This is what it is like to have young children at home: Go tie your shoelaces together, take a mouthful of chili peppers and hot wasabi, and then go try to get something done.
I’m surprised that my wife and I get anything done at all because every activity that you embark on — writing or housework or an important phone call with a client — is done in a “war zone” atmosphere. You know the scenes in the movies where a doctor is trying to treat a patient on the battlefield and there are bombs falling all around him and he’s desperately trying to operate while trying not to think of what is going on? Well, that’s what it’s like to be in a house with small children. In every task,there is an element of a bomb going off somewhere in the house that you have to try to tune out if you are to get anything done.
My wife is a great multi-tasker. She can cook dinner, feed a child, talk on the phone, and correct papers, all at the same time. She has a brain that can subdivide any task. I sometimes stand in awe of her, my jaw agape and an odd, vacant expression on my face. (To be honest, this is my usual state of being.)
Multi-tasking does take its toll, however. Lots of things may get done but often they are done hurriedly. But if you have munchkins at home, there is no other option, because there is so much that needs to be done and only a few waking hours to get them done.
This is why all the parents you know look so tired.
Multi-tasking with little folks takes on an important role because, in everyday activities, there is always an element of danger. I can’t believe that any kid ever lives to see his teenage years because there are multiple opportunities every day for it all to be over.
It’s not enough to carry the groceries to the car at the supermarket; You have to maintain a safe zone around your munchkins because there are so many chances for mortal peril.
A sample conversation with Princess Supergirl when she was three years old went like this:
“Hold my hand while we’re in the parking lot, sweetheart.”
“So I won’t be squished by a car?”
“Yes, so you won’t be squished by a car.”
“Because then you would be sad?”
“Yes, because then I would be very sad.”
But safety is only one concern. If it’s your only one, you’re going to raise a paranoid child. There are lessons to teach, needs (physical and spiritual) to attend to, questions — both silly (“If there are rainbows when it rains, are there ‘snowbows’ after it snows?”) and serious (“What’s a divorce? Bobby says his parents are getting one”) — and many nights of sickness and fear where you end up singing a child to sleep at two in the morning after a nightmare or a late-night tossing of the cookies.
And, at first, it’s just work, with seemingly no payoff because the child is a bottomless well of need. But slowly, ever so surely (I think this is by design), there are little moments along the way that hint that it all might be worth it.
I remember the first unprompted hug that Princess Supergirl ever gave me. I had just changed the 500th diaper that day and, when I stood her up to get her pants back on, she gave me a spontaneous hug that I remember clearly years later. That hug said what she couldn’t verbalize at that time. “Thanks for taking care of me Dad. That poop was gross and you and I are both glad it’s gone. Thanks for all you do. I know I can’t say it right now, but I’m lucky and graced to have people in my life who care for me so well.”
That hug got me through a couple more months.
And then there are days like I experienced last week.
After a Saturday morning in the house, the chaos was hitting the exact pitch where I knew it was time to go outside and get some exercise. We have a fantastic 40 or so acres of nature preserve behind our house and, on this day, it was just the right temperature for an hour outside. My wife, Special Sauce Caldwell, took our three-year-old, Princess Genius, down one path and I took Princess Supergirl (age six today — happy birthday, kiddo) down another that leads to a beautiful little brook that is pretty enough to be featured in a calendar.
Sometimes I get so busy with life that I forget that this beautiful place is just a short walk from my home. And, as Princess Supergirl and I head for the brook, we see that it has just started to ice over and it has become even more breathtaking. And as we stand there and stare at this breathtaking spot, I’m glad I have someone to share it with.
But it gets better.
Princess Supergirl took a big stick from the riverbank and my gentle little girl let out a shriek and started to bash away at the ice like a cave woman. In the first second, I was horrified: Our tranquil moment has come to an abrupt halt. But then I decided to grab a stick and join in and, for 45 minutes, we bashed away with childish glee. I laughed like I hadn’t in many months and felt like I was five-years-old again.
And, as we clambered back down the trail to meet up with the others, I silently thanked the Lord for the opportunity to have children.
To have an “ice-breaking” buddy is going into my book as one of the best parts of being a parent.
