I think it's an act of kindness to just shut up

A few weeks ago I was taking a rare free moment and browsing some home school message boards. On there, a frazzled mom posted a plea of, "Please tell me it gets better, it gets easier!" and then at the end of her message qualified her plea with a "don't say anything if you can't reassure me."

Up until I saw that I was thinking sorry, no, it gets a whole lot harder chicky-beans. But I did take pity on her, remembering how desperate that time of life can be, and did not point out that the older children get the more emotionally taxing they are. The older they get, the more you feel like your car is your home. The older they get, the more your bank account develops an unaccountable drain -- groceries, extracurriculars, clothing, higher-priced gadgets.

I get a lot of "I know you're busy..." and inside I'm always cringing a little thinking am I really that busy or do I just whine a lot? I suppose maybe it's a little bit of both.

Take Saturday. I slept in till a lovely 830'ish in the morning. This was sheer heaven. I live for the weekends because I am not a morning person and Monday through Friday I have to pour myself out of bed around 5 am otherwise I wouldn't get any time at all to check email and do a little 'net surfing. I stay up ungodly late on Friday and Saturday nights just because I can.

So Saturday, I got up after the boys (this is definitely one of the few perks of having older children), I stumbled into the kitchen and got the coffee going. I sat down in my chair and flipped on the computer. I had plans to mow. To do some laundry and some cleaning, to study up on the geography program. What I wound up doing was some minimal cleaning, running the two oldest to the airport to go on an CAP flight, taking all four to the mall after the flights were done, made dinner, did some dishes, and did some writing. I write short stories and it's a wonderful outlet, but it's a hobby I don't get to indulge in as often as I wish thanks to school being back in session.

Sunday we tackled chores after I got up even later, around 9'ish this time, positively slothful. I hate housework, I truly do. I have resigned myself to it, and together with my ipod, I can do pretty good, but if the chance arises to pawn it off on someone else, I'm there. So I offered the boys the opportunity: clean the inside of the house and I'll do the yard. They snapped up the offer because they happen to hate mowing. Fine by me!

They cleaned their bathroom, including the toilets. They dusted and vacuumed. They picked up the living room and cleaned up the kitchen and Jacob even made my bed. Under their beds there wasn't a stray toy to be found. Was every cleaning job done to perfection, no, but it was a good effort so I was happy. I managed to mow the front yard, edge the walk and trimmed/mowed the ditch. This ditch...it's legendary. Anyone who talks to me knows how much I hate this thing. It's like running a marathon. It's like hefting a loaded rucksack on a 50 mile march. I hate the ditch. But now it's done for at least two more weeks.

Then I had to tackle the garage. In the beginning of August I put in another section of landscaping on the right side of the house. The boy's all got new bikes this summer. The spot in the garage that is normally for my van was taken up by planters, a bale of hay, a wheelbarrow, wagon, a couple of shovels, and the boy's bikes. The side of the garage where Dan's car is normally parked was occupied by the pool we'd taken down a few weeks back, cleaned, and laid out to finish drying. You so do not want to fold up wet plastic and let it sit in an attic for a year. It'd be fairly moldly, stinky, and furry next summer. The plan was to get it in the attic before Dan left but like so many things, we didn't get to it in time.

Now I was on my own. Just me and a very large pool. I messily folded it and stared at the bulky pile of vinyl and then at the small opening leading into the attic. Huh. I looked at Jacob and said, "I think I need to refold it." He just snorted at me.

I did refold it. I Figured it'd be a tight fit but it'd fit. I scoured the garage for the rope we used to get heavy things up in the attic without killing anyone and rigged a harness before dragging it back into the garage and calling for Mike and Jake to help. It took a lot of tugging, pushing and praying but we got that monster up there. Phew.

