There is nothing on God’s green earth that prepares you for the roller coaster that is parenting. Nothing.
Sleep deprivation. Tantrums. The cost of diapers, clothing, and college. Little boys who want to hold their sister’s doll.
Body image angst.
Sibling rivals.
The questions.
Oh boy, the questions.
One night when my girls were maybe 8, 10, and 12, I walked past their bedroom at night and heard them talking, almost arguing. I stuck my head in the doorway and said, “Y’all hush and go to sleep.”
Before I could leave, the oldest rushed out an—in her mind—obvious question: “Mama, aren’t babies made the same way puppies are made?”
It is truly incredible how fast the human brain works. In no more than the time it took me to inhale, I wondered why this question was coming up now, where they had seen puppies being made, how my mother would have answered it, and why she didn’t give me this warning when I started having children. Then I weighed how much information to give this rather wide range of daughters, one of whom still played with dolls and another who was almost a teen.
In a split second I decided honesty was the best policy, with as few details as possible to satisfy the question without getting graphic. I answered simply, “Yes,” and walked away before they could ask anything else. I am the queen of avoidance.
As I was closing the door, the youngest squealed, “Ewwwwwwww!” and I left it at that.
Great job, Mama. Hopefully at 33 she’s changed her mind now.
Somewhere around that same time, all five kids—the three girls plus two boys, ages 5 and 14—decided they wanted to camp out in the back yard. We lived on an acre and a half, and behind our house was farmland as far as you could see. We had recently decided to try camping and bought a tent we referred to as the Taj Mahal, in other words, huge. Seven people and all their gear take up a lot of space.
Of course we agreed to this idea. A quiet house all to ourselves? It sounded like heaven.
So we sent them out to set up the tent and arrange all their sleeping bags. They had extra pillows, stuffed animals and dolls, flashlights—all the accoutrements of a night in the wild minus the bears.
For the first time in their lives, they couldn’t wait for bedtime. They hit the hay long before sundown, and since it was still nice weather, we could hear them talking and laughing through our open bedroom window. Such a pleasant sound, all five children having fun together. Finally it was dark and all was quiet.
Sometime in the middle of the night we heard rustling and hushed voices outside. The littlest one wanted to sleep in his bed and came in dragging Pete, his blue stuffed dog, and his pillow. We got him settled and went back to sleep.
A little while later someone else came in. (I am kind of making this up as I write because 25 years was a long time ago and my memory is rather fuzzy regarding who came in and when.) There were mentions of some kind of animal snuffling around outside the tent, some people being scared, others not being comfortable. Yes, that happens when you sleep on the ground, outside, where animals live.
Eventually, all five children wound up inside in their beds and Ben and I were relieved that we could finally get some sleep.
Right about the time we were in our deepest slumber—what the professionals call slow-wave sleep—one of the children let out a blood-curdling scream.
When this happens, your body reacts before your brain waves can catch up. Apparently, slow waves take a few minutes to warm up, like the coils in a diesel truck. Only we didn’t have a few minutes; obviously one of the children was being kidnapped or murdered.
In one fluid motion, Ben sprang out from under the covers, vaulted off his left knee across me and the entire king-size bed, and landed on one foot on the opposite side of the bed, sliding into the open door with a bang that I just knew was leaving a doorknob-size hole in the plaster wall. In mid-flight, he yelled, “Who is it?!”
Like a cartoon character trying to get traction, his feet dug into the carpet propelling him forward as I yelled, “It’s Michael!” thinking he would sprint toward the boys’ room. When he instead turned toward the girls’ room, I wondered why Michael was in the wrong place. (Slow waves were still not up to speed. Also, all my children sound the same when screaming.)
Ben got to the girls’ room and stopped at the doorway, just then remembering that he prefers to sleep in the buff, and he hid behind the door jamb, yelling, “What is it? What is it?”
By that time I had made it to the boys’ room and then back to the girls’ room, passing Ben in his hiding place, and stood in the middle of the room turning from one kid to another in panic. Deborah was sitting up in bed almost hyperventilating, so I ran to her, yelling, “What is it?”
When she could finally talk, she told us she’d had a dream there was a mouse crawling on her, and at just that moment her hand twitched on her leg.
By now Ben had retrieved a pair of pants and together we made assurances to everyone in the house (and the neighbors, who surely heard all the screaming through the open windows) that there were no mice, no animals, no bears, no bad guys (maybe we were reassuring ourselves)—everyone was safe and sound in their own beds and for the love could we all please get some sleep now?
After everyone was tucked and kissed, Ben and I made our way back to our own room and lay down. After about 30 seconds, I realized my eyes were wide open and my heart was racing, and I said quietly, “How are we going to sleep now?” Ben replied, “No idea.”
Another minute passed and I let out a tiny snicker. Ben answered with a chuckle. Before we knew it we were in full-fledged tears-rolling-down-our-cheeks, snorting laughter.
After a while we calmed down and got quiet again. I quietly sighed a deep sigh.
Then, another snicker. Another snort. Another round of guffawing.
I only share this story as a public service to those of you who are just now having children.
Go ahead and read the books. Get advice. Join the mom chat groups.
Then hang on for the ride of your life, knowing you are clueless.
Hilarious