Bittersweet

A few weeks ago I watched from some silly chore as James played on the dining room floor with the boys. It's something he actually does quite often. I remember him looking over at me, calling my name, and suggesting that I put down the dishes in order to come sit with them. I wish I had his knack for knowing when to set aside my adult stresses, sit down with the boys, and just be a playmate. One day I came home from work, and the entire basket of laundry I had folded that morning was back to rumpled glory. He told me that by the time he saw the boys, they had already destroyed every bit of neatness that basket once held, and he had dismissed his first reaction in order to sit down with them and start a clothes fight. He told me they sat in the dining room for over an hour, laughing hysterically as they hurled socks and shirts to each other. They had a blast. This morning I went into the dining room after looking up a recipe for chocolate waffles, and found that the boys had taken their entire drawer of sippy cups and thrown them in a scattered mess on the floor. I got on my meanest mommy face and demanded that they put the cups all back in the drawer. Ethan toddled over and threw a cup in, Jonathan followed suit. I praised them for a tiny second, and went back to being drill sergeant. James, hearing the commotion, fueled by 4 hours of sleep, and faced with an 8-hour church day, came into the dining room and made the whole thing into a game. Before I knew it, the boys were laughing their heads off, dumping whole armfuls back in the drawer. I was amazed at what he can accomplish (and persuade them to accomplish) without so much as making a sour face. My husband is the one who excels at quickly cleaning a room, or a house or a child. He is the one that can figure out a quick lunch when there is nothing in the fridge or the cupboards. He is the one who knows when it's time for a treat, and when it's time to scold. He knows when it's naptime, and when it's time for a story. I remember one day when I was getting Ethan lunch, and James warned me about putting more than a mouthful in front of him at a time. If you put more than that, he throws the excess on the floor. He thought I was being sarcastic when I said, "I'm glad you're home, you know the best way to feed them." I wasn't.
One of my favorite jokes as a young mother (which can be easily found with a Google search of "I didn't do it!") casts a very humorous light on the truly taxing work a SAHM does every day. I always thought it was the mothers who were blessed with the gift of keeping a house in order, and the little ones tended to. I thought it was the mothers who always knew best. Turns out things are just a bit different in my house... but then again, when you are raising a Monkey and a Pickle, I guess it's to be expected that things won't always go according to plan.