Focus

When I had two kids, the prospect of a weekend without Daddy struck panic into my heart. I would do just about any amount of traveling or begging to find a way to have help for the weekend. It seems kind of silly now, but in defense of my silliness, my first two were pretty rotten sleepers and pretty intense little people, not to mention that their mommy is on the intense side. Or so I'm told.

But since the advent of the third, my perspective has changed. I certainly don't relish a weekend without Daddy, and I would never choose one, but I feel confident in my ability to get through the days and even to enjoy the kids along the way. I think perhaps my expectations and the reality of parenting have finally collided. I don't really expect to be rested or that the kids will follow my plan for their napping schedules or that the weather will be perfect or that friends will be available, and so I'm freed to just enter into the weekend, not sure what it will hold.

One thing I do notice about single parenting, though (and man, do I respect single mothers more every time I do it!) is that I can become more stern and joyless as I have sole charge of all the chores and transitions of our days from morning to night. I forget to laugh sometimes because I'm so focused on the preparing food, serving, cleaning it up, dressing, diapering, pottying, tidying, maintaining order.

This afternoon was classic. We were trying to get out the door to go get favors for Davis's upcoming birthday party and then hit Chick-Fil-A for some playland action and dinner. I'm feeling pretty magnanimous for providing such fun, and the kids had been enthusiastic about the plan until some sort of disagreement broke out between the oldest two. Now Davis is sulking and complaining, refusing to put his shoes on, and I'm delivering this classic lecture about how "this whole trip is for you and if you don't have a good attitude about it, we really don't have to go." I mean, cue the Charlie Brown adult voice: "wah, wah, wah, wah, wah wah." I'm even annoying myself.

Then I realize that Zoe, aged 2 1/2, is behind me, also delivering some sort of lecture. I've been tuning her out but as I pay attention to her little voice, here's what she's saying: "Focus, Davis. Focus. Focus, Davis. Focus."

Her lecture not only propelled all of us into hysterical laughter, but it reminded me to chill out a little. As Charlie Brown would say, "Good grief!" Lord willing, Daddy will be home tomorrow. We'll be just fine until then. And if I can remember to laugh, we might even enjoy ourselves until he comes home.