The Grass is Always Greener, Part 1

I'm pretty sure that the writer of Proverbs knew his stuff when he said that "a brother is born for adversity."  Only in our house they don't support each other in times of adversity, they ARE the times of adversity. It's funny how that works. 

It's one of those absolutely depressing paradoxes of life that the harder you try not to pass on your deeply embedded flaws to your children, the more certain that they will have the trait branded into their soul.  After spending my entire life trying to prove that I measured up in the maniacally competitive atmosphere that was my family(I think the example that best shows the crazy going around is that four of my five siblings won a full ride to high school and after the fact, so nastily teased the only one who finished second (out of 50-odd applicants, mind you) that I wouldn't blame them if it's something still remembered), I vowed that I would raise children who knew exactly how valued they were if they never won a damn thing in their life. Even to this day, we don't say "Good boy!" or "Good girl!" but instead say, "Good action!"  to try and dissociate the person --immortal-- from the behavior, which hopefully can change.  Hopefully. Hopefully.  (Side note: this leads almost weekly a beautiful moment when you have a 2 or 5-year old running behind a baby hollering, "BAD ACTION, ARYEL!  BAD ACTION!"  as our little marauder cleans out a shelf not yet baby-proofed.

The above is of course why I have children so competitive that they assign scores to things like how well they brushed their teeth or how many toys they managed to put away during clean-up.  I don't think there's a cure for that. 

Elijah, in particular, has been feeling the soul weight a little bit lately.  As a fellow firstborn, I feel his pain acutely.  There's no applause for winning when you are inherently bigger, stronger and faster.  We have an appetite for underdogs and Cinderella stories, but nobody cheers when the proverbial Goliath stomps out David like all the Philistines thought would happen.   Judah has been recently finding his niche at soccer, bike riding and skateboarding, among other things, and poor Elijah, used to being superior in many academic ways, finally had enough one day.  "Dad!" he exploded, "Judah wins everything!  It's not fair!"

"I'm sorry," I stuttered, completely caught off guard by the outburst. Unhelpfully,  I initially tried to combat it with facts.  You read better, you love math, you're excellent at karate, etc.  I had heard, but I hadn't discerned. "No, Dad! You give him pennies and coins for his piggy bank!  You play baseball and all the things that he wants to do!  And he even wins Memory!"  (All true, and not something I had ever thought would be construed as anything but acts of love.)

But my metaphor-mixing lawyer wasn't finished.  "I don't matter about the everything else, but I just want a lucky day!"  It was all I could do to not crack up at the most serious parental moment in years.  Rough translation:  "I love him too, but I need you to affirm me!"  I pulled him aside.  "I can't make you win everything.  God gives us each special talents. But you have been given so much."  I pointed out how we each have something to contribute to the world that only we can give -- Elijah LOVES people; Judah and I are somewhat allergic to extroverts; Judah has amazing kinetic balance; Jael perserveres, etc.  And -- glory hallelujah! -- he understood. 

Crisis temporarily averted. To quote Mumford and Sons in Only Love, "
And I hunger and I thirst
For some shiver
For some whispered words
And the promise to come." I had been trying to feed the immortal desires of his love-starved soul with the moldy bread that is 'winning'.

Luckily, there's a lot that a (literal) pancake breakfast date can fix, but it was a jarring reminder that ad campaigns be darned, it doesn't get easier.  Life (and parenting) gets bigger as you go.  The stakes will only get higher and the issues more complex.  Grace be with us all.

Tune in next time for the flip side of the brotherly competition in which Judah decided to take on Elijah at math...

Sometimes it's better to forget...

So I just got back from the perfect vacation.  (Keep in mind, I'm an introvert.  This isn't going to be as exciting as you think.)

Where did I go, you ask?  The library. Every day -- except the day I destroyed an entire shed.  (That's a later post -- no worries)   I went to the third floor.  In a corner. With lots of books.  You know what I did?  I studied.  (Frankly, it didn't matter what I did.  It was hauntingly quiet.  AND -- AND ... I had a large frozen cappuccino to myself.)

It was a perfect vacation.  From 11am to 3 pm every day.  The rest of my vacation was spent with the kids, who are not nearly so blissfully quiet, but sooo worth it.... and then I got to go back to work, where this week has been so crazy that when a co-worker left on a stretcher surrounded by EMTs today, it didn't even seem that out of place.

