you still.
Things will get better I promise they will.
Okay, so I wasn't a blubbering mess. There wasn't snot flying, and gasping, and a saline puddle forming below me. Maybe just a tear trickled out. Because that is just the kind of thing my mom would say.
Tomorrow will dawn, and He'll love me still.
Things will get better, I promise they will.
Although, these aren't my favorite lyrics of Robin Good and His Not-so-Merry Men. That would be:
Covered with love
sealed against troubles
sheltered in a cloud of bubbles, bubbles, bubbles
safe inside the arms of my bubble, bubble, bubble rap!
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