Trying Something New

So here's the problem: around 10:30 am, when I'm feeling energetic and things are getting done around the house, I find myself thinking, "Today is definitely the day. I'm going to post an update on the blog. How could I not write about this wonderful, golden stage of life when Joshey runs around like a little Rumplestiltskin and Cici requests the same three books at bedtime every day and Polly documents her entire brain through stick-figure drawings?" But by the end of the day, I'm thoroughly sick of myself and my wonderful, golden stage of life, and all I want to do is scrunch myself up in bed and read the scriptures until I fall asleep. 

But here's the other problem: there are probably only two people who will read these updates with any regularity or interest, but I love them both very much. And I have the sense of depriving them of some happiness by not writing these updates. So I want to figure out how to make this happen.

Here's my current plan, which I'm debuting tonight. I do the bedtime routine with the girls, but instead of falling asleep in Polly's bed and then dragging myself downstairs at 10 pm, I bring my laptop upstairs, and while the girls are listening to the Old Testament Stories DVD, I'll check my e-mail (which also often doesn't happen) and post something. It might not happen every night, but it would be hard to do much worse than going silent for 9 months. 

So enough explanations. On to the updates. Yesterday, voting day, the kids had a school holiday. We bustled around in the morning, getting the dishwasher loaded, making beds, starting a load of laundry, doing our morning work. Then around 10 am on a gorgeous, sunny, mid-60's morning, we jumped in the car and headed to the zoo. We got a membership for Christmas, and I love the frequent trips we've taken. I warned the kids that today was not a carousel or train day--just a see the animals day. And they seemed okay with that. 

We have our zoo visits down to a science: set up the sit-and-stand stroller, tie the plastic bag full of food to one of the handles, hang my purse on the other handle, strap Joshey in the front, sit Cici in the middle, and have Polly stand in the back. Then mommy flexes her muscles and pushes everyone to the shuttle stop. We saw the new penguin exhibit, got great seats to a puppet show, and then did the rounds of rhinos, zebras, flamingoes, elephants, and chimps, ending with a visit to the goat petting farm, which is Cici's absolutely favorite spot ("I'm Mary, I'm Mary! These are my little lambs!"). As we walked between exhibits, I gave the kids slices of cheese, graham crackers, cucumber slices, muffins, and Halloween candy. 

"I'm pretty good at this," I thought, as I was passing another mom whose umbrella stroller had just fallen over from being loaded down with too many bags. "It really isn't fair that I'm the stay-at-home parent that gets to do these kinds of things in the middle of the day. How much would Dave love to see Joshey imitating that elephant? But he has to sit in front of a computer working on spreadsheets all day." 

This is an internal conversation that I often have. 

"Of course, Dave gets to go to the bathroom by himself whenever he wants, and he gets to sit down and have lunch without waiting tables for toddlers. And I had to work hard this morning to get the housework all done and ready for us to be gone. But still. It doesn't seem fair that I get to have all the fun." 

An hour later, after we'd washed hands from petting the goats and taken a few turns on the barn slide, I was turning the stroller toward the shuttle stop to start for home. As we passed a little gift kiosk, Polly asked if she could run in and look at things. "Sure," I said, not thinking things through very well. "But remember, today is not a buying things day. And make sure to catch up with us!"

I continued pushing the stroller up the ramp, and as I reached the top of it, Polly came sprinting after me, tears streaming down her face. 

"Mom! You have to come see this thing! I really really really really want it!"

Oh boy, I thought, Strategy 1: change the subject. 

"Wow, you're a super fast runner, Polly! Were you worried we were leaving you? We were just going up the ramp because the stroller can't go up the stairs. Why don't you point at the thing you wanted to show me from up here?"

Polly, still crying, pointed at a pink-and-black striped stuffed tiger attached to a stick that acted like a leash. For the record, Polly has about 100 stuffed animals at home, and she'd brought a giraffe to the zoo precisely to prevent this kind of situation. 

Strategy 2: say no in a non-inflammatory way. "That looks like a really cool stuffed animal. You love pretending to take your stuffed animals for walks! Today isn't a buying things day, but shall we add that to your Christmas list?"

But Polly wasn't having any of it, and as I inexorably took her away from the kiosk, Cici decided to join in the fun by wailing about not being able to see the penguins again. And then, as I wheeled up to the shuttle, the back wheel on the stroller fell off and the plastic lunch bag split down the middle and spilled its contents on the ground. Doing some deep breathing, I got the stroller, the food, two screaming girls, and one angelic little boy into the shuttle. 

Okay, I thought to myself, Polly needs time to get herself under control, but I can give Cici something to eat, and that'll distract her. I pulled out a cup of yogurt, took off the top, and stuck in a spoon. Again, I wasn't really thinking this through. 

"Your little girl is getting really messy," one of the other parents commented to me. Sure enough. Peach yogurt all the way down her dress. That's what happens when a 3 year old eats yogurt on a jolting shuttle bus. 

We made it to the entrance, and I got the stroller down, then wrestled the wheel back on the spoke while a zoo volunteer hovered close by, trying to figure out how to tell the lady with two screaming girls and a broken stroller to move along because she was holding up the shuttle schedule. 

On the way back out, there was another kiosk with another pink-and-black tiger, and Polly burst into tears anew, declaring that she was never going to school or ballet again, she was only going to the zoo. 

By this time, we were half way to the car, passing by a broad expanse of grass covered with fall foliage.

"Okay, let's just stop here, shall we? Let's just take a moment to calm down." I wheeled us onto the grass, and then I proceeded to completely ignore my tearful Cici and my worked-up Polly while I put the lunch things in my purse and gathered up the trash and the torn plastic bag. Then I took out my baby wipes and tried cleaning up Cici's dress, only to conclude that it couldn't be done. As it was a temperate day, I took her dress off and wrapped her up, Baby Tarzan style, in the pashmina I keep in my purse. By then, I noticed the poopy odor coming from Joshey's backside, so I changed his diaper as well. This whole time, Polly is sulking, and Cici is finding cause after cause for fresh tears (she couldn't climb the tree! She didn't WANT the giraffe! She was all done with yogurt!). Oh yes, and we were right next to the walkway where all of the other parents were walking by with their well-behaved children. I could almost hear them muttering to themselves, "What is that lady doing there, surrounded by trash and dirty diapers and crying children? And why is that poor little girl in nothing but her underwear and a scarf?!"

My strategy to calm the girls down by stopping on the grass clearly wasn't working, so we trucked on through the last quarter mile to the car. By the time I got the stroller collapsed and back in the car, Joshey was asleep in the car. By the time we'd gotten on the freeway, Cici was asleep. And by the time we'd made it back to Parkville and Polly had gone in with me to vote, she had forgotten that life without a pink-and-black tiger wasn't worth living. 

That night at dinner, I told Dave that I took back everything I'd been thinking about feeling guilty for getting to be the stay-at-home parent. By golly, I earn every good moment I get through all the impossible moments that surround them! I also told him that every public place needs someone, some parent, to be "that parent." That day, I was "that mom." The one with the naked child, the one with the bratty kindergartner, the one with everything that was falling apart. Maybe it's like jury duty, and I won't have to be that mom for another year. Wouldn't that be nice?