Taking It One Day At A Time

Life with four young children is like standing on the ocean’s shore. No, I’m not having a moment of insanity, I’m being serious. However, it’s not like you might imagine.

A Pretty Picture

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You could imagine yourself standing along the ocean’s edge, soaking in the brilliant rays of sunshine, enjoying the soft sounds of waves lapping along the shore, and feeling the cool water as it rushes to meet your feet. And that would be a nice picture, wouldn’t it? But living with young children isn’t like that.

Of course, you have momentary glimpses of this picture when you gaze into a smiling child’s face, or listen to the soft cooing of a baby, or hear the words “I love you” spoken from the mouth of a little person. But this image of a peaceful shoreline is not representative of most days. Instead, living with four young children is like standing on the ocean’s shore, during a hurricane.

Will The Real Day Please Stand Up?

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The waves build up as they draw back into the ocean and pause, gathering their strength. Suddenly, they let loose and hit at once with raging force.

The baby that was laughing and cooing has puked all over himself, the floor, the toys, and nearby wandering animals. The once smiling child has ripped his sibling’s papers and is now screaming as a retaliation of flying fists and feet come upon her. The words “I love you” have changed to grunts and yells as another child pounds the table upsetting and destroying a nearby art project. Then the phone rings, and the receptionist from the doctor’s office reminds you that you missed the appointment for your five-year old, and you will have to pay a fine.

The waves have crashed upon the ocean shore as you stand in their path.

What Is One To Do?

Responding to this is always a challenge. Do you choose rage or reason? Anger or affection? Just as raving at the sea will bring no change, an irate response will not stop the waves from hitting. But as Christ calmed the sea with but a word, firm and loving words can bring tranquility in the midst of a daily storm.

Yet, this is not easy to do. It takes practice to face the crashing waves and let them wash over without pulling you under. When you live with young children these waves will come, it is inevitable. And they come, whether you’re ready or not.

When I was young, I always wondered why my parents were slow. It seemed like it always took forever for them to do anything. I have now discovered why this phenomenon exists: a parent can never do just one thing.

Let me explain. Let’s say that you want to get your coat on to go to the store. As a child you go to the coat hanger, put your coat on, and get in the car (well ideal children do that; mine run around in circles, make silly faces, sit and stare off into nowhere, jump up and down – only after much prodding do they finally put on their coats). A parent, however, tries to go to the coat hanger, but something happens along the way…

First, it’s just a dirty pair of socks found lying on the floor. The parent must pick it up, or at least toss it out of the way. Instead of socks, it might also be another randomly shed article of clothing, large food particles from a recent snack, sticks used for swords, lego castle and space creations, pots and pans that were used as drums (or super hero shields), sofa cushions, step ladders, chairs, tables, stones, tree branches, dead rodents, ducks, or small sheep – depends on the day.

Next, the baby that is sitting on the floor (with or without clothes) is wiping the snot draining from his nose all over his face. So, the parent searches for tissues (which are never to be found when one wants them) and upon discovering one begins to fight with the baby to clean his face (which is no easy task – an 11 month old is a master escape artist). During this task, the parent notices a certain smell emanating from a certain part of this baby, and is constrained to eliminate it.

On the return from the diaper changing station, a stray matchbox car finds its way underneath the parent’s foot and must be put away (or thrown away – as in into the trash can). Again, it might be other various items – random toys, old food, assorted livestock and landscaping materials – a parent never can tell what they are going to find on the floor.

Meanwhile, a fight breaks out between the two oldest siblings when, apparently, Sibling A has taken something from Sibling B – two times. Furthermore Sibling A is always taking things two times and Sibling B doesn’t like that. But Sibling A never had one of those things before, needs it right now, and never, ever, ever gets it. So the parent stops the fight (generally with some bright statement like “Stop” or “It doesn’t matter” or “Give it to me!” or “Nobody in this house will ever have anything again!!!”) and then informs both siblings that they need to put on their coats.

The parent, worn out, finally makes it to the coat hanger, but as hand touches pleather, a piercing shriek comes from the other room. The two year old has tripped and fallen while running to get her coat. With tears pouring down her cheeks while rubbing her knees and arms, she asks the parent to kiss it, which the parent promptly does. And then the parent succumbs to the demanding cry, “Want Up!” by picking up the teary-eyed child.

Carrying the injured two year old, the parent arrives at the coat hanger and is allowed to put on the coat. (Only after begging the two-year old to let her be put down.) But this parent hasn’t made it to the car yet… Oy Vey.

Parents are slow at doing just one thing, because they can never do just one thing. One thing inevitably turns into at least a dozen. I didn’t grasp that as a child, and my kids certainly do not grasp it now. To them, I’m just slow. And I guess I’m okay with that.