Today, I accomplished a great feat worthy of the Nobel Peace Prize. No, I didn't cure cancer, end world hunger or erradicate terrorism. I got all my children, the number which is more than two but less than five, ready to get their bus in seven minutes flat. Woke up, 7:51am, out the door to wait for the bus, 7:58am. Yes, there were tears. I barked orders like a drill Sargent. I felt bad. But WE DID IT.
I remember lying in bed next to my husband, tracing hearts over his bare chest, talking about a "large family". It sounded sort of nice. A bunch of little Kate-and-hubby clones, running barefoot in the yard, their dad chasing them and eliciting raucous laughter as I stood on the deck with a big pitcher of homemade lemonade.
Yeah, right.
Now I have as many children as I've had my heart broken. They are not puppies, that poop and pee in the yard and can be bathed one a week. No. My brood are all under four years old, with only one NOT in diapers. All those baths every night, teeth brushed a.m. and p.m., snacks, diaper changes, boo-boos kissed, fights broken up, scrawled and scribbled pictures to admire...outfits to pick out and wrestle over defiant little heads, bedtime stories to read and nighttime fears to overcome. And forget about the expense....having a "large family" is a full time job in itself. I am exhausted most of the time.
And doing it alone??
I am low-income. Conclusively. I spend many sleepless nights adding, subtracting, multiplying and praying. And in some ways, I meet the criteria perfectly. My kids are nearly always barefoot and dirty. I wear cutoff jeans more than I'd like to admit. My husband walked out and has little interest in our finances or daily life. We get in to nasty fights when he calls. I drink. I smoke cigarettes, a lot.
But every day I work to break that stereotype. It's my personal affirmation.
My preschooler knows what Ratatouille is, and not just the Disney movie. We don't have cable, and the T.V. is not a baby sitter. We eat extremely well. We cook together, recipes from all over the world. We go to church on Sundays, where my whole full-time nursery class sits (more or less) quietly in the pew as our Pastor reaffirms our faith and then they all shuffle off to learn about God as I sit and pray for penance for my shortcomings and the terrible things I've thought, and usually said, all week. I read to my kids, every night, from birth on. My house is not sparkling, but most of the time it's clean. We are the typical low-income white trash family on the surface, but look deeper, and we're so much more.
When my daughter was the only child, she was spoiled. Name-brand clothing, more toys than your local daycare center, vacations to Florida to visit Mickey and vacations up North to see the first snow and my Father-in-law. But, kids are expensive. We've had to adjust, severely. At first I was miserable, guilt ridden. We're broke. Everyone's laughing at me. I can't provide as well as I should. But in having WAY too many children and not nearly enough money, I've learned so much.
You have your bachelor's in pyschology? Yeah, well I have A doctorate in my children's pyschology. When you're broke, overwhelmed and overworked, all you have left in your spare time is to revel in your little miracles. I know how to elict laughter, who gets along with who, what will unavoidably turn to tears. I know it all. I know that one week at Disney World is worth a lot less than a whole summer worth of walks to the playground, cookouts in the driveway, late night movie nights and days at the beach. I know that all the toys in the world cannot possibly be as fun as all gathering in the kitchen to bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies. I know that no educational dvds or "learning systems" can hold a candle to what we learn exploring the world together, that no one can teach my children to read better than I can, brandishing our beat-up copy of "Mr. Brown can Moo, can You?" for the eight millionth time. I hate to be cliche, but when it comes to money and children, less can be more. When your resources are limited, you find yourself improvising in ways you never thought was possible. And as much time and work as it is, more is more with children. You think your heart is finite, that with each child it cannot grow to accomidate all the space required to love this family ballooning in front of your eyes. But my love for my children is endless...this I have learned. I couldn't imagine my life without them, each and every one.
I'd be lying if I said that my life was complete, though. There is a tinge of resentment in everything I do; it's dark and toxic and menancing. A longing for some semblence of an adult identity outside of offical poop-wiper and monster-sprayer. It makes me snap when I wish I wouldn't, it makes me collapse in bitter exhaustion at this end of the night and stare at my cell phone, wishing it would ring, knowing it won't.
