It's not about you

I've been thinking about raising kids. Mostly because I'm not doing it anymore. My friends are exhausted by their weekend running around. Soccer, baseball, softball, mock trial, etc. etc. It boggles the mind how much time and money children eat. And not just eat.

When I had 3 little boys, all under 6, I was totally overwhelmed. I was changing a diaper, cooking a meal, or driving someone somewhere constantly. I insisted on cooked breakfast, adding to my load. And I washed clothes constantly. And towels. I had some crazy idea that towels and pajamas could only be worn/used once. You do the math. 3 towels, 3 pairs of pajamas every day. Admittedly, one of them wet the bed, so he had to wear clean every day. Looking back, the towels were a self-inflicted burden.

At this time, David worked for the Associated Press. He was never home. In fact one week, he covered an ATF seige in Northern Arkansas that lasted a week. He did not come home the entire time. There was no break from child-raising drudgery. And I mean the janitorial aspects. Having kids around is delightful. Changing diapers, cooking mac and cheese, doing laundry is drudgery.

Anyway, in the midst of this idyllic time, I had an epiphany. I had just settled on to the couch for a few minutes off my feet when Clark asked for a glass of water. I started to bitch him out for waiting until this moment to ask and thought to myself--it's not about you. He'd much rather be able to do this himself. He can't help it he is two and can't reach the sink. And truly, he didn't get thirsty to bug me.

I can't say that I was never short-tempered with them again, but that moment helped me from them on. It crystalized raising children for me. It was my job to be about them. I could be about me another time.

And now I can't see how it wasn't clear to me sooner. Child raising is about well. . . children. From the moment they come home from the hospital, they call the shots. They decide how often they sleep, when they eat, when they are sick. You are along for the ride. And the sooner you throw out that you can decide, the happier you become. Swimming up stream, fighting the inevitable takes more out of you than going with the flow. You can't make them sleep. You can't make them eat the things you want. This is another little person with opinions. Obviously caving to their every demand is not on. But some things are more about them than you.

Pretty soon, they go off to school all day. They leave. Then, it's all about you.

and the new blog is . . .

shereadshereads.blogspot.com. A new blog David and I are doing about, strangely, what I read and what he reads. We should be able to cover a wide range of books, since we so seldom read the same ones.

So all the literary stuff (such as it is) moves over there. I've read 25 books so far this year, which seems a little low to me. I need to kick it. I'll continue to rant and winge on this blog.

If ya got nothin' else to do, check out She read; he reads. David has some cool stuff about Dawn of the Dreadfuls by Steve Hockensmith. I'm on about Patricia Highsmith, David Hewson, and Carolyn Hart. Mark Billingham is up next because I'm reading it really fast.

The blog gives us both a chance to contemplate why we like what we like. I won't comment on any thing I hate because those I won't finish. I can't predict what David might do. It'll have something for everyone.

Imponderable questions

Why does the nicest grass from my lawn only grow in my flower beds?

Why don't cars going by who want to "share" the music on their radios play songs I like?

Why does it make more sense to fire, excuse me, lay off 5 people who make $50,000 instead of one making $250,00?

Why do weeds blend in except when someone else is looking at the garden?

Why are the beautiful days for being outside so windy?

Why do I always have free time for things I really don't want to do, but a scheduling conflict occurs during things I want to do?

Why do my roses fight back when I try to weed them?

And most importantly, why does no good deed go unpunished?