I often wonder how mothering children 24/7 and the writing life - tranquil or otherwise - can possibly co-exist, and the truth is that for me, they do not. I am forever chasing down the specter of an uninterrupted hour of alert centeredness during which I might sit down with a cup of Yogi brand tea and a laptop. Sometimes I have an uninterrupted hour, sometimes I have a laptop, sometimes I am centered, but these three things never seem to converge in the time-space continuum.
As impatient as I am for lazy, sundrenched summer days, the past week and a half has given me reason to fear the vast expanse of unstructured vacation time that is right now breathing down my neck. Because in the absence of manufactured fun, I have been reminded of the V-meister's limitless capacity to aimlessly ricochet from wall to wall whilst sucking a calloused thumb and twirling a lock of syrup encrusted hair. And of the J-dog's patented ability to lie down on a hardwood floor and propel himself in a closed loop circular motion for hours on end.
Because I am a heartless, wart-studded, broom straddling witch, I let J-Dog and V-meister watch one hour of TV every day, starting at 4:30, while I make dinner. During Spring Break week the J-dog - and this is the honest truth - would start studying the digital clock display on the kitchen oven no sooner than five minutes after breakfast had concluded. In restless anticipation of that most holy hour of waning sunlight when one push of the DVR button on the magical, sanctified remote control device would usher his dear friends Dora and Diego into our living room, he took it upon himself to announce the time to me, with purpose, every fifteen minutes.
This happened over and over again like clockwork unless my hapless, TV deprived son could be somehow redirected with play-doh, a trip to the park, or the long shot but always enticing possibility that V-meister might in a moment of sisterly benevolence grant him access to the inside of her bedroom and the Barbie/Polly Pocket nirvana therein.
The Scene: The Rama family kitchen, after breakfast. The P-Dawg is at work, saving lives. Rima Rama is feverishly spraying unoccupied surfaces with lemon scented GreenWorks antiseptic cleaner and cursing periodically when she steps on a sticky spot of floor. V-meister is sucking her thumb and dipping a knotted mass of hair into a bowl of pancake syrup. The J-dog is on his back, propelling himself in a closed loop circular motion over the hardwood floor. He stops suddenly and bolts upright for a better view of the digital clock display on the oven.
"Mama! It is EIGHT FIVE FIVE now. EIGHT FIVE FIVE."
"That's right, J-dog. It is 8:55."
"Is time to watch show yet, Mama?"
"No, is not time to watch show. You can watch a show at four-thirty. FOUR THREE ZERO."
Ten minutes die a slow, painful death. Rima Rama is at her laptop, attempting to create a wholesome weekly menu plan/shopping list. The V-meister is sitting on the couch, kicking the coffee table with vengeance whilst sucking her thumb. The J-dog has pulled a chair directly up in front of the oven's digital clock display and there seated, watches the numbers change.
"It is NINE ZERO FIVE, Mama. NINE ZERO FIVE."
"I see that."
"Is almost FOUR-ZERO-ZERO yet, Mama? Almost time for show?"
"Four-thirty is a very, very, long time away J-Dog! And I have much to do and miles to go before I sleep. So please! Go find something to do."
"BUT I WEEWEE WEEWEE WANT TO WATCH A SHOW, MAMA!"
"I don't want to hear what time it is again until I see the numbers 'FOUR THREE ZERO' on this clock display! Do you understand me, J-dog?"
A moment flits past.
"Mama. It is now NINE ZERO SIX. NINE ZERO SIX."
"Okay. What's it gonna be, Dora or Diego?"
(And . . . scene)
School resumes tomorrow. Ten vacation calendar days have been deliberately crossed off. Uniforms have been laundered and neatly folded. Shoes have been polished and lined up along the wall in the entryway. Backpacks have been inspected and, propped cheerfully against the door, await the reluctant shoulders of their owners. Bed time on this glorious Back to School Eve is 8:00 pm.
And I am considering, just considering, doctoring up some numbers on the digital oven clock display.
EIGHT ZERO ZERO, will you ever come?
Seriously, though. I LOVE THESE KIDS.
6 comments:
That was my exact spring break with the exception being that my husband was home, allegedly "working from home" but really participating in half-assed parenting by looking up from his laptop in time to criticize the lunch I prepared or sigh in annoyance that someone had again fallen off a chair.
The kids were much better when only one of us was around but still, I'm kind of excited for Monday.
Spring break is a bad, bad, BAD idea! Summer at least has the possibility of hours spent splashing in the six inch deep baby pool while I catch up on my celebrity gossip.
those 2 don't look as if they cause a lick of trouble. whatever possesses you to complain?
Weewee,weewee equals really, really.
*like*
Oh summer programs, how I love thee and will enroll the dear child in as many as we can afford... Spring Break nearly did me in this year.
Hehehe! But at least in summer we can throw the kiddos outside a bit more. It is too cool and wet to do that much in spring. Bah.
Those kiddos of yours are seriously GORGEOUS!!!!!
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