**I'm writing this at 1 am, so this story will be short, but there are more to come.  The anecdotes that happen when you jam six people (most under the age of eight) into a tiny space just have a life of their own, like this vignette below **

It was 7:30pm, and the kids were late for bed.  Now I say this like they EVER go to bed at 7:00 when bedtime is officially charted.  Never happens.  7pm is bedtime in the Court like 55 miles per hour is the speed limit in our great state.  It's not actually expected that you follow the rule;  however, when 7:15 rolls around and we're just starting our story, I pick a nice short one under the auspices that "we're running 15 minutes late!"  No one is fooled. Anyways, we were running '30' minutes late, so Rachel had graciously stepped in to assist the bedtime process.  We were just about to start the nightly praise songs to Jesus when Judah loudly interjected, "Mom!  I need to tell you something before you sing!"

"Ok," Rachel said.  "What is it?"

Long pause.  "I don't remember."  This is standard Judah fare; the thoughts in his own head are so interesting that sometimes they mug each other before they even get down to his tongue.  Onward we proceeded through a rollicking chorus (5 of us singing, Aryel howling like a wolf) when, just before prayer, Judah burst out again, "Mom, I remembered!"

"Honey, what is it?" Rachel said.

"Mom," (here he looked at her pointedly) "Mom, I didn't want you to be here."

That boy knows how to make his mama feel loved! 

An open letter to my work...

Dear workplace,

 Ever wonder why I look like hell in the morning?  Do you wish that every once in awhile, I'd seem fresh as a daisy at 8:00am on a Monday, having had the entire weekend to rest?  It seems reasonable.  You only demand 40 hours a week from me (in fact, you regulate the aforementioned 40 as if I might collapse under the terrible strain of sitting for --gasp!-- 40.5 hours at a desk... that last 1/2 hr might just do me in), and in return all you ask is that I'm cheerful for the small amount of time we spend together. Do you wish I wouldn't get off the phone and say, "That lady reminds me of my two-year-old?"

To this very reasonable proposition, I have the following to say: I'm sorry, it will never happen.  EVER. That's all. Mainly because of stories like this...

By Sunday evening, I had been going straight for about 6 consecutive days.  The week had been spent on a business trip, and I don't really sleep away from home.  I don't sleep at home either, but for entirely different reasons. In addition, Rachel had been playing heroine for 5 days while I was away, and was understandably a little tired of said muglets, so I spent a little more time with them over the weekend than normal.  By the time 6:00 pm rolled around, we could all have used a little time away from one another.  Aryel took this to heart and started crawling without any notice whatsoever, which led to a couple of "where the heck is he?" moments before we finally got our act together, and the regular wars that are waged daily by the remainder of the troops were met with great wrath by the governing body (ME)!  So when Elijah proposed that we go out for ice cream to redeem the free sundae he had received from his karate academy, it seemed like a great idea,

(Keep in mind that the only defense I can offer in retrospect is that we were pretty tired (tired enough that the kids offered to drive -- I think I'm joking) at this point and we may not have considered just how amped that they would be.  I know -- it sounds weak to me too.)

The rest of the trip unfolded something like this:

(Car pulls out of driveway.)

Judah: Dad, we're going the wrong way!
Me: Your mom hasn't even gotten out of the parking lot yet.
Elijah: Yeah, we're going to the other ice cream place.
Jael: What other one? Are we still getting ice cream?
Aryel: (High pitched squeaking roughly translated as, "I'm getting ice cream, right? RIGHT?)
Elijah: I'm getting peppermint stick!
Judah: Me too.
Elijah: Ok, then I'm getting candy cane.
Judah: Me too.
Rachel:  They're the same thing.
Elijah: Ok, then I'll get peppermint stick and Judah can get candy cane.  That way everyone can have what they want and we don't have to get the same kind.

... we continued in that vein until yours truly lost it (about 2 seconds) and demanded that nobody speak the rest of the trip until we got there. 

We pulled in and ambled over to the sign that held all the ice cream flavors.

Elijah: See, Candy cane!
Judah: (points at same thing) Peppermint stick!

I should have gone back to the not-speaking gig at this point, but again, I was tired.  That is going to be my excuse throughout the entire post.  Get used to it.  Somehow, we dragged them up there, ordered a cup, then a cone, then a cup again, for pretty much everyone (God bless the long-suffering high schooler behind the glass trying to make a little extra weekend money), and dragged everyone back to the car whining because they couldn't stand out in the rain to eat their ice cream.

So there we were, in an SUV in the rain.  It was like a romantic ice cream date with your sweetheart if the Goonies dropped in.

Judah: Dad!
-- Yes!?
Judah: Are we going to go soon... my ice cream is dripping!
--Um, no eat it now.  We aren't driving anywhere while you eat.
Judah: Oh.
Elijah: I'll eat it.
Judah: NO!
Elijah: Ok, well, if you change your mind, I'm just about done mine. Here, I'll lick it for you.