While I was storing a few other things up there, like the tents and camping chairs, Ben wanted to browse through the items previously stored but he wanted Brad to be up there with him. Ben, you see, is afraid of being alone. I totally take blame for this. We've let him watch Dr. Who and Ghosthunters and A Haunting...he thinks he's going to be grabbed by stone statues or brushed against by a poltergeist. The funny thing is, Brad is afraid of heights and went up the stairs and down the stairs no less than six times. Ben is all the time quailing for Brad to "hurry up!" Finally I was going up one last time to do some last minute arranging and said, "Let's go. If you're going to do it, let's do it now, because this is it."

Brad climbed, got all the way to the top, then said, "No. I can't do it. Let me down. My legs are turning to jello."

I subscribe to the school of, "Just do it." I was behind him and I pushed on his butt and said, "Get up there. I've got you." I knew he'd kick himself a hundred times over for wussing out repeatedly.

He finally realized I wasn't backing down and grumped, "Fine, just quit pushing me!"

He did make it up there. He walked around. He and Ben begged to bring down the karate gear (no), the big oversized white teddy bear (again, no). Then it was time to go back down and suddenly Brad realized a snag in his agreeing to go up. Now he had to go down. He sat at the opening and insisted, "No, really. Mom. I can't do this." At which time I very unsympathetically pointed out, "You really don't have a choice."

Thankfully Bradley, while being a little fearful, is intelligent. He realized that living in the attic wasn't an option. He was a little shaky, a little slow, but he got down.

And I got my garage back! It took a couple of hours, there was some very scary-sized dead spiders in dark places, but it cleaned up nice and both cars are back where they belong.

Some friends thought that was a busy day...today put that day to shame. Today I:

Re-set the alarm to 6 am. I was so dead tired.
Got up at 6 and woke boys. Checked email.
Made breakfast. Woke boys, again (two stragglers).
Graded workbooks really quick before we had to start.
Went over grammar mistakes.
Taught Ben English.
Jake spelling, Mike spelling, Brad spelling.
Ben vocabulary.
emptied dishwasher
did history reading
shepherded children through independent work
folded laundry
taught Ben math
helped Brad with vocabulary
reviewed math assignment with Jake from Friday
more ushering kids through assignments
folded more laundry
did dishes
cut up a pineapple
peeled potatoes and set aside for dinner
made lunch
sat down for a whopping 35 minutes at lunch time
taught math to older three
folded laundry
Ben spelling and grammar
Latin for all
science
more reading
Mike re-do math, didn't show work, oy vey!
kids put away laundry
prepare chicken, bake brownies
spritz fern
kick soccer ball with boys
weed landscaped area
cook dinner
harass Ben to practice guitar
go to my first guitar lesson (I'm going to learn along with the boys)
go to grocery store on the way home, note, teen boys eat A LOT
practiced first song once I was home after putting away groceries (boys helped)


Seriously, that is one long day. And tomorrow we go to co-op in the morning, we have art and music study, then we have music lessons in the afternoon, Civil Air Patrol in the evening...Tuesday's are long.

And this is what I didn't want to tell this poor woman -- that yes, when they are little, you might feel tired, exhausted, worn to the nub, but when those children age, you start saying prayers every night that you're disciplining them well, that you are steering them in the right direction that you, Please God, are not screwing up. You take them to music and sports and class and you pore over assignments and help them learn, you fight against frustration when concepts don't click, you think how is this child ever going to make it in the world, and you begin to suspect that raising children is like shoveling the drive in a snow storm; it's relentless. You long for those early years when the most trying experience was getting them to use the toilet. While I can still appreciate the fear of having the only child that graduates in diapers, it is nothing compared to the fear of guiding your child to avoid drugs, turn away from alcohol, study so they can get into a good college, don't hit your brother even one more time, because if you do, your mother will not be held accountable for the words she snaps out.

The sad thing about all of the above is that in order to hopefully reap the rewards of successfully raising your child, you have to endure both stages: the physically exhausting years and the mentally challenging ones. Frankly, I'm amazed that there are sane parents left in the world and I marvel at how my parents survived.