How are the verbs conjugated? What cases do the nouns assume? These are fine, but if you want to converse in a language there is one question you must never ask. Never even think about it. Never let it begin to creep into your mind. Never. That is, the question… Why?

That’s the question for a philologist, not the speaker of a foreign language. The development of a language over time is an interesting thing to study, but for someone wanting to converse in it, the language must be accepted as it is without asking why it is that way.

What’s That Got To Do With Anything?

You might be wondering for what reason I brought this up. Stick with me here, it will be clear to you momentarily.

As a parent, there is one question that often lingers in my mind. One question that drifts from the subconscious to conscious when facing a two year old throwing sand in the house or splashing in the toilet. One question when listening to a deafening cacophony of sounds emanating from the dinner table or when seeing a five year old fall out of his chair. One question when watching a seven year old throw his body on the floor in a convulsive temper tantrum or when contemplating the state of one’s life. It’s that same question that should never be asked of a language. Never even be considered. Never…

Why?

The why is for psychologists in their cozy offices and academics in their ivory towers. But for the tasks a parent faces, the question Why? does not help. So like the linguist, we must stop asking why and just accept things as they are.

Unfortunately, for me, the paths in my brain are too worn deep and I can’t help but wondering, Why? In fact, any number of why questions come to my mind throughout the day.

Questions Parents Should Not Ask, But Do Anyways

Why is my two year old painting on the new carpet? Why is my five year old knocking over his milk? Why is my one year old trying out his vocal chords now? Why is there dirt on the couch? Why does everything I put away always seem to find its way back to the floor? Why does our tree resemble the inside of the Arc de Triumphe? Why is the cat purple? Why is there a worm farm in the sink? Why is the bathroom floor wet, and why is the wetness not from water? Why is the kitchen table upside down? Why is there a tree branch on my bed? Why is there a iguana roaming around the living room? Why is the front door missing?

I’m sure you have more than a few of your own.

The Only Acceptable Answer

I recently found the only suitable answer I know. It seems to answer without answering, but still satisfy. The answer? “It’s their job.”

This answer cures the parent of asking the Why? question. We all have some job and the child is no different than the parent in this respect. They just have a different job description… one parents are not allowed to read, but can guess at its contents.

So, don’t ask why, but if you can’t help but wonder, try this answer out. You’ll soon discover you have a satisfying non-answer to the questions you should never ask. Then you can begin to ask the Why? questions of yourself…

Stop The Presses

It’s actually old news, since his birthday was back on January 8th, but yes, Samuel has turned one. When you’re the fourth child with a birthday after a busy holiday season you just have to be patient for birthday celebrations. In his case it was only a week late, but we did feel guilty, a little bit… okay, we barely felt guilty (hey, he did have a party).

A Party Like No Other

We decided to keep it simple (fourth child syndrome anyone?). So we didn’t go all out and have magicians, clowns, blow-up houses, hay rides, pony rides, train rides, singing dinosaurs, goofy middle-aged oddly dressed men dancing and singing, talking monsters, or dancing penguins. Nor did we release any doves, pigeons, bats, or bald eagles, and there were no wandering swans, storks, tigers, or monkeys. No bears were stuffed, no pizza was consumed while watching robotic equipment gyrate around, no sticks swung at hanging objects, no ceramic bowls were painted, no crafts disseminated to unsuspecting party-goers, no body parts were pinned on a flannel board, and no super-heros were impersonated (that was LAST month).

Now I truly mean no offense to anyone who has done any of these (or similar) things to celebrate the first year of the life of their little baby girl or boy (well if you had roaming tigers or middle-aged oddly dressed men dancing I actually do intend offense), but for us, family, food, and a few gifts were enough. We did, however, have to have a monkey… but just on the cake.

On A First Milestone

So, our small gathering celebrated another little life as he met the first milestone on his journey; a journey of which we are blessed to be a part. We look forward to each successive milestone and the little steps, giant leaps, and oft-taken side tracks that come in between.

A Pretty Picture

Image Credit

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.

I recently got used to typing 2011 instead of 2010. Now my keyboard muscle memory will need to change to 2012 instead of 2011, which for me, without a side keypad, means changing from left ring finger, right ring finger, left pinky finger double bump to left ring finger, right ring finger, left pinky finger, left ring finger – certain to be botched.

