A Life that is Blessed, Morning rituals - September 2010

A Life that is Blessed, Morning rituals - September 2010

 

I am at my daughter Ashley’s home. I am the hired-hand, the morning transporter of the three school children, ages 4, 6, and 8. I also feel a responsibility to help with any and all pre-departure tasks, which vary, depending on the day. 

 

Ashley is in the backyard, standing with her arms folded below her ribs, glaring at a small dog on the grass in front of her. The dog and Ashley appear to be in a stare-down contest. I hear Ashley say, “Go!” The dog, his name is Max, doesn’t blink. Finally Ash says, “OK, forget it.” She picks up the rabbit sized dog and tramps up the deck stairs into the house. I follow her in. I can see that she is hurried. It is early morning. She is a teacher, special education, and needs to get going. 

Inside, Johnny, age 4, is not happy. Crying? He is protesting going to his pre-school. The summer with mommy at home is still fresh in his mind. From the sound and the redness of John’s watery eyes the crying does not appear to be fleeting. Ashley is carrying breakfast to the table. She flings over a flap edge of the tablecloth, half uncovering one side of the Magic-Marker blemished bare wood table and sets down a plate of pancakes for Eddie (6) and two flakey pop-tarts for Johnny.

Eddie, big brother, always alert to little bro's business, inquires, “Why did you give him so much icing on his pop tarts?”

OK - Pop tart? Had my mom mentioned a pop-tart to me as a child I would have conjured an image of a sour soda. You know soda pop? But that’s beside the point. OK, point being: Pop-tarts are purchased ready-made - with icing. Anyway ...

Ashley counters with, “That’s not so much icing.”

My thought: "Why does Eddie care?"

Eddie’s breakfast is pancakes, filled with chocolate chips. Like wheels on suitcases, chocolate chips in pancakes is a recent phenomenon, and like the wheels, did not require the brain of a rocket scientist to invent. Ed smothers his pancakes with syrup made of High Fructose Corn Syrup, Water, Cellulose Gum, Salt, Artificial Flavors, and Natural Flavors, Sorbic Acid, and Sodium Benzoate, (Preservatives), Caramel Color(seriously?), Sodium Hexametaphosphate. In other words, not food – or ... somewhat like pop-tarts.

Back in the 1940s, my brother and I used to refer to syrup in large doses as “Enough to sink a battleship.” It must have been the WWII influence because I don’t hear that phrase today. 

Ashley is preparing a small tumbler of liquid Motrin for Emma (8) who is suffering the trauma of what is called a pallet expander.
       
Motrin ingredients – Active: Ibuprofen 100mg (NSAID)* in each 5 mL (1 tsp)
 Inactive ingredients -  acesulfame potassium, anhydrous citric acid, FD&C Red #40, flavors, glycerin, polysorbate 80, pregelatinized starch, purified water, sodium benzoate, sucralose, sucrose, xanthan gum
Hmmmmm - inactive? Guess it could be anything, and can’t hurt you as long as it’s inactive.

Anyway, a pallet expander - to a child this would be best described as a miniature medieval torture device. I’m guessing that it is a recent invention like the chocolate chip pancakes but it may have taken an actual rocket scientist to dream this one up. It’s supposed to correct tooth alignment, something like braces (more or less). Depending on the personality of the child a side effect of the pallet expander is starvation. The good news is that 8 year olds are still able to kiss other 8 year olds with pallet expanders. This is an improvement over braces, where there was the prospect of locking braces – albeit no known cases in modern history.

Ashley places two glasses of liquid in front of Emma, one fruit juice the other milk. Emma is sitting sideways at the table, a bit pushed back. I recognize this posture from the antics of my own children a generation ago. It’s the “I’m not eating” protest posture.   

Why is it that many children do not want to eat? More to the point – do not want to eat anything you want them to eat. Has anyone figured this out? I think it has something to do with the knowledge that eating is the one thing that they control entirely. That has to be it.

I don’t know what Eddie eats (his paper plate is already in the garbage), but John has begun whimpering again and is now hauling his plate of pop-tarts toward the garbage container under the sink. Dad intercepts him here, holding John’s arm. Johnny begins to slowly tilt his plate, slanting it like the bed of a dump-truck.  The fact that Johnny is turning the plate ever so slowly and looking at his dad’s eyes impresses me because it distracts his father’s gaze. Just as the tart is about to slide off dad recovers.

“Johnny!” What are you doing?” He grabs the plate and the pop-tarts.

I go into the other room, look out the front window. I hear a fight developing over the TV remote, between Emma and Edward. I walk into the TV room knowing there is no solution to this problem.

I had it first. I was watching this. No you weren’t. Was too. As I said - no solution.

I try to think of an enforceable rule. OK you get it today, she gets it tomorrow. That never works. Nobody wants it tomorrow. So I think to myself, “Forget it. Nothing will work.”

Instead I say, “OK, give me the remote. No more TV!”

It’s a miracle. Emma goes upstairs to brush her hair. Ed opens a book. They both seem to accept my edict. That’s it, that’s all you have to do? Be stern (difficult), be fair (no such thing) and try your utmost to speak calmly (difficult). Most important, do not care about the result – ever - and don’t get your hopes up is all I can say.

It is still early but I announce that Ed and Emma should get into the car. “Get your backpacks. Get your shoes on.” I get Johnny on the couch and begin the shoe business. His feet do not cooperate. Were I a parent of young children today I would NOT have children take shoes off when they come in the house - ever. Keep them on until you go to bed. Put them back on in the morning as soon as you get out of bed. “Shoes are either under your bed or on your feet. That’s the rule!” Emphasize this. Probably it would never work, but it’s a good idea. No?  Or you could sleep with your shoes on. That might be even better.

Emma and Eddie start trudging to the car. Dad says he will take Johnny.  

On the way to school I am told that I drive too slowly.

“Why do you?” Eddie wants to know. "Because I have precious cargo," I say. Not sure if Eddie gets it.

At school I watch them trudge up the walkway, Ed with backpack, Emma, with a small suitcase on wheels. It is my favorite moment. They book in - post haste – with focused urgency like a commuter late for a train. The scene warms my heart.