A Million Little Pieces

No, this entry is not really about the mostly fictitious autobiography that made the headlines a few years back. Actually, I think the title REALLY is more appropriate for the autobiography of your average mother because 1,000,000 little pieces is what we end up picking up off the floor each and every day.

Yes, for some reason toy manufacturers seem to delight in making toys that have about 5 bazillion parts, and the older the child, the smaller the parts. So, I spend a healthy portion of each day picking up said parts off the floor, fishing them out of the couch, and removing them from under the fridge. And, yes, I always "make" the kids help. The problem is, of course, that MAKING a mess is hugely more fun than picking up a mess. And, making children pick up these toys is almost more work than picking up the darned things yourself. I have had to, more than one time, resort to the "vacuum threat" (as in, pick up all this S*** or I'll suck it all up in the vacuum) BUT, as things happen, I usually end up with a pick up job at the end of the day anyway.

For some reason, this "gathering of pieces" thing seems to be a female trait cause my husband can blissfully step over these parts and walk on by without a second thought. And, his method of "cleaning up" is to pick up everything and throw it all jumbled together in a box. This, of course, drives me INSANE because throwing the parts all mixed together in a box is not the same thing at all as actually putting them away. Putting Them Away means you have to go find the box, open the box, and place the items BACK in the box. And, for some reason, I always feel compelled to do this. Even though the child might have about 1000 rectangular blue legos, I simply can't bring myself to toss the one blue lego that somehow lodged behind the fridge no matter how dusty and dirt encrusted.

The worst part of this is that EACH of my children went through this preschool/toddler stage where they enjoyed stuffing the small parts under and into things. My third child is in that stage right now, and I am regularly fishing huge numbers of objects out from under the couch, under the television, and beneath the fridge. This stage is often accompanied by the inexplicable desire to "feed" the VHS player. A friend of mine once fished out two army men, a playing card, two legos, and half a dozen pennies when her VCR ground to a halt one afternoon. Toddlers also treat the house as ONE huge shape sorter, meaning that they walk around with objects trying to see where they might possibly fit. And, yes, although I appreciate this as a sign that the little booger's brains are click clacking around, the thought is no consolation when you are fishing your oldest son's favorite toy out of the toilet.

Anyway, back to the one million pieces: I think someone should design these toys with mothers in mind. I mean, I LOVE legos and K'nex and Lincoln Logs. They are marvelous, open ended, educational toys. BUT, they are also FULL of, you guessed it, one million little pieces that end up everywhere. Maybe the designers could put little homing devices in the toys so they all "jump" back in their boxes once the play time is over. Or, maybe someone could design one of those little RHOOMBA robots that can selectively suck up certain toys and spit them back in the box.

Maybe I could make such a thing, and then make a million little dollars and HIRE someone to do all this picking up for me. Yeah, that is a nice fantasy. In the meantime I'll be writing my autobiography. I intend to entitle it: One Million Little Legos.

The Death of a Marriage

The glance lasted maybe a few seconds. But, the softness of his gaze told me all I needed to know. We were “exchanging the children” as I like to call the process, something we have done close to 15 times in the three years since I threw the kids in the car and headed off for the unknown leaving everything I took for granted behind me. Since then, I’ve grown, changed. I’m happier and healthier; the children are healthier and happier. Maybe he is as well. Still, despite all the time, pain, and separation, he loves me. 

Let’s be clear here. The marriage was irretrievably broken. I was damaged beyond recovery and nothing could have rescued us. I know this. I also know that my children are joyful and relaxed in ways they never could have been when we were all living together in that endless twilight of a dead marriage. They deserved a mother who wasn’t half paralyzed by depression and a crushed spirit. They deserved a home without discord and unspoken anger. I did what was necessary, and in my moments of clarity I realize how much better I am, how much happier they are, and no matter how much struggle we have had in the last three years, the end of that marriage was a blessing. Admittedly, I go through long stretches where I don’t think about him at all; where he exists only in the dim recesses of a memory, pushed aside by the daily challenges and joys of a life as a (mostly) single mom.