(The response was in the negative.)

Jael: De-wicious!
Elijah: Are you done?
Jael: Mmm-hmm.
Elijah: Thanks!  (Starts in on ice cream #2)  Dad, you done?
---Aren't you going to be full?
Elijah: Oh no, my belly has special rooms for ice cream. Mama, are you going to need some help?
Rachel: No, thanks, Elijah.
Aryel: (high pitched squealing roughly translated as "I'm here to help!")

Finally, five minutes and fifty volunteer efforts from Elijah and Aryel to 'help' with the ice cream, we headed for home,  Judah decided to help clean Jael's fingers by licking them clean (my Lord, sometimes it's like having cats), but we were almost home when an odd sound was heard from the back seat.

--Judah, what's that noise?
Judah: Oh, it LJ.
--Elijah, stop making that noise.
Elijah: I can't, Dad. It's my belly.  It's telling me that it doesn't think that I should have any more ice cream -- EVER!


...And you can imagine the rest.  So if I ever drag into work, looking like it was a rough night indeed, it probably was...

But the good news is, I'm so talented, I can look like hell without any alcohol being involved whatsoever. Cheers!



'

How to confuse airport security in the modern world...

Well, I had a fourteen-year streak broken last Friday.  (To be fair, I improved my chances by not playing the game for almost seven years.)  I have had relatively decent luck in airports my whole life, never being "patted down" and having never had my bag searched since I was 20 and had all my sister's clothes in my carry-on when it was searched (I'm lucky the mortification didn't kill me).

THAT streak came to a crashing halt on the tail end of my business trip Friday evening.  My team had ventured into Nashville, survived (and by survived I mean made Rachel VERY jealous because we went out on the town basically every night while she had to stay at home with the urchins-- the sad part is that I'm the introvert and this meant far less to me than it would have to her), and were limping our way home, ready for our own beds and to see family. We had two quick hops on an airplane to get back home at 11:00 pm and crash. I knew that I had jinxed myself earlier in the week by commenting to my friend that I had never been strip searched (ahem, sorry, 'patted down') or had my bag searched since that incident fifteen years ago...

so it was no surprise when I walked through the funny machine (and by funny I mean creepy) where you walk in, stick your hands straight up like you're about to get arrested,  wait until the robotic eyes analyze you in 360 degree glory, and have someone bark at you, "Sir - get out!" like you are wasting time enjoying feeling virtually undressed by some artificial intelligence...

"Walk this way."  (oh-oh)  But I had completely misunderstood.  They really just wanted me to pull my best Aerosmith and not go back into the 'officer needed' line.  (I was ok with that!)  Exhaling, I went over to grab my bag, which was not there. NOT THERE.  Hmmm... I walked back up the line and went to look for it, but it was not anywhere in the line where I had left it.

"Excuse me, sir," came a voice from my right.  "We're going to need to do a bag check.  Is that ok with you?"  (First off, I want to know if anyone with an IQ over 80 has ever answered no to that question.)

"Sure, go ahead."  (Because the alternative makes me look even more like a terrorist than my Lebanese heritage already provides.)

"The scan picked up some irregularities in your bag.  Did you remember to take all devices out of your bag?"

"Yes."

"All right, I am going to need you to stand right there as I open it."  The gentleman -- who was, truthfully, one of the most cordial members of our fine security agency that I had ever met picked up the bag and started to open it slowly.  "G--d---, son.  What you got in that bag?"

This wasn't going as planned.  "Um, just some stuff from my business trip."

"Alllll right, take it easy.  What are these?"  His voice took on a slightly suspicious tone.


**Any guesses?? **


I kid you not -- he had opened up my bag to the three giant hardcover novels that I had brought for the plane ride and was looking at them suspiciously.  I think he had located the 'suspicious objects' the machine had alerted on.

"That is just the books that I was reading on the way down," I said.  "There's a couple more too."

He looked them over one more time, riffling through the pages,  All of a sudden he stopped and looked at me.  "Oh, man, I'm sorry," he said, and a look of concern came into his eyes.  "These are pretty old, aren't they?"

They were about thirty years old, but in the era of the Kindle/ Nook/ whatever else electronic book is now in vogue, these well-read beauties probably seemed like they were from late antiquity.  "I think they'll be fine if they don't get smashed any more."

He tucked them back in like they were made of  Egyptian papyrus and bid me a good day.   It could have been worse.  At least I didn't get 'wanded'  (there's another term that doesn't have anything to do with reality) like some of my team did.

