Listen

Listen to me. Are you listening? Did you hear me? What did I say?

I can’t count how many times a week I say this to one of my kids. On some days I say it to all three of them. It is exhausting, really. It feels like I am talking to thin air sometimes.

Put on your shoes.

Find your shoes.

I’m leaving in 2 minutes, please put some shoes on.

What?

Your jacket?

 I don’t know, I didn’t wear it.

Are your shoes on?

I’m leaving in a minute, seriously.

Leave the cat alone. It’s time to go.

Did you find your shoes?

We’re leaving.

Did you hear me?

I’m leaving.

Now.

Shoes.

Find them.

And nine times out of 10, I am walking out the door when I realize he/she is still barefoot.

It’s a small thing, perhaps, but enough to make me crazy. I often lament to my friends on how much I talk and seem to be ignored completely. They don’t hear me call their names when it’s time to come in. They don’t hear me ask them to get their jammies on. They don’t hear me say that no, you really can’t have any more snacks before bed tonight. They don’t hear me tell them to clean up their rooms. They don’t hear me ask them to put boots on before they collect the eggs in the chicken coop.

I question my parenting abilities on a daily basis. If they can’t follow a simple direction like “put on your shoes,” how in the world are they going to navigate the hard parts of life?

And just when I am convinced that they hear nothing, they absorb nothing, and I officially suck at parenting, I overhear a conversation that stops me cold.

I was in the kitchen making supper, and I could hear the girls in the backyard talking. I couldn’t make out their words, but the tone was pleasant. I decided I wouldn’t check on them, since I was in the middle of a complicated recipe, and they didn’t appear to be killing each other yet.

Before long, I could hear Emma shouting “Mom, Mom! Come here quick!” I bolted outside, convinced that there was some disaster in the making, and privately berating myself for trusting the quiet a little too much. I rounded the corner of the house to see Carys riding her bike (no training wheels!) and pedaling her little heart out. She was laughing out loud with that incredulous giggle, like even she could not believe what she was doing. Meanwhile, Emma was jumping up and down and cheering from the sidelines.

I was overcome. This was a long time coming for my middle one…she has always been more timid, more careful, more cautious, than her older sister. When she finally stopped and I was able to scoop her up into a hug, she exclaimed, “Emma teached me, Mom!”

That alone, was a proud moment, knowing my oldest took the time to pass on some knowledge. Then Emma decided to start her up again. As Emma held the seat, she was quietly murmuring instructions. I heard her say, “Okay, get the pedal up to the top. Good job. Now put one foot on the pedal, sis. I’ll hold the seat til’ you get goin’. Don’t worry, I got you! Pedal hard, remember. You can do it!”

I can still hear Aaron using the same words when he taught Emma to ride. Once Carys got going again, Emma threw her arms up in the air and yelled, “Whoo Hoo!” She came over to me and said, “I’m so proud of her, Mom!”

I was feeling the same thing. About both of them, actually. She’s listening. They’re listening. Maybe not to the day-to-day boring parts of life, but at least some of the time, our words are getting in there.

I just hope I can remember that, the next time I stub my toe on the kitchen table leg and have to answer the question, "Mom? What does that word mean?"

Truth

The difference between Moms and Dads, according to Aaron:

When little boys crash, Dads put them back on the bike.

Moms pick them up and carry them to the house.

True.

Unplugged

On Friday night, we unplugged the satellite dish from our television sets. It was more or less an impulsive decision, based largely on the fact that our kids are gravitating more and more to the TV than to anything else on the farm and also that I can stand right next to them and call their name and they don’t even hear me. Our television must have some strange magnetic pull or something. Lately they have chosen television over outside play more often than I’d like to admit.

I will be the first one to say that I thought it would be torturous. I use the DVR on our satellite to record lots of shows, and I watch them back after the kids go to bed. I am a night owl, so I am often up until midnight “catching-up” on things I missed. I really thought it was going to be difficult, and it was. For about 24 hours. That’s when I came to the rather painful realization that TV has been my escape hatch for far too long.

Okay, let’s be honest, here. I look forward to the kids’ bedtime so that I can have a couple of hours to myself. From 6am when I’m getting the kids up and fed and dressed and off to school, to work where I interact all day with middle-schoolers, (yes, you’re jealous, I know) back to home where I cook and clean and bathe and check homework and strain lard and start kitchen fires, to bedtime at 8:15pm, I am at the beck and call of a whole lot of other people. My husband wonders why I like to stay up late…I tell him it’s the only time all day where I belong to me.

Until last Friday, I devoted way too much “me time” to the television. I won’t even try to defend that decision with excuses about staying culturally relevant and mindless entertainment. Until I Unplugged I didn’t really see a problem. Once the television was no longer available to me, I experienced a strange, mindless phenomenon. More than once I wandered into the living room before I remembered there was nothing to do there. Except vacuum it. (Which I finally did, BTW.)

I actually wandered aimlessly for hours around the house. The only thing I could find to do in the kitchen was clean off a countertop. In the dining room I decided to disassemble a fort made of afghans and pillows. The bathroom was a disaster, as usual. Spent almost 20 minutes in there. Hmmm….it’s only 9:15. Let’s see…I can fold some laundry. And pick up the toys on the steps. (Are you sensing a pattern, here?)

I finally went to bed at 9:45. Of course I couldn’t sleep, so I wrote a quick note to a friend in a card, then picked up a book I’ve been meaning to get to. I read until about 10:15 and then I actually shut off the light and went to sleep. At 10:15!

The result? I woke up without an alarm at 5:15. I was ready for work more than 40 minutes before I usually am. And I actually felt pretty rested. And my house was clean! (Well, clean-er, but you know what I mean.)

Sounds awesome, right? It actually is. I got a little panicky when I realized I was going to miss the finale of The Amazing Race. And The Voice. And the next episode of Chopped: All-Stars. But honestly, once I resigned myself to finding something else to do, I stopped missing it.

We left the DVD hooked up; I rented RedBox movies for the kids on Sunday and we had a popcorn night. That was super-fun, and after they went to bed I was able to organize three drawers in the buffet and bake a loaf of banana bread. I am making no promises about how long I can sustain this. But I will say it has improved the quality of my life for the time being.

The kids, you ask? The kids didn’t even blink an eyelash. I said the TV was done, and they put on their shoes and went outside. We have two new baby piglets to take care of…the trampoline is swept off…the bike tires are pumped up…the tire swing is ready to go. They haven’t missed it at all.