This is Spawnling.
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| He pretty much makes this face every day. |
Spawnling is five. But he's not five-and-a-half because, according to him, that's less than five. We have had this debate several times. I always lose. We will be working on math a little this summer. I don't see why my five-
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| He also make this face, but not quite as often and usually when he wants something. |
I had to have a talk with him on Monday about how to greet people. A woman who works at his school waved and said, "Hello, Spawnling!" in her 'I work with sweet innocent children' voice, to which he threw his hand up into peace sign and replied,"'Sup?'"
I don't know how she felt about that. I was too embarrassed to look at her. I suppose she must know what he's like, including his suburban gangsta greetings, and therefore knew what she was getting into by saying hello to him. Still, after averting my eyes until she left the parking lot, I explained that we must always greet adults in a respectful way. I'm not sure if if this sank in at all, and will not have the opportunity to ask the adults at his school as I'll be too busy hiding in my car until further notice.
I've written about having three kids before; how overwhelming and tiring it is at times, how I feel stretched to my limit by trying to provide them each with special one-on-one time, how things were simpler when we had an only child - or even when we had two. But a few things have happened in the last little while to reshape my thinking.
First of all, I haven't perished from any of the following parenting-related health risks I was sure would get me by now:
- stroke
- heart attack
- botched frontal lobotomy
- cancer of the stress (I'm positive there's a stress organ. I feel it in my body all the time.)
- eye rupture from constant twitches
- tall bridge "accident" (not to be confused with "toll bridge accident," which might simply mean that you forgot to bring enough change with you and the scary lady in the booth is scowling - but not murdering - you.)
B) I'm finding more time for myself these days. I'm writing more, painting more, exercising more, taking more vanity shots of myself. There really is light at the end of the tunnel that involves gratuitous time wasting. I was thrilled to discover this and immediately talked myself down off the bridge.
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| I took this picture yesterday in my - ready for this? - SPARE TIME. OMG, right? |
3) I've become more organized. It's an excellent life skill. This was not a choice; it was a necessity. It is impossible to have three children and not be organized. It's difficult with one, challenging with two and outright impossible with three. We stopped at three because I didn't want to find out what's more impossible than impossible.
Appendix D) I'm less of a control freak. (Or maybe I'm less control and more freak.) Before my third child I had this idea that I could control my little world. I could create the life I wanted for myself and all that other crap Oprah and The Secret tell you. If I willed it, I could have a clutter-free home, well-adjusted children, the perfect marriage and hefty bank savings. Oh, how I tried to make that my reality. When it wasn't working, I would just try harder; I just needed to work at it some more. Once I succeeded I could become a parenting columnist, making other parents feel bad about themselves because they're not as good as me. (Funny how I have the exact opposite effect these days. "Have you read The Maven? We should start a charity fund for her kids. They're going to need a lot of therapy...") Anyhoo, after Spawnling hatched I realized I had no control over anything, ever. There are five people in this house and only one of me. I don't have that much power, as omnipotent as four cups of coffee might make me feel. I learned to let go and enjoy the chaos. My house is condemnable, my husband and I are so tired we often don't speak and instead sit on the couch looking like somewhat more attractive zombies, and my five-
D.2) I might still be working on that one last one.
D.2.a) I'd like to state that I think I'm actually significantly more attractive than a zombie. Before you get all testy about my ego, please remember how ugly zombies are. It's not hard to be hotter than the undead. You just pretty much have to not have a rotting face.
Lastly, I have learned to let go of my expectations and just enjoy my kids. The older they get, the more I see that their personalities are not going to change. They really are who they are and all we can do is feed and water them until they grow up. Intrepid wants to go into medicine and will make a kind, empathetic doctor. Gutsy will likely sit in a windowless room developing the next big tech thing, sell it to Mark Zuckerberg and become an insta-millionaire. And Spawnling will be the best gang member ever. He might even make leader someday. I have faith.
See? It's all about letting go. No lobotomy required. Besides, I'm going to need all my wits to figure out how to break Spawnling out of prison in a few years.