But just a tip --if you ever want to confuse someone in the 21st century, read real books!

(Join us next time when I have a whiny rant about 

why Mother's Day almost ruined my favorite thing to do with the kids... hasta luego!)

Lawyered!

I work in an industry where we deal frequently with members of the legal profession, so the potential for getting an email in which it takes 4 paragraphs to say absolutely nothing is high.  Nowhere, though, is the potential for getting lawyered nearly so high as stepping through my own front door to greet the firstborn. 

From the out-of-nowhere rant that shows that I guess he was listening to good-morning Bible story after all ( my comment to a sick Elijah, " you should go to sleep.  Sleep makes everything better."
His impassioned retort, "Are you kidding?  What about the little girl in the Bible story that was sick? (Luke 8 for reference if needed)  She lay in bed for a month and slept all the time?  AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED?  (Unfortunately, I did know where he was going).  SHE DIED!  Do you really think that I'll get better just by sleeping?  (Yes, but after that grandstanding performance, I wasn't about to say so.) DO YOU?"

So I shouldn't have been surprised today that that I got lawyered again.  It crept up on me as I was explaining the new bedtime policies to the kids.  Apparently, no one liked the way I tucked them in at night, but it took a REALLY bad night for me to see the error of my ways.  Anywho, I was in the middle of explaining that I would not be a screaming maniac anymore, but would instead be a calm force doling out love and rationale discipline if necessary.  Not surprising, this was not a moment my little solicitor-in-training could pass up.  "I don't believe you, Dad."

"Beg pardon, Elijah?"
"I don't believe you.  I don't think that you will go all night without yelling at me, and I don't like it."
"That's fair, Elijah, especially after last night.  But I promise you that I will do my best to be calm and just take away minutes of TV if you are naughty."
(Without hesitation) "Well, if I bit someone really hard, I think that you would yell at me."
"Bit someone?" I was trying so hard not to giggle) " Well, I wouldn't yell, but I might have to take away a lot of minutes of your show.  Maybe three."
"Two.  I think two would be fair."
"Um, this isn't a negotiation.  I will take away as many as I need to make you stop biting. I might even have to remove you quickly."
"That doesn't seem fair at all. What if I don't want you to grab me while I'm biting?  Plus, I think it should be two minutes."
"Elijah, do you know how you could get no minutes taken away?"

He was genuinely puzzled.

"DON'T BITE ANYONE!"

"See, Dad, I knew you'd yell."  And I was lawyered!  I should just resign my job if I can't outthink a 7-yr-old...

You know it's your fourth child when...

Recently, there have been a series of commercials telling us how awesome we are the second time around as parents.  After the hyper-sensitivity of first-time parents, we easily slide into perfect parenting the second go-round. 

I CALL SHENANIGANS.  Just saying.  For me, at least, I was a terrible second-time parent. I was probably less relaxed with Judah than with Elijah, and didn't make good adjustments on the fly at all.  Frankly, I think my second time set me back at least until the fourth child.  Ah... but now that I've got four... now I'm a perfect parent.  (I think I just heard Rachel snort so loud I need to go check on her to make sure she didn't rupture a nostril.)   In all seriousness, I STILL CALL SHENANIGANS.  Poor little Aryel has to undergo so much more craziness then our first two that it may take years of therapy to undo some of it, although quite frankly he's so mellow most of it doesn't bother him.

Without further ado, I present to you the top reasons you can tell in our family that there's six of us and no less...

#1 -- you take family photos at the bowling alley.  We might all be crying, darn it, but you can't tell in the blacklight.  Also, it's cheaper than posing for Sears portraits.  And less bleeding.

#2 -- you hire the cheapest babysitters possible... in this case, Insignia!  (Yes, TV might make them instantly stupider, but it makes them instantly quieter.  For 30 minutes a day, the trade-off is WORTH IT.)

#3: You get together with other families with 4 kids and take 8-child photos in which you realize that Jael can hold her own in a fight because she's the only lady present.  (No, seriously, half the children in this photo are terrified of her.)

#4: By the fourth kid, the baby becomes the football.  Thankfully, this handoff was successful.

#5: After you have an entire band in your house, you let them rock out --UPSTAIRS.  Always upstairs.  Especially if they're playing your entire selection of pots and pans.

And finally, you know you've got a gaggle of children if....

they successfully storm your bed and throw you out! (and you happily sneak off for a quiet cup of coffee and try to ignore the fact that it sounds like your room is imploding....)

Now, about me being a perfect parent...