License and Registration Please...

You know that old quote that goes something like "They make you pass a test to drive a car or adopt a dog, but any old idiot can have a baby..."? 

Well, Miss 4 is definitely the child who makes me think I should have had to prove I was up to the challenge before being allowed to take her home from the hospital.  Lately she is completely fascinated by a children's encyclopedia of the human body.  She refers to it as her "bone book".  She has been known to spend several detailed minutes drawing red blood cells and the oxygen they are absorbing in vivid, primary red and blue.  I don't know whether to be thrilled that she is inquisitive or worried that she's quirky...

Her interest has led her to all sorts of deep questions that require more intellect than I possess on any given day.  Most recently she wants to know where things go when they die.  What happens to their skin and eyeballs?  Having recently explained what the stones in cemeteries were all about, she is more than a little concerned at all of the faux headstones cropping up this last week of October in yards around our house and neighborhood.

This leads to this morning's adventure in parenting.  I found her with an early reader Bible, looking at the page of Jesus drawing the little children into his arms.  She was more than a little perturbed.  The following conversation took place.

Mama:  What's up Boo?
M4:  It's not fair that these kids got to meet Jesus and I wasn't there.
Mama: But this took place a really, really, really long time ago.  None of your family was alive.
M4: But I want to meet him too.  Is he still alive?
Mama:  Remember our conversation about spirits?...
M4:(interrupting) Jesus is dead?!?
Mama:  No! Wait!  Just...remember about spirits and heaven?
M4:  Well who has Jesus' skin and eyeballs and bones?
Mama:(breaking into a panicky sweat and way over my head)  Um...You don't need them in heaven, so his spirit...
M4:  If I'm bigger can I go looking for bones?  I only want to find one little one...Hey!  What happens to eyeballs?  How come you never find eyeballs in the ground?

This went on for several more minutes and never really resolved.  Finally, unsatisfied with my information Miss 4 went off to find something more interesting to focus on and left me feeling like I just am completely unprepared.  I mean, explaining death, spiritual beliefs, decomposition and burial practices is really just above and beyond me at the best of times. 

I remember years ago, in a previous job, fielding a phone call from a parent who was about to have a baby and wanted parenting support and a list of parenting classes.  In talking to her for a bit, she revealed that she had been watching Jeopardy and suddenly came to believe that she didn't personally know enough to teach her children all that they would need to know.  At the time, I didn't understand how daunting it is to be responsible for continually teaching a child and answering their questions. I hear you now Sister.  I get it.   Kaplan Test Prep has nothing out there for this kind of evaluation.

In the meantime, Miss 4 has learned that I often have to go to the computer and get the answer she needs; so yes, my child does occasionally say "Mama?  Can you Google it?"   It's a strange territory I have found myself in. 

This wasn't in the handbook.

Miss 4 frequently asks me questions I can't answer.  My favorite was about two years ago when she fired off the following in rapid order, leaving me no time to answer; "Where do we go when we die?  Who is God?  Can I have chicken nuggets?"  I'll admit it, I let her have the nuggets.  But deep down, beyond that place that questioned the nutritional integrity of processed, compressed, chicken product, was this tiny flicker of fear that has been fanned into a roaring blaze over the last two years.  And it sounds something like the drums in a survivor tribal council ceremony, over which is the panicky thought of "Holy Crap.  They didn't teach me anything about this in school/at the hospital/ in that parenting book!" 

We have entered a phase of sassiness I am completely unprepared for.  In fact, it seems that Miss 4 asks me questions, for the sole purpose of being able to shake her head with pity and say with a slight amount of juvenile sarcasm, "nuh-uh!"  She will argue with me over anything.  And honestly, everything is negotiable in her mind.  Shoes?  Negotiable.  Dinner?  Negotiable.  Underwear?  Negotiable.  And she has a quick reason for why she wants or NEEDS to go around the imposed restriction etc.  Always.  I mean instantly at the ready.  At the drop of a hat.  She doesn't appear to think about it.  It's just there.  So, either she is already smarter than me, or she lies awake at night scripting these scenarios so that she'll be ready.

She has figured out how to outwit her little sister.  It pains me to watch her take her sister's trust and use it to her advantage.  I know that kids do it, and I know that olders trick the youngers.  I get it.  I'm an oldest and I'm sure I was equally evil and conniving.  But, the other day I watched Miss 4 eat the middle of an Oreo, stick the cookie sides together and sweetly offer to trade with her sister, who had barely made a dent in her cookie.  Trading is what we use to get a beloved toy back, or out of harm's way; a distraction that we taught Miss 4 for good, not evil.  I happened to be there that time, and intervened and expressed my displeasure, but I'm not sure my message was received the way I intended it. 

And this is the thing that will keep me awake.  Am I doing a good enough job with the moral education of my kids?  I can forgive the occasional nutritional slip-ups, the chipped fingernail polish I've been meaning to help her take off and haven't gotten to, the occasional snarly, uncombed hair.  How do I know that I'm raising them with heart and soul, goodness and intention?  Where is the rule-book on that little matter?  I don't have the answer...

