You know that rare opportunity when you have just one of your Children (or maybe just two…or three; however many you have divided by how many less make you more of a sane person. Work with me)…and you’re all…oh…I really miss The Other Kid. Which is sweet and most likely true. But if you’re anything like me, that sweet little thought of missing The Other Kid is immediately followed with: Why is it so quiet? Why am I so relaxed? Did I just laugh? WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME? And then it hits you:
Nobody is fighting! No.Fighting. OhMyGodHallelujah! There is no fighting. There is no fighting! HOT DAMN! HOLY SHIT! THERE IS NO FIGHTING!! THIS JOY MUST BE SPREAD! TELL EVERYONE! GO! GO TELL IT ON THE MOUNTAIN! SHOUT IT FROM THE HEAVENS! THE WORLD NEEDS TO KNOW! QUICK BEFORE THIS ENDS! MY MESSAGE OF PEACE MUST BE SPREAD! (I think a tear just escaped from my duct recounting such joy.)
I’m pretty sure the equivalent to no fighting in the house has to be flying. Like a bird. I literally feel like I could soar across the sky shouting the news down to the Good Parents of The Earth. And while I’m up there flying over your homes, I will have magic fairy dust to sprinkle over the land that turns all Children into peaceful, loving creatures who speak in hushed tones together and put their laundry away without being asked 67 times all while saying please and thank you and oh my gosh, this dinner again? How did you know I loved chicken so much, Mother? Thank you, Mother. Not only are you beautiful and kind, you have oh so many ways of turning chicken into a wholesome, delicious meal for us. Why don’t you sit down while we do the dishes? Oh and here-don’t forget your wine. Oh look, here’s Ben Affleck circa ‘ The Town’ to rub your feet…..
Sometimes a fantasy takes over and you just go with it.
But seriously, nothing makes me feel like a failed parent quite like the unrelenting, unending, steadfast fighting that goes on between The Children. Sometimes it is fun and games. Sometimes it is not. All times it is annoying. I have a lot of brothers and sisters and we would also fight on a regular basis and I think to my now Grown Ass Mom Self-where was my mom while we were beating the shit out of each other? Was she crying in the bathroom like I do? Was she at work? Was she some kind of super hero who’s power was the ability to just…ignore us? Or wait. I know what she did. She told us to go outside and not come back until dinner. Then she locked the door. You could do during the 80’s in Iowa. One of it’s many charms.
Seeing as I have a close relationship with all my siblings, I do have hope that one day Son’s perpetual habit of sticking his foot out to trip his Sister will be seen as a sign of love, not just an opportunity to hear her cry and then scream at him WHY DID YOU DO THAT in that special shrill voice reserved for Dramatic 6 Year Old Girls, then lunge at him and have a wrestling match commence which will result in someone crying (me) and yelling WHY CAN’T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG?
But that day is not today.
But I think it will be eventually. I mean, I still love my brother today even though his favorite thing was to do was to hold me down and fart on my head. And if I can overcome that…well, then…anything is possible. Perhaps even flying.