But besides the annoyance of mistyped dates, the fact that we are moving into another new year is perplexing to me. What happened to 2011? I realize that as you get older time decides to move faster (a very underhanded trick that time plays on us), but did 2011 even happen? Where was I?

Maybe it’s my memory. It is fading. That could be from the chaotic nature of raising four kids aged six and under. Loud sounds are certain to kill brain cells (along with nerves), maybe they are particular to killing the ones that hold our memories. If so, I should be lucky that I even remember it’s going to be 2012.

So what happened in 2011 then anyways? Wasn’t the world supposed to end? Twice? Maybe it did and I forgot. Didn’t some rich dignitaries get married while the whole world fussed about it? I think a corrupt Illinois governor got sent to jail… but that could have been any year now that I think about it. For us I think someone new came into the world, but that also could be just about any year in our recent past.

This year flew by, without pausing to take a breath (or to let me take one) and now we’re on to another one. While I remain perplexed about this fact, it is something I cannot change. This year will end and a new one will begin. Maybe, if we all ask nicely, time will pause, just long enough, for all of us to remember 2011 and look forward to 2012.

Here’s to another great one…

Image Credit – http://www.psdgraphics.com/

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.

“Daddy, daddy….” Alayna (our two-year old) was quietly seeking my attention.

“Yes, Alayna?” came my response, spoken into the darkness and followed by a moment of thoughtful contemplation. When she was finally ready, Alayna answered in a quiet but resolute voice.

“I’m Batman.”

It’s All About A Name

Let me just say first of all that Texans love Texas. They are not shy about it either. I’m not saying the state is filled with narcissists or ego-maniacs or that everybody is Texo-centric, but they are not ashamed to be in love with Texas. The name is everywhere. On the floor, on the ceiling, and even the door hinges have it.

And A Flag

The state flag is flying everywhere. Call me ignorant, but I don’t even think I know what the state flag of Michigan (where I grew up) or Ohio (where I currently live) looks like. However, I will never forget the state flag of Texas.

And A Shape

Even the shape of the state itself is everywhere.

WIthout question: In Texas, it’s all about Texas.

The Texas State Capital

Since we had the longest stay in Austin (an evening and morning), that afforded us time to visit the state capital building – twice. We went there at night, and then because we couldn’t figure what else to do with the few hours we had, we went back in the morning. It’s a nice building and all, but I think I’ve seen it enough.

Visiting the state capital, however, did give me the opportunity to give some fine folks a piece of my mind. I wasn’t too pleased to hear their response, as you can see.

The Food

We had the chance to enjoy a couple nice restaurants with some authentic Texas cuisine. Like The Salt Lick near Austin with its wonderful barbeque. The smell of a wood burning grill hits you the moment you get out of your car in the parking lot. (The staff had t-shirts which read, “You can smell our pits miles away.” It’s true.) You walk inside and are treated to a nice view of a wide open stone grill loaded with all sorts of meats being smoked. It was good.

On Texas

So, in the end, we are grateful for our time away to Texas. It’s a state that is proud of itself. People play country music without fear of reprisal or shame. They like their blue jeans, big boots, and large belt buckles. And they proudly wear them, along with their cowboy hats, to the state capital. It’s not an uncommon site to see a dozen bulls being trailered down the highway. So while it’s back to normal life here in Ohio, two words come to mind: Texas forever.

Oh, and I’ve also got a bridge in London to sell you…

Each set of grandparents was willing to spend two and one-half days with all four kids. So, while Erin and I were off galavanting in wide open spaces (sporting a snazzy Mercury Grand Marquis rental car no less), the grandparents were spinning in circles with baby food, diapers, snacks, legos, trucks, guns, swords, dolls, bottles, and sick children.

Yes, Alayna wasn’t feeling good. (Which, I’m sorry to say, is actually a good thing… she’s easier to manage when she’s not feeling good. Call me a bad parent, but when she’s got a little fever and just plain tired out, she’s really cute… and she doesn’t scream.) I am happy to report that everyone is still alive and well. Well, maybe just alive.

Extreme Babysitting

Upon reflection, I think that two and one-half days (60 hours) with four kids is pretty much a grandparent’s marathon. Actually, it’s more like one of those crazy extreme events where people bicycle across the United States in 10 days. This event is so extreme that the participants eventually start to hallucinate before completing the journey. In fact, a repeat winner halicuinates that deadly military forces are chasing him. It’s the only thing that keeps him going.

