What Has Happened to Us?

Was there a time when we had more dignity? I found myself asking, as I looked across the dinner table at my friend. He was trying to get to the bottom (no pun intended) of why his two-year-old's pants were wet after she used the bathroom.

I can't quite tell you what we talked about in the course of our dinner, as it was frequently interrupted by frustrating or funny behavior from the two toddler girls and the school-age boy we collectively had. At one point, Briana was supposed to apologize to and hug Selah, and Selah threw a book at her, shouting, "No!" When Briana was leaving and I asked her to say bye-bye to the stuffed animal she was attempting to make off with, she turned to Selah (who was being restrained, screaming, on the couch) and said, "Bye-bye, Walrus," to her, waved, and tried to escape, still holding the animal.

Back in December, I took Selah with me to a monthly social for WiPP, a publishing-networking group I belong to. I loaded my bag with toys, let Selah run around near our table, and found myself regaling two childless women with tales of how Selah had peed on the floor at Costco. One of them smiled politely; the other simply looked horrified. My fellow patrons at Costco dealt with it fairly well, however. In the meantime, Selah had a blow-out. And if you have kids, you know just the kind I mean. I tried to deal with it in the bathroom, and then not let on when I returned.

The other day, Selah, complete with ear infection, decided to throw herself on the ground in the Safeway parking lot as I tried to push my cart through the rain to the car. I attempted to heave her up under one arm and push the heavy cart with the other. A young and I would guess single man walked by us, clearly amused. I found myself in one of those low points where I threatened to become unhinged, and was tempted to lurch toward him, snarling, "I'm glad you are so amused by us!" After all, shouldn't he have gallantly tried to help with my cart or something? But he, alas, was just me, pre-Selah. Why don't those parents just take their child home? Why isn't that mother disciplining those children? Why would that guy even bring his child here?

Sometimes I wish people would just say those stupid things aloud, so I could throw myself on their mercy, asking, "What about this makes it seem I am not trying my best?" I have done well this week. In the face of Selah's five-in-five-months ear infections, I have not hit or verbally abused her. I calmly say, "I think it's time for a time-out" in the aisles of Target, instead of shrieking, "Shut up! Stop it! Stop!" like I want to. I buckle her into her car seat every time we drive anywhere. I stir pureed vegetables into her cereal and pasta so she will eat them. I tell her I am sorry whenever I do yell at her, even though I'd rather be "right."

Parents of the world, hang in there. I repent of my judgments, and so will all of the people who are currently judging you! I have joined the club of those who are mostly just relieved isn't currently their child who is hitting someone/peeing on Costco/shouting, "NOOOOOOO!" when the parents try to fasten them into a high chair/spilling juice onto someone else's rug.

I no longer discuss politics and religious ideals at dinner parties with fellow parents. Instead, we just apologize to each other, look at one another and laugh, and think, Well, at least I'm not the only one!

Misty and Chris, we love ya. :) Tell Briana, "Good-night Walrus," from me.

Happy Birthday Sarah

Today is my sister's birthday. For some reason, as I sit here, I can't remember many of her birthdays growing up (of course I haven't had my coffee yet). I do remember we always all felt a little caught by surprise by her birthday, as it is soon after Christmas, and the stores are generally empty of merchandise. Sarah, I will admit here in writing: we probably always did kind of gyp you on your birthday.

These are things I do remember, however:

• crying in your room, or crying together in your room
• always knowing what was happening to you without being told, and vice-versa
• watching you hurl a sandwich bag of cookie dough onto the kitchen floor with fear and awe
• sneaking into your bedroom to try on all your 1980s clubbing dresses
• the coolness of getting to visit you in AZ or Sac, all by myself
• the presents you always bought me when I was little (and still sometimes do)
• in the parking lot of Nob Hill, you saying Oprah Winfrey was gay, and mom not wanting to tell me what that meant
• your Toyota MR2
• being a cool first-grader at San Benancio, getting waved to by junior-highers
  
• having someone who knew what I was going through: knowing at what age people would separate into cliques; protecting me from friends, parents, and yes, our brother; telling me everything you knew about periods, boys, and sex
• you used to read aloud to me--Pride and Prejudice, Lorna Doone, Stuart Little--no wonder I'm smart
• feeling like I had someone who would always love me, no matter what, and would defend me to the death

Through good and bad, hurled game boards and garbage cans, I have always been glad you are my sister. You are one of the few reasons I ever think about having another child--somehow I want Selah to have what I have. Happy Birthday!