Sanity is but one chart away

We live in a veritable sea of charts. Reading charts. Math charts. Chore charts. Behavior charts. School charts. Home charts. We've got more stickers and check marks than any one household should have to endure. 
 

I swear we used to be fun people.

But in spite of it all, we're still lacking one key piece of the puzzle, which I refer to as the "Do What The Tall Lady Called Mom Is Asking" piece. Now, it's not like every day reaches crisis mode. But as anyone with children (or who has the misfortune of waiting behind them in line) knows, they get along. Then they don't. They listen. Then they don't. They behave. Wait, no. They don't.

Instead of complaining about it, I have decided to take a proactive stance and examine where, exactly, it all goes wrong. Based on my empirical evidence and, obviously, several charts, my final data has shown that once the communication from parent to child has broken down, things go quickly awry. [Please note that in this instance, "awry" means me screaming like an actual lunatic.]

To give you a clear understanding, our current communication cycle looks a bit like this:
1) Mom (or other adult) speaks very clearly, and most times, very loudly, asking the child(ren) to complete a very reasonable task.
2) Kids hear the request. (I know they do, we've had them checked.)
3) Kids employ creative license. (Is this even allowed?)
...which leads to:
4) Their final interpretation, which is a thing of absolute beauty. Quite often, this creative interpretation is slightly different from my original meaning. The result is that they might possibly do something in response to the adult's request, but generally not what is being asked of them. So as to avoid further confusion, I have created a final chart. The chart to end all charts, if you will. From this point forward, the boys can cross-reference what I say and then double-check its exact meaning. I expect that we as a family will now be living in harmony. Life will forevermore be without complications. I anticipate the entire experience to be glorious.

Please feel free to employ this in your own household. You have my explicit permission to adjust it as needed, or, on the off chance that your children actually do what you ask of them, then please give yourself a star for good parenting. (You can even earn another one if you pee in the potty. Well done, you!)

{The Chart That Will Change Life As We Know It}

What I say:

Make sure you clear your spot from the table when you're done eating.

What I mean:

I see that your cereal bowl is still half-full with milk, so please balance your dirty spoon in it as you run across the kitchen. I know you'll never make it without spilling, but I love to see you try. Every single morning.

What I say:

Time for school. Go out to the car, please.

What I mean:

We definitely have time for a quick game of Nerf basketball. Maybe even two? And boys, always remember, school comes second to sports. Actually, school comes third to sports AND video games. So feel no need to rush out to the car that is already running in the driveway. I do that just to make sure the Earth stays nice and healthy.

What I say:

Boys, I'm going to bring the baby up for his nap. Please keep it down.

What I mean:

Obviously, the baby is tired. But you know he's only happy when you wake him up with your loudness. So give it a few minutes, and then go crazy-ass crazy crazy crazzzzyyyyyy. Make absolutely sure to time it just right so that he'll wake out of an extra-deep sleep, though. It's silly to waste all that energy unless he's really asleep. Start working on your plan while I bring him up, and then in about thirty minutes, go wild.

What I say:

Stop picking your nose.

What I mean:

Pick it, man. Pick it with abandon. Knuckles up there. Go for it. And definitely make sure you eat it. It's super charming. And trust me, the ladies love it.

What I say:

Dinner's ready. Come sit down.

What I mean:

Please do not respond the first time I call you. Please do not respond the next time either. Bonus points if you can make me call you a full ten times. This will make me very happy, and it will result in an extra awesome fun-filled family evening. This is actually just a test to make sure you do not respond until you hear the secret code, which is "damn it." Don't make a move until you hear it.

What I say:

Time for your bath.

What I mean:

Time to drink your dirty bathwater. No, really, drink up. It's good for a growing boy. Also, you know what that bathwater seems to be lacking? Urine. Actually, nope...scratch that.

What I say:

Five more minutes until bedtime.

What I mean:

I would love to practice my own skills of negotiation while at the same time hone your early talents as a lawyer. Please, I am waiting patiently for your counter offer. And don't you even think of accepting any offer as it is first presented. These skills will serve you well in both your educational and professional endeavors. Because what this world really wants - needs, even - is one more person who cannot accomplish the most basic of responsibilities without first balking and then bartering. You, my fine gentlemen, seem to be naturally gifted in this area. You make Mommy and Daddy so proud. And you know what? You have earned an extra 45 minutes just by putting the effort into your argument. What show would you like to watch, my angels? (Might I suggest a nice, relaxing Caillou?)

