I know I usually post more pics--sorry for all the writing and thinking this time. I won't make this a regular thing
It's been four years since I was home with Phoebe living in Arlington, VA. After that year, I taught for 2 more years in WBL and have been off for another 1.5 years. It's been great for the most part, and I don't want to do anything else at this time. But these last 5 months have been more challenging: Alisa is working a ton more than she'd like, Peter is a very active little boy, Phoebe is learning how to negotiate and thinks everything needs it, and I am starting to feel disconnected from the stimulation of professional life that I experienced for the previous 15 years.
Two weeks ago, after a weekend of me stomping around here like an overgrown man-child, I nearly admitted I can't handle this full-time parenting business. Not really, but I was being a serious baby. As always, Alisa is the most patient women (far more patient that she should be with me) so she put up with me until I figured out how lame I was being. I've also been starting nearly every conversation with my friends and acquaintances with eye-rolls and rants about the nuttiness of our home. So this entry is an apology to all of you to whom I whine far too much. And since Alisa's parents are currently visiting, I have a bit of time to think--so it's also a bit of therapy for me.
Last Sunday, during an after church presentation in our fellowship hall, my friend Matthew and I were hanging out in the back with Peter. Peter ate some banana bread with Matthew and then giggled at Matthew who was playing with him. As I watched this, I realized that I spend so much of my time negotiating, chasing, wiping spills, removing dangerous things from reach, explaining, and on and on and on--so much time that I forgot how damn fun and cute my kids are. I needed this little moment to lighten up.
I've been thinking about this since. This is the blessing and the curse of being home with kids during the coldest stretch of 5 weeks in my lifetime. Cabin fever is real and hard. Phoebe get's punchy when she doesn't have regular play out of doors. She missed a number of preschool days due to cold temps. I get grumpy when I have to wrestle Peter into a snowsuit, making him miserably sad, just to take Phoebe to preschool. I long for the days when Phoebe would cuddle with him in the bike trailer and we'd have a nice bike ride to preschool. Or I could run with them in that stroller! The thought of getting exercise while transporting kids is so far from my mind with this harsh winter.
But I know I'm not the only parent feeling the pressure from this tough winter. I know most of you who have kids are chuckling as you read this because you're having fond memories of when your life was chaotic like mine--I know I'm not special. I've also had many friends remind me that my kids are at the toughest of ages as far as supervision/parenting workload goes. I need that balanced perspective.
So here are a few great stories from the last week . . .
A couple days ago, I painted Phoebe's nails. She always wants to paint mine so I let her this time. She wanted to do orange. I thought it'd be subtle. But when I went to the YWCA to swim this morning, I was struck by how blazing bright my toes are. As Phoebe was painting them, polish was getting spilled on the floor, all over my feet, between my toes. As I started to tell her to take it easy and slow down, she fires back: "Dad, I'm just a little girl--I'm only 5. It's not like I've been doing this for years and years and am super good at it." (this is the result of her asking why I was so quick and good at something compared to her--it's come up a few times--me explaining that I've been doing it so many more years than her).
A week ago, I grabbed the skillet to start cooking a pasta sauce for supper. I pulled the lid off and found that Peter had been cookin up some letter magnets before. He loves the pots and pans more than any toys we've ever bought. Lately, he's been into storing them here. This is the kind of thing that makes me smile. And I need to remember that this is great rather than being annoyed by the 10 extra seconds it takes me to dump them back into the play bin next to the fridge.
Last week, Peter decided he wasn't having anything to do with eating the foods we'd like him to. He stuck to an all dairy diet and swatted, inverted, or threw everything else away. He'd remove handfuls from his plate and drop them to the floor while looking like this (below), refusing to make eye contact, then periodically turning to point at the leftover pancakes on the counter and yelling at us. Yeah, boy, we'll just let you eat pancakes because you don't like potato-kale soup.
But I was nicely surprised at how much fun going to IKEA with the kids would be. On a Tuesday at noon, it was very quiet. I needed a stool for my workbench in the basement. So we had an outing on a cold day. Phoebe thought it was as fun as a museum with "a lot of different play zones" (her words for display areas modeling kid bedrooms and play rooms). Here's one such "play zone" they both enjoyed.
In summary, being home with my kids is WAAAAAY harder than teaching middle or high school math. Thirty-five 14 year olds who don't want to do math for an hour? Easy. But this is way more rewarding because it's centered around my love for my family. This is a massive test of my patience. And this is why it is good for me. I would not want to be doing anything else.
The next time Phoebe does something that sets me off, like how she always leans up against the screen door and overextends the hinges (drives. me. nuts.), I'll just remember the wisdom she shared: "Dad, I'm just a little girl--I'm only 5. It's not like I've been doing this for years and years and am super good at it."
So there you go. I feel better now. Thanks for reading. Sorry if I've been a whiner lately. Love ya all.
