True Confessions. Heart-Ache. Puking. Parenting.
It's all going to be here. Or at least as much as I have time for, that is.
We are on day #18 of my LIVING with my WonderPeeps (Grand-children) 24/7. All day, every day. That is to say. I. AM. EXHAUSTED. Completely and entirely EXHAUSTED. Worn out to the tips of my toes exhausted. I'm out of practice -- on the 24/7 part of the equation. I LUV these little urchins ~~ and their mamabear, my adult daughter..... which makes the heart-sick exhaustion all the more to the bones.
Don't get me wrong. Let me repeat. I LUV having this opportunity. I have just 'forgotten.' It's a good thing selective memory. It's a good thing professional editing. This is not the same thing as full blown amnesia. It's just holding onto the best parts of any give day so that you can get out of bed in the morning. Otherwise we might all be hermits living in our own little caves ordering take-out to be delivered by our neighboring hermit.
Observations. Here are just a few of the observations that I have made. Feel free to insert the word 'grand-parenting' wherever the word parenting currently exists. This is really MY confessional couched in the terms of parenting observations. When you're a blogger -- it really is ALL about you, even when you're talking about someone/something beyond you. We in the blogging world all know that and are willing to lay it all out there for dissection any way.
Here are my observations in no particular order.
1. Parenting is difficult under the best of circumstances.
2. Parenting is difficult. Parenting as a singleton, with a daddy who is FREQUENTLY deployed, is a challenge.
3. Parenting is difficult. Parenting a child that resides somewhere on the 'spectrum' makes every day something of a cross between a minefield and an amusement park ride. Even if he is VERY near the highest level of functioning on that spectrum. {Are we ALL 'somewhere' on a 'spectrum'? I seriously want to have a complete melt-down myself periodically and I feel completely ready for a total temper tantrum over something completely inconsequential and as yet to be determined, as I sit here typing. Today is NOT the day to cut me off in traffic, si vous-plais. Just sayin'.}
4. Parenting is difficult. Parenting 'multiples' adds another layer of 'are-you-kidding-me' to the mix. You'll have to believe me on this one. I know you think that having twins (or even more) is so cute, even fascinating, when you see everyone out and about in coordinating outfits, but there's more to it than that. Sarah Jessica Parker likely has hired professional help to orchestrate all of those happy images you see in the current People magazine wrap-up of the year. I'm quite certain that someone could orchestrate a montage of not-so-pleasant images, just as easily. These are children. Actual people. Not dolls. They come with emotions and biology and wiring and needs. Immediate needs. BTW: We don't have professional help. Well. I guess I am the professional in the mix. Oh dear. I am not up to this task.
5. Reread #1.
6. Parenting is difficult. Parenting during the holidays with all sorts of 'out of the normal' experiences, situations, meals and settings gives you an automatic additional 7,359 parenting points, without typing another world. I get it. Really difficult.
7. Parenting is difficult. Driving across country, let's say 21 hours or so, is an additional number of points -- somewhere just a shade past pie-times-infinity, with no square roots, just straight multiplication. Just how many times can you hear someone
8. Parenting is difficult. Having four people encamp in the second bedroom, the size of a postage stamp, for ten days, is truly NOT why they designed affordable patio-homes for the aging in sunny climes. Particularly when there is literally NO backyard. Trust me on this one, too. Cue the yet to be written soundtrack for "We're Doing the Best that We Can" and sigh..... sigh, quickly before you read #9.
9. When three WonderPeeps begin a continuous round of all night, middle of the night, puking within 9.3 hours of arrival to said postage stamp living quarters, you are allowed to question the wisdom of the entire plan of coming to the ocean together in a mini-van. Karma? Plain old ordinary bad luck? Food poisoning? Too much swallowed oceanic salt water for the first time? Divine punishment? Reverse engineer ALL you want, but there is no clear answer that resonates with any rhyme or reason and you are left to shake your head for hours on end about the timing of the Universe and all that. I don't care how many polka-dots you can paint on your world -- this is a crushing development to the winter journal "What I did over the Christmas break." Note-to-self: apparently writing the word 'pucked' holds it's own intrigue if you're seven years old and GeeGee is letting you tell it like it was. I decided NOT to sanitize this particular chapter of the story, lest you think that I live some sort of charmed existence. I will edit out the phase that follows quickly on the heels of all of the puking. Just know that Mr. Clement was sent to get the largest, soft size of toilet paper rolls he could find, on quick dispatch. There has been a LOT of time spent in the bathroom during this adventure.
10. Reread #1: out loud this time.
Maybe I can write a redeeming, happy conclusion after the Peeps are in 'bed' (which is to say their sleeping bags on the floor.) Right now it is time for a happy time of family togetherness and solid foods for all!
Oh, Debbie! I know I shouldn't be laughing, but that's the only thing I could find myself doing by the end of this post. Your little WonderPeeps are so incredibly lucky to have you! I hope all goes well on the rest of your time with them. Take care!
ReplyDelete~HoJo~