I do..

"Mama?  Do you remember when you married Dad?"
"Yes."
"How do you remember?"
"I just do.  It was a big day.  A big deal."
"Do you think Dad remembers?"
(insert adult punch-line here)  "I'm sure he does."
"What was I doing that day?"
"You weren't there.  You weren't born yet?"
(indignantly)  "Why didn't I get to go?"  (stomps off)

"I made this for you."

"It's you and Dad marrying."  (Clearly, Mom has been up all night based on her deep-sunken, completely dilated eyes.  Please note that Dad has also been in a recent fight as he is sporting a bloody nose.  I further offer that Mom is wearing a barely there slip-dress.  How chic!  Clearly no skirt was required that day.  Finally, shoe size has not been exaggerated for artistic effect on either party.  Sadly,....)

"That's beautiful Miss 4!  Look how happy we are!"

She scampers off and quietly works for another few minutes returning with the following:

"This is a better wedding.  See Little One and Miss 4 are there!" (I am clearly so overjoyed there is a balletic leap into my husband's mid-section,...or I am auditioning for the Matrix.  One of my children has succumbed to exhaustion, but happily, while the other stands by on one very, very long foot, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.  Clearly this is a happy day.  Veil, askew I gaze vapidly into the future, while my husband stares vacantly into space.  Actually, maybe this is a picture of parents with young children.   Dazed and glazed parents...child underfoot...sibling grinning mysteriously...Hmmmm.)

And before I can respond, she runs away and returns with the final episode of the trilogy:

"This is when we were jellyfish."   Gone is my jaunty leap, my fluttering veil and lithe figure.  Now I am a many-appendaged child-minder.  However, note that I am still happy.  I gaze lovingly at my tiny jellies.  I may be pulled in many directions, propelled by the ebb and flow of life around me, but it is okay.

"Do you like being my Jellyfish Mama?"

I do.  Unequivocally, I do.

All in a day's work...

It has been nearly fifteen seconds since the last crazy, child-related incident in my home.  It has been the quietest and most bizarre fifteen seconds of the day.  Thus far today

·         Little One has figured out how to remove her diaper like a Chippendale removes his tear-away pants.   She has mastered the art of grabbing and flinging the offending article nearly across the room.  I have resorted to using postal tape on this last diaper just to buy me enough time to kick a path through the toys littering the downstairs and possibly make dinner.

·         Miss 4 has decided that she wants to have pink hair like the server at the local diner.  She has been following me and asking "How does the hair grow in pink?  Do you have to eat pink food?  Is it like the flamingo in Sylvie?" alternately changing it up with "How old do I have to be?  Why do I have to be 18?"

·         Somewhere in early toddlerhood Miss 4 began referring to her diaper region as her "bits".  I didn't put a stop to it as it was initially entertaining, but now I think we're stuck with it.  Miss 4 has a slight lateral lisp as well, therefore when she says "bits" her little sister has heard "beets".  Little One has stood in front of me chanting "wet beets" every time her diaper is wet today. 

·         I was writing down information from a book I was reading when Miss 4 approached.  "What are you doing?  Are you erasing the words you don't like in your book and writing in new ones?"

·         "Mama?  I need a wooden spoon and a piece of string……(why?)….So I can play ManPuppy….(how do you play that?)…"I'll tell you when you're little again.  But its gonna save the whole world."  That’s one fine wooden spoon right there.

My four year old informed me that she has changed her mind.  She has come to the conclusion after fifty months of living that she will, in fact,  be getting married. 

Imagine my surprise when she informed me that she already knows who she is going to marry!  My darling child, who only four days ago told me she hated me and wanted a better Mom, has "proposed" to me.  Yup, she wants to marry her mother.  "When I'm bigger of course." she added. 

Mind you, this is not the first big, life-changing conversation we've had in the last two weeks.  On a recent car trip she burst into tears.  Alarmed, I asked what was happening and she began in full wail "I don't want to have a baby!"  ( I can only hope we don't have this conversation again at 15!)  I tried to assure her that not everyone has babies; that she can choose when she is a grown-up.  There was a brief, and I hoped calming, pause.  "But Mom, how will my body know?!"

So twice now I have been offered a chance to tackle big issues and explain how life works, (or at least life as I know it), and twice I have dodged, hedged and otherwise avoided trying to explain.  In my childless twenties I had such strong opinions about what the right answers to these questions should be.  I knew how I would answer when these moments came up.  What changed?

I actually live with the children asking these questions now.  My oldest is at an age where information is its own currency and one piece of knowledge begets the need for yet one more.  Trying to explain why she can't marry Mommy is only going to lead us to full-scale social observation  at the grocery store.  Gone will be the days of simply shopping and minding our own business.  My preschooler will now be polling the populace, wanting to know marital status and why, or why not, are you married to this person.  Sure, she's a cute four year old, but would you like to explain to her how your "...baby got in", (or for that matter, out of), "your tummy" in the middle of the rice cake aisle? 

I thought not, so really, I'm doing a public service.  I know, I know...you can thank me later.