But there are moments. Sometimes a song, perhaps one we used to listen to on his fold out bed in that crappy Philadelphia apartment where we would fall asleep in a tangle of blankets and awake to the sounds of the neighbor’s trashy garage band that always seemed to practice way too early on a Sunday morning. Or maybe taking the children to the Grand Canyon where the view not only reminds me of the grandeur of G-d, but also of that trip he and I took on Christmas Eve where we hiked to the bottom and out while I was 8 weeks pregnant with my first child. Or a glance, that fills me simultaneously with regret, and guilt, and flooded with memory of a marriage that began with such hope and promise on a hot, sunny day in June, and ended in such desperation on an equally hot day 14 years later in April. 

I want to know if there will be a time when I can drive through the places we used to go, or see the house where my oldest was born, and not be overwhelmed with equal parts memory and pain. Will there come a time when I don’t spend moments for the week or two after seeing him, gripped with regret, the tears freely flowing. When will I release the guilt from realizing that to survive, I had to damage the man whom I had promised to love “till death do we part”.

March Already

So, its March. I didn't QUITE make my goal of a new blog post every six months, although at the time this seemed like something I could, maybe, manage. Yet, alas. Most days I can hardly manage to find my keys, and get out the door having eating breakfast, and without wearing my coffee. I have what you might call a disorganization problem.

Sadly, all three of my lovely children inherited what I will call the "disorganization gene" which means, as a family, we move in this sad disaster of disorganization on an almost constant basis. And, trust me, you "born organized" people. I try. I really, really try. But, managing my own disorganized self, plus my three walking tornadoes, is really more than I can manage most days, especially since my children don't seem to care how organized (or not organized) they are.

Case in point: My lovely 6 year old has a tendency to leave shoes everywhere and anywhere they fall off her feet. And socks, as well, but that is another story. But, as to the shoes, shoes are totally expendable, and something of a modern nuisance. If she could manage to go without them, she would. As things stand, she sheds them as soon as she can, with absolutely no regard to where she is, and when she might need them again. Which means, we often spend 10-15 minutes in the morning looking for where she last put her shoes. And, trust me, I am allergic to morning, and I am not particularly kind or sunny when I am forced to delay our departure over, yet again, misplaced shoes. Yes (shh born organized people) I KNOW that if I just enforced the rule that she had to put her shoes in the same place every day, then we would not have this problem. I know this. However, you understand this requires that I actually be organized enough to remember that I have to enforce that she put her shoes in the right place every time. Which, if you haven't figured out yet, is... well.. let's just say consistency is not my strong suit right.

So, comes Monday morning and we are headed out the door for school and I look down and realize that there is only one shoe. I ask my daughter, where is the other shoe. She doesn't know. Of course she doesn't know. How could she possibly remember where she took off a shoe? We looked in all the logical places (where we found the other shoe) and some illogical places (the bathtub, the toy box) but no shoe was found. And, let's just say, in one of my less than steller "insane mom moments" I was less than pleasant. So, I said. FIND a shoe to wear (through gritted teeth). I don't CARE what the shoe is or what this looks like (with a few colorful adjectives thrown in). And, when you get home tonight, you WILL find that shoe cause I am not going to spend another precious few hours of my time looking for shoes AGAIN! And, no, I am not buying you more shoes.

So, my lovely 6 year old went off and found a shoe: A bright pink sandal with Dinsney Princesses and she went to school that way wearing one princess sandal, and one brown loafer, both left feet.

 So, yes, in my SMM (stellar mothering moment) of the day, I managed to lose my temper, use profanity, AND send my child to school with two left shoes all in the same monday morning. But, at LEAST, I thought to myself, this is what all those parenting classes and books talk about: "Enforcing Natural Consequences". In other words, the fact that she had to go to school wearing one princess sandal and one brown loafer (both left feet) might possibly reinforce to her the wisdom of putting her shoes in the same place every day. And, as an added bonus, I don't have to be the nagging mother to remind her to find her shoes every night because "Natural Consequences" will teach her better than I could anyway. Problem solved, right?

You can see where this is going, I think.

So, lovely 6 year old comes home, and I say.

"How were your shoes today?"

"Fine"

"Didn't wearing those shoes bother you? They weren't a little uncomfortable?"

"No"

"Are you ready to find your other shoe?"

"No"

Which, I guess, was not a priority for her because she continued to wear her "shoes" for the next week and a half until I (yes I) finally found her shoe in the middle of the backyard where it had been covered by a snowdrift for much of the last two weeks.

Natural Consequences 0
Child with a mind of her own 1