~

And to my dear, dear (read: patient as ever) husband:

What I say:

I need a glass of wine.

What I mean:

No, seriously. A glass of wine. Which I'll raise to our little dictators. May they never have to work a day in their lives and always win irrational arguments. Cheers, boys. Momma loves you.

Gold is the new black

Like most everyone in the world, I've been sitting here in awe of the Olympics. In awe of the athletes. In awe of their talent. And, obviously, in awe of their fantastic hotel snafus. I've been sitting here, night after night, taking it all in and feeling like an untalented couch dweller. And then it struck. Inspiration. Enlightenment, even. Because this thought appeared out of nowhere, like four of the five Olympic rings. You? Me? We average folk? We are talented. We are ready. We've been training for years, and we didn't even know it. Fellow Sochi couch spectators, stand tall in your slippers and listen carefully. Four years from now? We. Are. In.

I can hear you thinking, "Come again?" and also, "Are you seriously such an ass?" Well, yes, I am. But really, bear with me, and you too will see the light. My training regimen is so simple, yet really, amazingly effective.

I am a mother of young children.

That's it. That is the whole training, which I will now share with you. In order to help you examine your own readiness level as well as formulate a plan tailored to your lifestyle, I've chosen eight events to illustrate how I plan to reign Grand Champion Extraordinaire. I do realize there are more events to be had, but let's not be greedy. Eight medals should suffice.

So get the DVR ready to record some serious NBC. The good news is that between now and 2018, you should have ample time to delete the 114 Disney Jr. shows taking up all the space. If you can manage this, the plan is already proving to be worthwhile.

{Before you continue, please note that I have broken the blueprint down, event by event, so as not to confuse or overwhelm you with too many fabulous details. I know, I know...You're quite welcome.}

Now, without further ado, The Plan.

From Couch Dweller to Olympic Bling: 
Making Greatness Happen

1. Curling. Because, for all intents and purposes, curling = sweeping. Boom. I've been training for this for damn near eight years. I will rock this.

2. Hockey. My oldest son is a sports fiend. We play hockey in the kitchen, all day, every day. In case you've never fallen in your socks, I will clue you in to this piece of reality: hardwood floors are slippery as hell. Dangerous? No, no. Say it with me. Rink preparedness. And as for the physicality of hockey, have you ever had to wrestle a toddler into a diaper when he's having none of it? I am all sorts of ready for hockey combat. Bring it.

3. This mysterious ski and shoot combination (which, I realize, has an actual name. But it brings me great joy to call it "ski and shoot," so ski and shoot it shall be.) I give to you: Nerf gun war à la suction cup darts. Accuracy honed, people. I also give to you: (occasional) elliptical trainer use. Now, I'm not saying it's exactly the same thing. But I'm not saying it's not. Give me a shot. I will make this happen.

4. Pairs figure skating. (Because if you're gonna go for it, at least have a gentleman in a deep V-neck sequined ensemble by your side.) So let's just say that a person has some previous experience in the air as a cheerleader, the result of which would be pretty decent balance. Let's also presume that this same person, to pass the time while waiting for pasta water to boil, may or may not twirl on the kitchen floor. (Please see hockey re: hardwood slickness factor.) Finally, the third piece that will make this a guaranteed success? Two words. Roller. Blading. (Which is actually only one word.) Gold medal material, friends. Gold medal material.

5. Bobsled. Seriously? I can run while pushing a double stroller with two heavy kids, their cups and their complaints all tucked safely inside. I can even do it on trash day in October, weaving on and off the leafy sidewalk with bursts of speed so as not to become roadkill. So the bobsled? I can push that beast from here to the center of town. Hop in. We'll go get a coffee.

6. Skeleton. I live in New England. I went to college in Syracuse. This girl knows sledding. And I mean, really. How different can it be?

7a. Downhill skiing. Nope. Even with my numerous aforementioned skills, this is not gonna happen. You may not have heard the story called That Time I Tried Skiing in the Alps...I would post an excerpt here, but it has too many swears to be considered decent. Which instead brings us to...

7b. Snowboarding. Sort of. Now this I may be equipped for, and I'll tell you why. Our seven year old got a Ripstik for Christmas, which we've all been testing out. It's board-like in nature, which will serve as my starting point. Plus, I've got four years to train, at which point I will have graduated from the hold-on-to-the-kitchen-counter-for-dear-life level of skill. I'm thinking that after four years, I'll be ready to throw that bad boy down an icy slope. Downhill Ripstikboarding. Patent pending.