I read somewhere that having children doesn't neccessarily make you happier. In polls, people with children can actually be less happy than those without. I can believe it. The question I leave you with, the question I've had hanging in my own head - how do you balance the wonderful identity you find in yourself when you have children, with the identity you had before??
I remember lying in bed next to my husband, tracing hearts over his bare chest, talking about a "large family". It sounded sort of nice. A bunch of little Kate-and-hubby clones, running barefoot in the yard, their dad chasing them and eliciting raucous laughter as I stood on the deck with a big pitcher of homemade lemonade.
Yeah, right.
Now I have as many children as I've had my heart broken. They are not puppies, that poop and pee in the yard and can be bathed one a week. No. My brood are all under four years old, with only one NOT in diapers. All those baths every night, teeth brushed a.m. and p.m., snacks, diaper changes, boo-boos kissed, fights broken up, scrawled and scribbled pictures to admire...outfits to pick out and wrestle over defiant little heads, bedtime stories to read and nighttime fears to overcome. And forget about the expense....having a "large family" is a full time job in itself. I am exhausted most of the time.
And doing it alone??
I am low-income. Conclusively. I spend many sleepless nights adding, subtracting, multiplying and praying. And in some ways, I meet the criteria perfectly. My kids are nearly always barefoot and dirty. I wear cutoff jeans more than I'd like to admit. My husband walked out and has little interest in our finances or daily life. We get in to nasty fights when he calls. I drink. I smoke cigarettes, a lot.
But every day I work to break that stereotype. It's my personal affirmation.
My preschooler knows what Ratatouille is, and not just the Disney movie. We don't have cable, and the T.V. is not a baby sitter. We eat extremely well. We cook together, recipes from all over the world. We go to church on Sundays, where my whole full-time nursery class sits (more or less) quietly in the pew as our Pastor reaffirms our faith and then they all shuffle off to learn about God as I sit and pray for penance for my shortcomings and the terrible things I've thought, and usually said, all week. I read to my kids, every night, from birth on. My house is not sparkling, but most of the time it's clean. We are the typical low-income white trash family on the surface, but look deeper, and we're so much more.
When my daughter was the only child, she was spoiled. Name-brand clothing, more toys than your local daycare center, vacations to Florida to visit Mickey and vacations up North to see the first snow and my Father-in-law. But, kids are expensive. We've had to adjust, severely. At first I was miserable, guilt ridden. We're broke. Everyone's laughing at me. I can't provide as well as I should. But in having WAY too many children and not nearly enough money, I've learned so much.
You have your bachelor's in pyschology? Yeah, well I have A doctorate in my children's pyschology. When you're broke, overwhelmed and overworked, all you have left in your spare time is to revel in your little miracles. I know how to elict laughter, who gets along with who, what will unavoidably turn to tears. I know it all. I know that one week at Disney World is worth a lot less than a whole summer worth of walks to the playground, cookouts in the driveway, late night movie nights and days at the beach. I know that all the toys in the world cannot possibly be as fun as all gathering in the kitchen to bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies. I know that no educational dvds or "learning systems" can hold a candle to what we learn exploring the world together, that no one can teach my children to read better than I can, brandishing our beat-up copy of "Mr. Brown can Moo, can You?" for the eight millionth time. I hate to be cliche, but when it comes to money and children, less can be more. When your resources are limited, you find yourself improvising in ways you never thought was possible. And as much time and work as it is, more is more with children. You think your heart is finite, that with each child it cannot grow to accomidate all the space required to love this family ballooning in front of your eyes. But my love for my children is endless...this I have learned. I couldn't imagine my life without them, each and every one.
I'd be lying if I said that my life was complete, though. There is a tinge of resentment in everything I do; it's dark and toxic and menancing. A longing for some semblence of an adult identity outside of offical poop-wiper and monster-sprayer. It makes me snap when I wish I wouldn't, it makes me collapse in bitter exhaustion at this end of the night and stare at my cell phone, wishing it would ring, knowing it won't.
I read somewhere that having children doesn't neccessarily make you happier. In polls, people with children can actually be less happy than those without. I can believe it. The question I leave you with, the question I've had hanging in my own head - how do you balance the wonderful identity you find in yourself when you have children, with the identity you had before??
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