Is Pluto really that important???

“No one else will ever know the strength of my love for you. After all, you’re the only one who knows the sound of my heart from the inside.”

-Kristen Proby

I have seen this quote so many times and it reminds me of those memes that show expectation vs. reality.

Not to diminish the sweetness of the phrase. I love it. I have lived the reality of it. I love my children with a fierce, overwhelming love over which I have zero control.  I am amazed at it sometimes. The largeness of it, the protective nature that takes over without my control.

There is another phenomenon of parenting that also never ceases to amaze me, almost as much as the depth of my love for my children.

The sheer audacity these people have whenever I close the restroom door. Apparently the privilege of hearing my heartbeat from the inside entitles these people to demand entrance into that specific room  whenever I enter it for whatever reason. At that moment it is imperative that they know if I believe Pluto should still be a planet, where have all the grapes gone, do I know of any friends that live around us, or if I think we could go get new shoes immediately after my shower.

Thankfully after the age of two they do not just bust in, but that has been replaced with knocking on the door and a full conversation through the door. My favorite is when they are talking to me over the shower noise and I have to turn off the the shower to hear the burning questions.

“Why don’t you just ignore them??,” you may ask.

Because. The one time I do not answer someone will be bloodied and broken, the house will be on fire or we will be under a mandatory evacuation that actually does require my assistance.

Not to minimize the importance of Pluto’s status in the universe, but I feel like my opinion on that matter may be able to wait until I have dried my hair.

Things I have learned since having boys

I am an only child. I had all girl cousins until I was in 5th grade, and even after the boys were born, I didn’t hang out with them all that much. I knew very little about what little boys did until I had my own. I still don’t understand how they work, but I have learned a lot in the last 11 years. The following is just the tip of the iceberg, really:

Pie for breakfast? Of course! It’s Summer.

 

I love when my boys are off school. I do.

This summer has been filled with water slides, Chevy Chase style cross country expeditions to see a mouse, trips to Sonic happy hour, IMAX screenings, friends visiting and more.

There is an element of summer I am not proud to announce. It occurred to me this week as I was taking my kids out (not for the first time that day) and I realized it was 4 p.m. and the two small ones had not brushed their teeth yet that day.

There had been warning signs along the way. Little hints to my decline. Like when Evan came out of his room in black sport shorts and a black T-shirt. He looked like a sniper. I said nothing.

Caleb outfit
Would you let your kid wear this sock-and-sandal combination? If it’s summer, you do.

Or when I bought Caleb some Croc-like shoes that are actually in the shape of crocodiles.

Then there was the cereal. I bought them Cinnamon Toast Crunch. The real stuff with BHT. Apparently you do feed people you love carcinogens.

And as I write this, my eldest is wearing the exact same sniper ensemble (in his size, mind you) that Evan wore.

Summer has won, folks. Some would call it “choosing your battles.” I call it defeat.

You want tooth-rotting fruit snacks, kids?

Why not.

Pie for breakfast?

Of course!

Do we haaavvvveeeee to take a shower again????

Well, it’s just been two days and we did go swimming today. No.

We – no, I – need structure. I fall apart and lose all good sense without clearly defined schedules and bedtime rituals.

Don’t be confused. This is not a call for school to start stat. This is a wake-up call for me. I have realized I have different standards for acceptable daily life during the summer than I do during the school year.

And I’m so OK with that.