MANNERS
Early in my parenting days, I picked up a book on etiquette so that I could properly train my children for life, preparing them for anything they may encounter. Unfortunately for them, I never read the book, never even cracked it open. I've considered tossing it many times because of that fact, and the fact that I bought it at a library housecleaning for a quarter. Nonetheless, I continue to enforce various social rules and am grateful for the consistency of the past, knowing it was just the right thing to do, now that I have five someday-to-be grown-ups sitting around my dining room table three or four times a day. While they are learning, we still have a long, long way to go.
It's not using the wrong utensil that bothers me, I don't even mind if some of the food is handled, as long as the hand is not used as a shovel of indiscretion. What bothers me is the sound that occurs when someone is eating without keeping their lips sealed. And the slurping; you know, the slurping of the milk at the end of a bowl of cereal, or the bottom of a bowl of soup, or the juice left on the plate from the corn; that really gets under my skin. Or licking; let's not lick our plates clean, especially if there is more of the food your are trying to salvage on the table. And another thing, why does it not occur to a child, instinctively, to wash their hands before they eat something after they've been digging in dirt for seven hours, even just a splash through the water would settle my the repulsion that rises up in me when I realize that the black spots all over the table are the mixture of dirt and orange juice after my son has just peeled the orange he is now devouring. And one more thing, why do they need to put the entire sandwich in their mouths in one bite? What is that? My kids have all done it and now Leila is having to be trained out of it, you know how you use the topper to shove the food down into the processer? That's what she does with her hand, just stuffs it in there. Blech.
I've tried to be reasonable about these things, children need to be taught proper social etiquette, but lately my tolerance runs, oh, on a scale of 1-10, I start the first meal of the day at about a 2. By dinner I'm shouting across the dinner table, "Do NOT wipe that ketchup under the table! USE A NAPKIN!" Seems like it the same few things that I get irate about every day.
Part of the problem is that I have not made sleep a priority. Back in Richmond, I worked all night, slept four hours, and took on the day only to turn around and go back to work. Even when I was pregnant, six hours was generally enough to get me through. Now, I'm not getting up incredibly early for anything and there's nothing pressing in my evenings, I figure I don't need a lot of sleep to get by. However, my body is begging me to embrace the calling of my bed earlier. It's not that I can't do it, because I could really go to bed at nine and not leave anyone unattended or in need. But at the end of the day, when the kids are settled into their beds, I have one-on-one with Dale, a grown-up. A grown-up I really love talking to, or playing games with, or watching movies with, or sitting next to. He doesn't fire an arson of questions at me at any given moment. He doesn't whine when I say no to something he has asked. And he never, never spills half a pitcher of kool-aid on the floor and leaves it there. And besides, he is kind enough to ask me if need anything when he gets up to do something. Someone shows concern for my needs. Even if I don't need a soda or a snack, it moves me that he asks. Sometimes out of the blue he'll say, "You're so pretty." So to go to bed at nine o'clock means to sacrifice these precious few hours and precious moments that keep me on the couch with him into the wee hours of morning.
On the other hand, not once, or twice, but three times this week I have found myself in locked in the bathroom crying my eyes out. The first time went unnoticed by anyone in the house. The second time only Dale was present at my crumbling. The third time I had a meltdown right in the middle of the living room floor, in front of God and the kids and the dogs and everybody. I feel like I'm losing my mind. What's hard about this is that it feels so real. My frustrations are logical reasons to cry; it's the timing that is so wrong and leads me to believe that I'm not just sad, I really just need sleep. That's what I always tell the kids when I start going crazy; that I'm just really tired. Sometimes I am physically tired, sometimes it's the spiritual desert that drags me to the bottom of myself, and sometimes it's the fact that everyone needs something from me all the time and I just don't have anything left at the end of the day.
All of these things considered, I've decided to give up some of this luxury grown-up time in exchange for a couple of extra hours of sleep. Then maybe the slurping won't send me through the roof so fast.
ALSO, you may be interested to hear that Kennedy won her basketball game this morning! She is really trying to make her way to the top in this sport. Today she tried four times to shoot a basket. This is a big deal because a lot of times she gets nervous and just passes the ball when she gets it, just to get it out of her hands. It's exciting to watch her develop this new part of herself. Wish you could be here to see her bloom. Did I mention she made her first basket at the last game? I'm pretty sure I did something to rally the attention of all the other parents because they were all looking at me after the fact, their faces all glowing with that knowing grin, but like I said, I'm not quite right in my head right now and I can't be sure of what it was that I did. I'm a proud mama, what can I say?