8. Short track speed skating. Consider the following scenario: Ice-covered parking lot. Escapee toddler. (Fact: those little punks are fast!) Ice skates or dirty sneakers, it matters not. You navigate the surface of that ice with such speed and agility that you would actually be recruited for the sport. So give me those 80 inch blades, and let's get on with it. I would, however, ask that I be allowed to purchase the spandex outfit in black. I would assume it's slightly more forgiving.

So there you have it. If I have convinced even one person, I have done my job. You and I? We can be amazing. We will be amazing. Spandex or otherwise, the world has not yet seen the likes of us.

***

Finally, one last word for the realists out there. Yes, I do know this is far from legit. But can't you just let me have my dream? Because the other option is that I sit here, night after Olympic night, eating chocolate and contemplating my complete lack of both talent and medals. And that would be just plain sad. If you would allow me this moment of fancy, I promise you can have a ride in the bobsled. Or you can take my sequined partner for a spin. Truly. The choice is yours.

My (sippy) cup runneth over

My general take on life is that it's nothing without laughter. That every day should have at least one good chuckle in it. That being said, I can't help but be solemn for a minute, and the reason is this:  In this hyper-connected world we live in, we see an abundance of sadness. And to be quite honest, I sometimes have a hard time processing the sheer extent of it. There are moments where time stands still, and you can't help but feel your vulnerability. For me (for everyone?), Sandy Hook was decidedly one of those moments. Innocent faces that mirrored my own child of the same age, parents who looked and seemed a whole lot like me. I was changed. Forever. Since then, life has seemed more fragile.

Now, more recently, I find myself again surrounded by some of the saddest stories of loss. These stories also hitting so very close to home. Young mothers. Young fathers. Babies. Children. Siblings. Every day, it seems, there is another story in which I can see myself. It is near impossible to consider the rhyme and (lack of) reason of it; the randomness of it. And just the bare truth of it, which is the absolute, deepest, most profound sadness that some families must face. It makes my heart hurt to even consider.

Then, the piece of it that really takes my breath away. The families. The survivors. These same souls who are in so much pain and find themselves amidst suffering of the worst sort. Some of these mothers, these fathers, putting forth the most heartfelt messages, the most positive words of strength and survival, and they send these messages of love and hope out into the world. As if to help comfort the rest of us, those of us on the sidelines who should be comforting, not comforted. To remind those of us as of yet personally unaffected by such grief to slow down. To remember that this day, this hour that we're living right now? This is life. Grab each moment as it is, for these moments are nothing if not fleeting.

These stories, so full of grief, and these messages, so full of hope, they have led me to this. To take the advice given and to move through the world with open eyes and an open heart. So I make this promise to myself and my family, so blessed are we to have each other. I will take each moment as I can, the good, the bad, and the crazy, and I will choose to be thankful. I will choose to embrace it all. Life, it would seem, is too short to do it any other way.

So I will be thankful for the fighting in the living room, the wrestling that starts out playful but ends up dangerously not so. Because my children are together, and fighting or not, they love each other.

So I will be thankful for the ridiculousness that is our living room, where you must proceed carefully through the cars (by the hundreds) and the trucks (by the thousands) and the blocks and the balls and the legos and the movies (that they are not supposed to touch) and the cups (that most surely have leaked) and the hammers and the capes and the hockey sticks, just to make it to the couch. Because, tidy or not, it's life.

So I will be thankful for our kitchen table, so covered is it with crayons and papers that I have cleared and organized just moments ago, but somehow the piles always seem to return sevenfold. Because this is what creativity looks like.

So I will be thankful for the strong-willed seven year old's battles, during which he refuses to don any article of clothing that is not of or pertaining to a sport. Because it shows his passion.

So I will be thankful for the strong-willed four year old's battles, during which he refuses to don any article of clothing that is not of or pertaining to superheroes. Because it shows his innocence.

So I will be thankful for the hugs and the kisses and the smiles and the giggles and the crazy hair on our baby boy. I will even be thankful for his temper, which grows feistier by the day. Because as long as he is healthy, nothing else matters.

So I will be thankful for the mind-numbing haze that comes with raising young children, feeling like nothing I do is right. Every once in a while, I can see a glimmer of the truth that it's not so bad after all, and I can appreciate that it's a gift to spend my days wading through this messy business called life. Because this is what it's really all about.

So I will be thankful for it all. And I will think often of those who live the grief that we ponder and who still think to remind the rest of us that this thing, this decision to pause, to cherish and hold tight? This we must do.

So I will.