Last week was trying for me in a lot of ways, mostly because AM was sick and kindly shared his germs with me. He gets very snuggly when he’s ill, and while I find this endearing, the fever and deep, rumbling chest cough were not appreciated. To add insult to injury, he got a pneumonia diagnosis and therefore got on some kickass antibiotics while I had “clear” lungs and muddled through on cough meds and fever reducers.
(There was also the night when I was so tired I took Tylenol PM and had a paradoxical reaction. And was even more tired the next day. Plus extremely bitter. But “one tired, bitter ema” does not have the same ring to it.)
So, to recap: sick, tired, sick-and-tired. Plus all the usual backtalk from the children, mess in the house, and, you know, life. (Taxman was around a lot, to make up for the times when I just could not leave the house, or drive Miss M to various scheduled appointments, but by Friday he hadn’t thrown in a load of wash either. Bought milk, yes; laundry, no.)
I felt crappy pretty much every afternoon, so in the mornings I tried to do the minimum I had to do for work. Sometimes with company hanging over my shoulder. Or dancing on the couch. Because why go to school when you can stay home and play Fruit Ninja on my phone? Or whine at me to play backgammon until I give in? Because the alternative — is not pretty.
Humans don’t eat their young.
I don’t know why I thought of this so suddenly last week. Perhaps because I’ve been reading a couple of books right now where mice are prominent (The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo and Intuition by Allegra Goodman); mice, of course, do sometimes eat their young.
But we are not rodents. We are in this kid-raising thing for the long haul. At first it’s all about how to keep them alive. When they are asleep at night we sigh in relief because we managed to keep them from harming themselves…sometimes with varying success rates.
We are past that stage. Honestly, we had it pretty easy (my toddler nephew is a climber; we never had to deal with that, or lock picking, toilet drinking, street running or other particularly hair-raising toddler things).
Now we are in the long muddle of making our children socially acceptable. Table manners, polite conversation–hell, any kind of two-way conversation–empathy, friend-navigating. It’s harder to score how you, the parents, are doing. The metrics are totally foggy.
- What if other adults find them lovely but they don’t get invited for playdates?
- What if they are happy to eat three kinds of raw vegetables but never salad?
- What if they get great grades but collectively blitz through a box of carefully hoarded pencils from Target in 2 weeks? (Seriously, do they EAT them? Are they not children but beavers? Do beavers eat their young?)
I decided that this is part of why parents are so joyful at their kids’ big events. It means that other people find them socially acceptable and want to celebrate that too. It’s a big cosmic reward for not eating them.
Graduation –> Your kid earned a degree! They applied themselves! You probably only had to do 50% of the work/80% of the cajoling!
Good job –> Somebody else wants to PAY your child to work at something! Someone else is trusting them to be responsible! Let’s hope the job doesn’t entail putting laundry into a hamper!
Wedding –> You’ve been so successful at child-rearing that somebody else wants to live with your child on a permanent basis…and even finds some of your child’s qualities worthy of passing to a new generation. (We hope. Because how else will you exact your revenge?) Cute and breedable! Good job, parents!
This last part occurred to me because an Internet friend married off a child last month. She projects the picture of calm and happy level-headedness, but through some private messaging I know that some of her children have provided a few sleepless nights and therapy sessions in the past. But here she is, walking to the chuppah and sending off to be amazing grownups. So there is hope!
So, no, we won’t eat them. We’ll try to raise them right and turn them into real people. But if anyone would like to, say, borrow a 6-year-old who will play backgammon all day and night or an 8-year-old who is up on all kinds of 19th century diseases (yellow fever, cholera, scarlet fever), just, you know, give me a buzz.
NB: In the time that elapsed between me wanting to write this post (last Thursday) and actually writing it, I served a dinner everyone ate. It was teriyaki salmon and rice. Everyone had seconds. Civilization is coming faster than we think.
It’s a big cosmic reward for not eating them.
LOL!
Hang in there. Because before you know it, you’ll have a pair of moody teenagers on your hands… 😉
I hear rumors that they won’t even want to talk to me! And will take themselves places.
I sort of look forward to that.
Hmmm… Is that why my parents are so eager for me to wed? Since it will be a sign of success for them? I very much like this post overall, but the bit about kids getting married and THEN becoming grown-ups is a bit irksome, as a 33-year-old single woman. You aren’t writing for me, I know. And most nice Orthodox folks marry off at 23-25 or whatever, before they’ve had time to work for a decade and do their own taxes and travel the world and go to graduate school. But for those of us still waiting/looking/searching for someone who finds us to be delightful lifelong companions, it’s…irksome. Also, so many of my friends who got married at 23-25 are now divorced (some remarried). It’s just not true that marriage = adulthood in our complicated world.
/rant
P.S. Thank you for attending to table manners and conversation skills! Your chilsreb’s future dates will thank you mightily!
* children’s
There are lots of ways for kids to “grow up” and get society’s stamp of approval, as it were. Weddings were just on my mind because of my friend’s son. As far as I’m concerned, getting a job or a scholarship or a mortgage, officiating someone else’s wedding, all of these are reasons for parents to pat themselves on the back for showing restraint.
Social respectability comes in all forms — I am still teaching baby steps of parking your ass in a chair and chewing with your mouth closed during mealtime.
And I totally get you — the bride of this wedding party is closer (barely) to my daughter’s age than mine. Babies!
This post should not be construed as an endorsement for early marriage.
I will remind you that I am coming (with a helper) with the intention to borrow said children very soon.
Borrow them? That would imply that you’re taking them somewhere. To a galaxy far away.
Perhaps one night you can babysit instead 🙂
Oh, you mean for backgammon? Yes, indeed. But he gloats.
I am falling off my chair laughing. Gawd, I love how you write! Chateau Sarcasm, 1996. Slightly fruity, with undertones of black cherry and rodenticide. Insouciant, yet endearing. “I decided that this is part of why parents are so joyful at their kids’ big events. It means that other people find them socially acceptable and want to celebrate that too. It’s a big cosmic reward for not eating them.” Yesh. Thanks for the discreet shout-out. 😉
You’re an inspiration! Among all the testosterone!
Oh, that’s right. We write. I’d forgotten. I’d missed your writing.
No, these days we call it Facebook.
I love this post. Parenting definitely needs better progress reports.
You’re a scientist! C’mon, we need good metrics!
Love this more and more each time I reread it.
You so eloquently (and sarcastically) put into words what we are all feeling. I want to send this post to all of my friends, because you absolutely nailed it.
I approve this message! 🙂
I really do love them, but wow do they make me want to eat my hair sometimes.