It's not using the wrong utensil that bothers me, I don't even mind if some of the food is handled, as long as the hand is not used as a shovel of indiscretion. What bothers me is the sound that occurs when someone is eating without keeping their lips sealed. And the slurping; you know, the slurping of the milk at the end of a bowl of cereal, or the bottom of a bowl of soup, or the juice left on the plate from the corn; that really gets under my skin. Or licking; let's not lick our plates clean, especially if there is more of the food your are trying to salvage on the table. And another thing, why does it not occur to a child, instinctively, to wash their hands before they eat something after they've been digging in dirt for seven hours, even just a splash through the water would settle my the repulsion that rises up in me when I realize that the black spots all over the table are the mixture of dirt and orange juice after my son has just peeled the orange he is now devouring. And one more thing, why do they need to put the entire sandwich in their mouths in one bite? What is that? My kids have all done it and now Leila is having to be trained out of it, you know how you use the topper to shove the food down into the processer? That's what she does with her hand, just stuffs it in there. Blech.
I've tried to be reasonable about these things, children need to be taught proper social etiquette, but lately my tolerance runs, oh, on a scale of 1-10, I start the first meal of the day at about a 2. By dinner I'm shouting across the dinner table, "Do NOT wipe that ketchup under the table! USE A NAPKIN!" Seems like it the same few things that I get irate about every day.
Part of the problem is that I have not made sleep a priority. Back in Richmond, I worked all night, slept four hours, and took on the day only to turn around and go back to work. Even when I was pregnant, six hours was generally enough to get me through. Now, I'm not getting up incredibly early for anything and there's nothing pressing in my evenings, I figure I don't need a lot of sleep to get by. However, my body is begging me to embrace the calling of my bed earlier. It's not that I can't do it, because I could really go to bed at nine and not leave anyone unattended or in need. But at the end of the day, when the kids are settled into their beds, I have one-on-one with Dale, a grown-up. A grown-up I really love talking to, or playing games with, or watching movies with, or sitting next to. He doesn't fire an arson of questions at me at any given moment. He doesn't whine when I say no to something he has asked. And he never, never spills half a pitcher of kool-aid on the floor and leaves it there. And besides, he is kind enough to ask me if need anything when he gets up to do something. Someone shows concern for my needs. Even if I don't need a soda or a snack, it moves me that he asks. Sometimes out of the blue he'll say, "You're so pretty." So to go to bed at nine o'clock means to sacrifice these precious few hours and precious moments that keep me on the couch with him into the wee hours of morning.
On the other hand, not once, or twice, but three times this week I have found myself in locked in the bathroom crying my eyes out. The first time went unnoticed by anyone in the house. The second time only Dale was present at my crumbling. The third time I had a meltdown right in the middle of the living room floor, in front of God and the kids and the dogs and everybody. I feel like I'm losing my mind. What's hard about this is that it feels so real. My frustrations are logical reasons to cry; it's the timing that is so wrong and leads me to believe that I'm not just sad, I really just need sleep. That's what I always tell the kids when I start going crazy; that I'm just really tired. Sometimes I am physically tired, sometimes it's the spiritual desert that drags me to the bottom of myself, and sometimes it's the fact that everyone needs something from me all the time and I just don't have anything left at the end of the day.
All of these things considered, I've decided to give up some of this luxury grown-up time in exchange for a couple of extra hours of sleep. Then maybe the slurping won't send me through the roof so fast.
ALSO, you may be interested to hear that Kennedy won her basketball game this morning! She is really trying to make her way to the top in this sport. Today she tried four times to shoot a basket. This is a big deal because a lot of times she gets nervous and just passes the ball when she gets it, just to get it out of her hands. It's exciting to watch her develop this new part of herself. Wish you could be here to see her bloom. Did I mention she made her first basket at the last game? I'm pretty sure I did something to rally the attention of all the other parents because they were all looking at me after the fact, their faces all glowing with that knowing grin, but like I said, I'm not quite right in my head right now and I can't be sure of what it was that I did. I'm a proud mama, what can I say?
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