It’s just another day

Last week, I decided I would attempt to prepare our boys for Father’s Day. I let them help me wrap dad’s presents, and we talked about what exactly Father’s Day is. I’m pretty sure my time would have been better spent cleaning the gunk that accumulates around the bolts at the base of the toilet. (You know the ones.) What I found in my feeble attempts to acclimate two little boys to a government-created “day of appreciation” was that for us, Father’s Day is just another day.

The calendar has nothing to do with appreciating dad at our house. Twelve months of the year-seven day a week, our boys never tire of “appreciating” their dad. They appreciate wrestling matches and tickle fests. They appreciate slip and sliding and swimming at the pool. They appreciate working at the ball park and working in the yard. And above all, they appreciate endless innings of backyard baseball, no matter how many hours dad has already put in. Yes, our boys know how to “appreciate” their dad, although this might not be the exact word he would choose.

I learned a few new things myself this Father’s Day. I’m already making plans for next year.

1. They may be old enough to appreciate the theme song in the greeting card, but they are still too young to watch Raider’s of the Lost Ark.

2. Pallets in the floor are nothing more than an invitation to a body slam.

3. Slip and sliding may seem like a day-long activity, but it really only lasts 10 minutes.

4. Wet shorts on leather couches don’t do much for the décor.

5. No matter how many times you explain that it’s Father’s Day, the little one still wants to get a present.

6. Taking rides on a tractor and a combine create lasting memories in the mind of a child.

7. Three year olds won’t drink after their brothers, but they have no qualms about using their dad’s soggy toothpick.

8. Never put your finger in the peeling plaster of a wall. Evidently it’s a great place for hiding boogers.

9. Baseball can be played in the dark. What does the Mom know anyway?

10. Father’s Day has nothing to do with the calendar. At least at our house, it’s just another day.

And that’s All in a day’s work!

A child’s concept of time

“What time will Daddy be little?” A strange question to most, but not to a mom. It’s just one of the countless quandaries our little ones throw our way every day. Questions to which we really don’t have an appropriate answer. Questions that don’t even make much sense in the mind of most. But then it registers just who it is who’s doing the asking, and we’ll almost kill ourselves trying to come up with an informative and responsible answer.

I can almost see the wheels turning in his mind when my youngest boy says it. “Mommy, when you grow up, are you gonna be a little girl?” It seems logical to him. I have to remind myself though, that he doesn’t understand “later” or “tomorrow” or even “just a minute!” Why on earth would he understand the cycle and sequence of human life?

A child’s concept of time is something that is only truly understood by the little people themselves. First, for us, came the stage where everything in the past happened “yesterday”. A birthday that was last year. A visit to grandma’s last month. Kirk Gibson’s game winning home run in the 1988 World Series. All “yesterday”.

Not only did the past perplex us, but the future held it’s own set of problems. It took me a while to learn that we don’t talk about events that are to come until about 10 minutes before they are scheduled to take place. Otherwise, the count down of “days till we go” or “Is today the day” of whatever we’re planning will send a parent straight to the nuthouse. Surprise them. That’s what I say.

I first noticed that my boys were confused about the notion of time when I would lay them down for a nap. I’d explain that we needed to rest because “Daddy has a ballgame today.” Cooper would always get so upset. I couldn’t understand it until he finally blubbered, “If you make us go to bed, we’ll miss Daddy’s game!” It seemed to him that each time he went to bed was the end of that day and the beginning of “tomorrow“. I was starting to understand his frustration.

Brisco still has a hard time understanding why he has to go to bed when the sun is still up. “But Mom, It’s a sunny day!” he’ll protest. Yes, this passing of time thing is a notion that’s almost impossible for my children to grasp.

The most entertaining and noteworthy conversations I’ve had about the passing of time, however, always seem to come in the form of questions.

Cooper: “Mom, what time will you get married?”
I explained how the whole marriage thing works-edited for a four year old, of course-that his dad and I were married before he was born and then years later along he came, and he stared at me for a moment, I assumed taking it all in-processing every word. After a short pause, he said, “Now, what does all that mean?”

On another occasion, concerning the same topic:
Cooper: “I love you every day!”
I responded in kind, with a big hug and smooch on the cheek. To this he responded: “I want to get married to you!” Seeing the two of us laughing and wanting to get in on the action himself, Brisco added, “I want to be married to Cooper and you!” And after getting such a big laugh with that, he added, “I want to be married to Cooper and Daddy and you!” Then, just as quickly as the thought popped into his brain he spouted, “Hey, Mom! What time will you have a wife?” Anything for a laugh. That’s my boy.

I was sitting at the computer one day while the boys were outside playing ball. Brisco came in the back door, head hanging, arms lying limply at his sides. He was looking rather dejected. He sulked up next to me at the desk where I was sitting and said in his most pathetic three year old voice, “Maaahom. It’s taking too long.” I decided to bite. “For what, sweetie?” He replied, still moping, “For me to be the Daddy.” “What? Are you kidding? Slow down there, Buddy!” I teased. But I could see he was not moving. And he was not kidding.

I turned to him and asked, “Why do you wanna be the Daddy so soon?” He responded through his big, smile and with his crinkled up nose, “Because it will be fun!” I gave him a big hug, all the while thinking to myself, “Yeah, kid, it’s gonna be fun. Fun for me, watching you raise a little Brisco!”

I guess that’s a testament to the light in which he sees his own Daddy. Or maybe he just likes the idea of being on the other side of the belt. Either way, it’s another example of the confusion created when kids start contemplating the passing of time.

Kids can come up with the craziest questions. “When Martha grows up, will she be a little girl?” Seems silly, right? Makes no sense? I don’t know. I think somehow they might be on to something. I kinda like the idea of growing younger every day. Maybe a child’s concept of time isn’t so crazy after all.

And that’s All in a day’s work!

“Just a Mom”

The following passage came to me in an email, author unknown. I thought it good enough-and true enough-to share.

A woman, renewing her driver’s license at the County Clerk’s office, was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.

“What I mean is,” explained the recorder, “do you have a job or are you just a ....?”

“Of course I have a job,” snapped the woman. “I’m a Mom.”

“We don’t list ‘Mom’ as an occupation. ‘Housewife’ covers it,” said the recorder emphatically.

I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like, “Official Interrogator” or “Town Registrar.”

“What is your occupation?” she probed.

What made me say it? I do not know. The words simply popped out. “I’m a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations.”

The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written, in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.

“Might I ask,” said the clerk with new interest, “just what you do in your field?”

Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, “I have a continuing program of research (what mother doesn’t), In the laboratory and in the field (normally I would have said indoors and out). I’m working for my Masters (first the Lord and then the whole family), and already have four credits (all daughters).

Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities (any mother care to disagree?), and I often work 14 hours a day (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money.”

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk’s voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.

As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants—ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby) in the child development program, testing out a new vocal pattern.

I felt I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than “just another Mom.”

Motherhood! What a glorious career! Especially when there’s a title on the door.