"There comes a time in the day that no matter what the question...the answer is wine."
-- Erin Smith Calendar, May 2010
I reached the above-mentioned time of day at about 2:30p this afternoon -- shortly after Django & Savanna refused to nap, despite my best attempts to cajole, browbeat and/or bribe them into it. The whole failed endeavor ended on a particularly sour note for me, when Django shouted up quite cheerfully from downstairs (where he'd been giggling and pussyfooting in my bed with Savanna for well over half an hour, I might add): "Sorry I peed in your bed again, Mama. Please change my diaper right now." The situation quickly went from bad to worse during the neighborhood walk we took instead, in which a brief squabble over turns driving a pretend school bus at the local used children's clothing store turned into a full-throttle, 45-minute temper tantrum, all the way home and then some. But, for the record, I resisted the urge to open my much-needed bottle of wine until I sat down here to type, at around 8p...The little guy, in case you're wondering, was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow at 7:10p.
These are days to remember. And also to forget.
Speaking of remembering, forgetting, and all the terrible confusion in-between, I recently finished reading a Po Bronson book I found in a free book box. You know the kind, the one in which you see a certain book and think, I should grab that, because you read or heard something somewhere, about something else entirely, by the same author? And then you think, No I shouldn't, because it's probably crap and I won't read it anyway? But you do (grab it) and you do (somehow read it) and in retrospect it seems like it was 'meant to be'? Yeah, well, I love that because it makes me feel like there's a beneficent cosmic radio station always broadcasting somewhere, even if I can only occasionally tune in with my receiver. But I hate it, too, because it also makes me feel like a New Age/Hippie. Back to the point, though, I found Po Bronson's "Why Do I Love these People" to be an absolutely spell-binding book. A daunting one, too. It's chock-full of incredible stories of family & personal resilience. Almost every story made me think, on some level, Wow. Could I overcome that? I seriously doubt it!
In other words, the stories in that book forced me to get a little -- no, ok, a lot -- more real about what it takes to be a good role model for family. So far, I think my chances of achieving such a thing are about as good as my chances of winning the lottery. But I keep trying to remind myself that, like the lottery, you can't win if you don't play.
So we play...As you can see here for yourself, we play in science museums, swimming pools, explorer's coves, patio chairs, rain puddles, kitchen tables, sunny streets and zoo windows. We play with sculptures and friends and balls and relatives and wigs and mirrors and buttons and rocks and water and baskets and worms and blocks and scissors and tape and paint and wild animals. Oh, we do play. And even though I hope that nothing more traumatic than a 45-minute tantrum ever happens to our family, if a time comes when something does, I sure hope all the loving, happy, wonder-filled moments that have gone before become glue that holds us each and all together. That would be the ultimate jackpot.
