They’re everywhere and into everything. The taller one, the girl, I asked her to clean up her play room ten minutes ago and so far she’s placed Cinderella’s horse on top of her doll house and made herself a pretend sandwich from the plastic food in her play kitchen. I should go put her in timeout, but I don’t blame her. We both know that cleaning in this home is a futile work because…there’s another one. He’s shorter with small legs, he only just learned to walk, but I swear he has the swiftness of a jackrabbit, the stealth of an alley cat, and the strength of a wild ox. Wait. Where is the small one? Last I remember he was running toward the top of the stairs with a sheet over his head laughing hysterically…or was that me? Snap out of it man! Ah, ha. I see him. He’s standing on the kitchen table pouring a full glass of water down his face. How did he get up there so fast? Can they fly? Oh please tell me they can’t fly!! I swore I wouldn’t do this. Oh no, when it was no longer Stacy, and it was me watching these kids all day, I swore I would never…but I must.
“Addy! Kellan! You guys want to sit down and watch a T.V. show? How about Octonauts or Paw Patrol?”
The tall one, she took advantage of the chance to get out of cleaning and moved directly to the couch. But the little one, he’s got empty in his belly. Before I could even begin to clean up the mess on the kitchen table, I heard a loud wail and the sound of two pint sized fists furiously pounding the pantry doors that withheld him from his desired gorge.
“Just a minute bud,” I said, struggling to maintain a grasp on my last thread of sanity while feverishly scrolling through the T.V.’s On Demand options. I found Octonauts in record time. The tall one has been neutralized…but wait, the pounding has ceased. At least with the pounding I knew where the small one was, but now…he could be anywhere. Just as I went to take a step to check for him under the kitchen sink, I felt two small arms wrapped around my legs with fists gripping the bottom of my shorts like a teenager white knuckling the steering wheel at 10 and 2 during his driver’s license test. Before I could move my head down to see the child at my feet, he flung his head back full tilt, opened his mouth wide and released a bellowing both deep and high in pitch while being quiet yet loud in volume. How is this possible? I thought, as I lifted Kellan up and carried him over to strap him into his booster seat. The straps would keep him immobilized, but the howling would be ceaseless until the craving of his hunger had been satisfied. Ok, now food. As I moved toward the refrigerator I heard, “Daddy, something’s wrong with the T.V.” My heart began to panic. Fearfully, I slowly turned away from the refrigerator to look at the television screen and saw an “Error 14”where Octonauts should have been. I froze. At that moment, I was convinced the cable company had honed in on my weakness and sent forward this error to destroy me.
“Fix it daddy. Please fix it daddy. What happened daddy? What’s it say? There’s a four daddy. That’s how old I am! Next year I’ll be five years old. A big girl daddy! What are grandma and grandpa going to get me for my birthday when I turn five years old? I can have coffee when I turn twenty-one. Can I have pretend coffee with my dinner daddy? I’m hungry. Why’s Kellan crying? When I was a three years old girl I used to cry, but not now daddy. I’m a big girl. But I do cry sometimes like when I get a boo boo, but not a little boo boo, a big boo boo. What happened to the T.V. daddy? Can you fix it..?” Without pausing to breathe, this nonsensical procession came from the tall one as the small one continued to wail. I stood in a daze staring silently at the “Error 14”. As the screams of small one swirled through our house like a the blare of a fire engine’s horn and the questions of the tall one beat against me like a prized boxer against a speed bag , the following three questions circled on the merry-go-round that used to be my brain, “Do I feed the small one first? Do I fix the T.V. first? Is this really what Stacy used to do every day?”
I can honestly say I had no idea. Back when I was working full time in corporate aviation, I can distinctly remember coming home from a long day at work to a few dirty dishes in the sink and thinking, “Stacy’s been home all day. Why are there dishes in the sink? It’s pretty simple: just clean them up after everyone’s done eating.” I can remember Stacy telling me that she had been busy and moving all day, but with the business and the kids there just wasn’t enough time to get everything done. I told her it was ok, picked up Kellan and Addy and gave them each the huge type of hug that only daddy’s can give, passively hugged Stacy, then made it a point to do the dishes myself while she was still in the room. As much as I’m ashamed to admit it, it’s true.
And now, I don’t know how she got anything done. Trying to keep a house perfectly clean with a four year old and a one year old running from end to end is like trying to pick up trash along a stretch of highway while a garbage truck rolls behind you popping a wheelie with the back end open. The problem is what to do with the kids. Sure, you can put them in front of the T.V., but you’ll feel guilty. You can try to keep them in one room, but they get bored and boredom leads to curiosity, and curiosity leads to Kellan turning the water in our bathtub on full blast and trying to climb in fully clothed. You can even put together a schedule (which really is a good idea), but the second an unfinished, cold cup of coffee is left unattended and spilled all over a child and a carpet, whatever you had scheduled to do now involves a bath (or two), a load of laundry, Resolve carpet cleaner, and, of course, another cup of coffee.
Ok, I know…it sounds like I’m complaining, but I’m not. I would never ever take back the decision Stacy and I made to come together as business partners and stay-at-home-parent partners, because for every one of the stories above there are hundreds of these:
“Da. Da.” Said Kellan in a giggle. I looked up from the neatly placed sets of folded clothes I was working on to see him standing on one of the shirts I just folded. He was wearing only his white onesie and a pair of his sister’s sunglasses that he had properly rested on one ear with the other side hanging by his cheek. “Da. Da.” he said again walking closer to me and pointing to his one un-sunglassed eye.
“Come here Bubba. Let me help you out buddy.” I said before placing the sunglasses across the bridge of his nose and over both ears. He immediately smiled and put his little one-year-old hands on the rims of the glasses and walked over to our bed. I smiled too. In that moment it was just me and him, and I knew I couldn’t have been blessed with a more perfect son. Once he got to the foot of our bed, for a reason only he knows, Kellan began to strike a pose like something straight out of Zoolander! I swear I saw him doing “Blue Steel”. It was everything I could do to calm my fits of laughter, take my cell phone out of my pocket and take this pic of him nailing the “Tom Cruise in Risky Business.”..or as I like to call it “Risky Bubbaness.”
There are also hundreds of these…
Walking on Wednesday | Do You Want to Build a Snowman?
I wouldn’t trade the time I’ve had with my kids for anything in this world, but I now know firsthand that stay-at-home-moms have it hard. They’re underappreciated, overworked, and completely lose their sanity at least once a day. They don’t get a pay check, they don’t have a 401K, they don’t get any awards or a bonus for exceptional performance. And, at the end of an exhausting day, they can look forward to being appreciated by their husbands walking through the front door and wondering why the dishes weren’t done.
This experience has shown me that I was wrong. I should have changed then, I am changing now, and as husbands we should all change. A stay-at-home mom’s work is continuously confirmed throughout the day by the hugs, kisses, and the love of her children, but at the end of the day, they do it all for us (the husbands) and the families we’ve been so blessed to lead. So, when you come home, and there are dishes in the sink, turn to your wife, kiss her, hug her, love her, and thank her for the person she is and for everything she goes through every day to provide for you and your family. Remember the words of Proverbs 31:10-15:
10 An excellent wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels.11 The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he will have no lack of gain.12 She does him good, and not harm, all the days of her life. 13 She seeks wool and flax, and works with willing hands. 14 She is like the ships of the merchant; she brings her food from afar. 15 She rises while it is yet nightand provides food for her household and portions for her maidens.
You have an excellent wife. Never let a day go by where you don’t show her that she is far more precious than any jewels and more important than a few dirty dishes.
God Bless,
Steve
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