I’m pretty sure that grandparents start to hallucinate about two hours into this extreme four-child babysitting event. I just can’t figure out what sort of hallucination keeps them going for the remaining 58 hours. Maybe someday I’ll find out. Not sure if I want to though.

One More Time?

So, Texas was fun, but I don’t think we’ll be able to call in another hallucination-inducing favor again… well for at least a few years.

Who Knows What They’re Doing?

Growing up I always thought my parents knew exactly what they were supposed to do at every moment. I now recognize they had no clue. None. We certainly don’t. We just wing it. And I don’t think we’re alone. (Maybe you know a little bit more than that, but you have to admit, it’s not as much as you thought your parents knew.)

Sometimes parenting can seem like walking through a dark cave, you just can’t see what’s around the corner or how to proceed. So while we see parenting as a challenge (and we learn more each day about handling this challenge), it has these wonderful moments that come as shafts of light piercing the darkness. It’s these moments that keep us moving forward on a brightened path.

Tough and Terrific Are All Mixed Up

Often these moments are intermixed with challenges, as our recent adventure with family pictures proves. We just haven’t figured out whether the terrific times are like cheese on a mouse trap, or presents on Christmas morning.

Regardless, we’re learning to just soak up every moment, wonderful or challenging, and enjoy them all, since nothing is guaranteed.

Our Little Rays of Light

And Now A Little Dose of Reality…

The Facts of Life

When having a family picture taken, it’s inevitable that as one child looks at the camera, another will look away. It’s a fact of life. Cows chew their cud, chickens peck the ground, road runners escape and outwit coyotes, and children never simultaneously look at a camera.

Sometimes I think a magical, invisible string is attached to their faces. One end is fastened to the ear of the first child and the other to the nose of a second – preventing even the possibility of them looking the same direction.

Parents can sometimes break this invisible string if they yell, jump up and down like fools, and frantically wave whatever is nearby (sticks, leaves, small poodles). However, being a magic string, it reconnects immediately following any breakage.

The Chaoss Scale

This fact of life produces a traumatic effect on parents, which can be measured and quantified in a manner similar to the Richter scale. (For each tenth point the traumatic effect is multiplied 10 times.) It’s known as the CHAOSS (Children Having Acute Overactive Sensory Stimuli) scale. Let me give you the math. (If you don’t like math, then you can skip the next paragraph of it… kinda like you did in school.)

The age of the child is inversely proportional to the trauma of the parent. So the younger the child is, the more traumatic family pictures become. Here’s the formula to calculate the traumatic effect of family portraits on parents. Subtract the age of the child from the average lifespan of a person (say 70 for easy math). Then divide that number by the result of multiplying the age of the child by 10. Add all children together.

Having four young children, we’re about a 13.1 on the CHAOSS scale. Imagine a 13.1 earthquake and you’ll have something close to the traumatic effect we endure with family pictures.

The Trauma

Bottom line: it’s hard. Really hard.

One child looks and smiles, the second sticks his leg in the air. A third looks and smiles while the fourth is playing with the grass. The second decides to look and smile (because of a recent verbal barrage from the parents) when the third puts her hand in her mouth and shows us the apple from which she just took a bite. The fourth is still playing with the grass. The first puts his head down as the apple is swallowed by the third. The fourth finally looks up with a confused stare at the flailing arms and loud emotive sounds coming from just behind the camera, while the second falls down. The third shoos away bugs as the first is chomping on and proudly display his gum.

After loud shouts, clapping hands, and the waving of leaves, sticks, nearby small animals, and any other non-translucent object, the magic, invisible string breaks, and all four children look at the camera for an instant. Then the fourth looks back at the grass, the third complains about pieces of apple in her teeth, the second puts his leg back in the air and the first begins to wander away. One second for a picture in the thousand seconds that it took to get it. The parents are… well, I don’t know if they are at all any longer.

This is the CHAOSS scale at work.

And We Have The Photos To Prove It

Keep in mind, our photographer did a fantastic job of getting the absolute best shots from the entire thousand seconds. The ones with legs in the air, children falling on the ground, and so on, weren’t taken.

And the winner is… ?

Well, at least they’re all looking at the camera… sorta.