Embrace the Chaos
One of my younger Running Buddies has, perhaps not coincidentally, younger children. On a sweaty slog this week he described a recent day with his five-year-old daughter and three-year-old son. I don’t remember the exact details but there were a number of phrases in which words that don’t frequently show up in the same sentence appeared. “Peanut butter” and “hair” was one pairing. “Bed time” and “two hours later” another. Charles was happy, if tired. He and his wife had decided to “let it go”.--for one day at least. They have determined to “embrace the chaos.“
I am with them 100%. The Golden Years of "No!" and "Why?" and "How do you know?" won't come again. Don’t wish it away.
It is likely that the five-year-old will stay in her own bed and sleep through the night before she goes off to college. It is probable that the three-year-old will be completely potty trained long before he gets married. It is to be expected that the children will stop arguing with each other about to whom each meaningless broken plastic toy belongs. What is definite is that these magical years won't be around forever. The above scenarios are probable. The only guarantee is that the five-year-old will be five years old for 365 days in total. There are no mulligans. The day will soon come when their kids won't want to crawl into bed with them.
I know you have to work in the morning. I understand that you have economic stressors. I appreciate that you and your spouse aren't always on the same page regarding how to inspire your children's behavior. I share your concerns about the future of representative democracy. And don't forget your angst about bringing kids into a world that is getting dangerously warmer by the year. I acknowledge your concerns about inept politicians spewing outrageous fabrications that seem to be expressly designed to bring harm to your beloved children.
But bringing stress into your home effectuates the opposite of what you're hoping to achieve. Your little children don't know and don't need to know who thinks that the toy manufacturer Mattel is a country.
Every "remember when" story becomes precious in retrospect. Why not let the experiences be exquisite in real time.
My nine-year-old daughter insisted on my bringing an extra tent on a campout. No way was she sleeping in the same polyester structure as my son and me. So I was responsible for a million and five pounds of gear and extra time to set it up. Three and a half minutes after bed time, Mackenzie crawled into our now hopelessly overcrowded tent resulting in sore tired campers in the morning. My sore muscles have long since recovered. The memory remains.
It's like my Running Buddy Bob explained about Mile 20. Accept the pain, he advised. What did you think was going to happen after running for two and a half hours. Marathons are supposed to hurt. Otherwise everyone would do them and wearing the tee-shirt after the race wouldn't be such a big deal. Welcome the cramping, honor the discomfort, appreciate the chaffing. Embrace the chaos.
Similarly what made you think you were going to get a baby that didn't poop and barf, a toddler that slept through the night, a teenager who didn't roll their eyes at you, a young adult who welcomed your advice.
That some kids are easier than others is not news. And as I have mentioned, if you love the kids you get, you'll get the kids you love. You increase the likelihood that your child will indeed bring you joy--do well in school, be polite to your friends, laugh at your jokes--if you somehow manage not to blanket them with your anxiety.
Embrace the chaos. Don't wish it away. You can be late for school once in a while, the kids can occasionally go to bed without a bath, the dirty dishes will still be there in the morning. Cuddle up and read another chapter of Winnie the Pooh. Those sweet, soft years won't come again.
