Better than Happiness

The non-parents are probably off watching movies or eating out in a calm and relaxed fashion, said to aid the digestion. Perhaps they are getting busy. Other times they are working hard and making a good impression on their coworkers and bosses. Maybe they enjoy the satisfaction of a house well cleaned, and then go out to the opera.

Meanwhile, we parents are trying to stay calm as we explain that snow is very cold, and shoes would be a good choice, while we silently try to decide if the milk is old enough to require a trip to the coop before nap, and furtively try to rub the dried jelly off of the floor. It wouldn't be right to say we've forgotten that our beloved life partner is good for amorous adventure, because the very concept of amorous adventure is a misty abstraction. As a numeric average, it doesn't sound excellent. But fortunately for parents, happiness isn't something all averaged together.

Being present to witness a mind's first discovery of a mud-puddle, or to witness a mind's pleasure in mastering addition of 12 digit numbers with carrying the tens, these just slice right through questions of happiness or boredom. Even seeing the dawning light as the connection between comfort, cold and shoes grow in some one's eyes can do it.

These clear moments aren't even the things that I can take credit for. Kids with really awful parents wear shoes. And whatever sense my children end up making out of their world, I'll have at best a very dim view of. But the unfolding of life in these little forms captures me.

A day with kids, when not overwhelmed with worries and impossibly demanding ideals (low standards are essential to quality child-rearing*), is just full of these opportunities. Here's my kid helping a kid that he has so often yelled at. Here's my kid hiding his giant head and then smiling shyly at me. Here's my kid discovering how yucky liquid soap tastes, with a face so perfectly expressive of soap taste. Here's my kid laughing so thoroughly at my amateurish "Who's belly is so big!" game. Here he is checking on the meaning of my warning, "Tapping is ok. If you bang with the spoon, I will put it away" with a smiling glance as he bangs the spoon on the table.

Here's this little piece of myself somehow wandering over there totally unaware of all the stuff that I've learned with such effort and cost. I procrastinate phone calls as much as I can, because of innumerable tedious fears and dislikes. The toddler falls off the wall, cries whole-heartedly, so much sadness expressing itself, and then he climbs up again, more skillfully but not more fearfully. He's even learned "Me too scared" as a line to get picked up, and he utters it with complete jovial confidence, a smile as he lifts his arms towards the parent. The first grader tries one strategy after another to tame the uncivilized world of human relationships. It's funny, a constant comic show, but it doesn't measure well.

One thing that can distract us from these moments is regretting our loss of personal autonomy. I had a really good belly laugh recently when a friend who was having trouble with dealing with TV and her kids, let on that she expected to watch what she wanted to watch on TV (easy for me to let go of that one, as my great love is reading the books I want to read). I laughed when I realized that I hadn't expected to watch TV, hear radio, or listen to music that I wanted to for years and years. (I do manage to slip in the books here and there; one does what one must.)

I can't even plan the day without understanding that a first grader having to pee at the wrong time, or a toddler insisting both on putting his giant back pack into the car and putting himself into the car, can randomly add 10 minutes without warning. How many times have I suggested we read something with a bit of narrative line, The Hungry Caterpillar, maybe, only to learn that this precious hunk of life demands a book that is just a bunch of truck photos?

I'd certainly never choose to wake up at 2 until 5 holding a fussy baby. And yet, I can't recall holding the baby, drunk with fatigue, laying on the futon couch, trying to find a spot for him to lay on me and still sleep myself, without a smile appearing on my face.

All those things you read about in great novels or great biographies: plunging ahead in difficult conditions to advance a great cause; enduring losses but trusting in the victory of history; helping the least among these; all those things are available fifty times a day with small children.

Happy spring. I'd write a blog entry about how easy and pleasant it is to take care of kids in spring, but that would be pretty dull and obvious. Just go enjoy it.

--Chris

PS Perhaps this should be "lowerable standards are key to good child-rearing." While I used to advocate for lower house-keeping standards as a part of my feminist ideas, I must confess to a great respect for my friends that regularly have tidy, clean and welcoming homes. Not there yet myself, but the achievement demands respect. But I'm much better at the compassionate leadership thing when I'm striving for something we can achieve, which isn't regularly tidy and clean and welcoming.