This week was
so weird. The oldest four kids stayed the week in Iowa with family, so it was just me and the little kids all week. It was like a time warp: I suddenly found myself back in the days of two toddlers, with no homeschool, no big kids, no regular-life-as-I-know-it.
I had been wondering how it would go - would it be
easier, since wrangling two is obviously easier in some very tangible ways than is wrangling six? Would it be
harder, since my biggest kids help me so much and I would now be solely responsible for the neediest kiddos?
The answer ended up being 'yes.' In some ways it was much easier than normal, in some ways it was much harder.
My time was much more free and open than it normally is - I slept until 8:30 or even 9:00 a couple of days, we ran a few errands to kill time in the mornings, I had naptime all to myself since I didn't have bigger kids running around at all. It was really refreshing. I got a bunch of laundry done (why did I still have just as much laundry as I normally do, though?!), I only had to run the dishwasher once a day, and I even washed the shower curtain and vacuumed the living room. (Extra stuff like that
never happens - there's just not enough time and energy when everyone's underfoot.) I finished a couple of books, I went grocery shopping
with the kids, and even sat down to watch Daniel Tiger with Rocco for a little while.
However. It was also
so tiring to be the one solely responsible to play with, talk to, entertain, feed, keep an eye on, and generally socialize the littler two. I couldn't step out of the room while Callista was in the high chair, because there was no one else to watch her. I couldn't shower while they were awake. I found myself being talked
to for a lot of the day, but not being talked
with, and that is just mentally draining. My days were unstructured, which allowed for freedom, but it also left me directionless and tired.
There were fewer helpers with the work, but there was less work to do. There was much less
overstimulation, but there wasn't
adequate stimulation. There was less packed into our days, but they were somehow just as exhausting as a result. I had fewer kids to load into the car when we wanted to go somewhere, but I was the one solely responsible for getting everyone ready to go and buckled into their seats.
So was it harder or easier only wrangling two? It ended up being kind of a toss-up. The more kids I have, and the older they get, the more it becomes apparent to me that any number of kids is hard for its own reasons - if we make our decisions for family size based on what we think will be easier, we might be surprised to find that the math isn't as clean as simple numbers. Parenting is hard work however it falls, so why not invest that equitable time and energy into the highest yield?
Because the thing I found was that there is a tie-breaker: I
missed my kids. I
like my kids. I like knowing them, and talking to them, and spending my days with them. All of them. Is it harder to have this many? Yes, but also no. But is it better? In my experience, yes.
Just yes.
Only yes.
Rocco's experience would testify that he would vote for the chaos of the larger family, too. The first morning he woke up here without his siblings, he immediately started sobbing, "
My fwends! Yaya took my fwends! My fwends aw lost!" When I laid him down for nap, he asked when we would be going to get the other kids, and I asked him if he missed them. He broke down in big tears again, and wept, "I
doooo miss dem. I miss my fwends!" It was so sweet and heartbreaking and pathetic. He is very excited to know that we will all be united again tomorrow.
There have been a few things he's liked about the week, though; namely, the chance to go grocery shopping with me, as I rarely take all the kids into stores with me. But not only did we run into a few of the smaller stores together, but he got to
walk instead of riding in the cart. I normally don't like to let him walk when I can help it, because he's one more wanderer to keep track of, but with just the two of them with me, it was a totally different ballgame. Rocco was in heaven.
Why, yes. That IS our derelict mailbox. What can I say? I like things rustic.
Todd has
not had a bittersweet week. He has had a bitterbitter week. First of all, four of his favorite people have been gone. He's ready to have them home. Second of all, a tooth that had been fine for a while suddenly flared with a vengeance, and he had to schedule a semi-emergency root canal. Which is not exactly a picnic in itself, but the $1300 price tag was also a tough pill to swallow. (Followed the same day by the hefty price tag for his spendy trifocal glasses. In Todd's words, "Getting old is expensive.") Then, his car, which is already barely held together by chemical sealants and prayer, got a major flat tire.
THEN he spent the afternoon after his root canal changing the tire over to the spare so he can at least get it over to the tire place, and this is the spare:
The tire pressure gauge SAYS it's full. I have reasons to be skeptical.
When it rains, it really pours.
Oh, well. We will get our big kids back TOMORROW, and everything will be right as rain.
In the meantime, I suspect the kids have not missed us much. I have heard tell of fishing adventures, crafting afternoons at the library, dinosaurs made from modeling clay, shenanigans with backyard chickens, and time spent at a trampoline park. I'm quite confident when we see them tomorrow, they'll be like, "Oh, right - you!" Well, I guess that's the thanks you get for raising well-adjusted, independent kids. Sigh.
*
Note: Today is the thirteenth anniversary of the night Todd and I met! You would not be reading this blog right now if it weren't for that evening. Think about that for a second.
