the squibix family blog

We celebrated this morning in true Archibald fashion. I walked into Dan's office and said, "I think it's our anniversary."
"Is it?" he asked, checking the date on his computer. "Oh, I guess it is. Sorry, I didn't do anything for it."
"I didn't either," I said. "I thought I might make you a card last night but then I fell asleep with a headache."
"Well, happy anniversary!"
"It's an easy anniversary — just the way I like it!"

Feel free to accuse me of being unromantic.

Da and I have gone out for our anniversary two times that I can ever remember. On our first anniversary we went to the MFA in Boston. We grumbled over the prices in the cafe and got woefully lost on our way home, and all the while I was fretting over getting to my grad-school class on time. A few years later we went to Water Country for our anniversary. We grumbled over the prices of EVERYTHING and I spent half the time shivering in a towel because (unbeknownst to me) I was pregnant. After that we didn't go out anymore.

Over time I've discovered that the less I try to make things "special," the less I stress out over occasions and the more special our day-to-day life feels to me.

Which is to say I can note the passing of our anniversary with fond awareness that neither of us has to DO anything more than we're already doing. Which today means going to work, fixing the vacuum, plunging the sink, and making dinner (for Dan) and doing laundry, watching the kids, making deodorant, picking up toys and vacuuming (hopefully) (for me).

When we were doing the pre-marriage counseling that proceeded our wedding, the priest asked each of us why we wanted to get married. Dan answered first. "I dunno," he said, "to have someone to do stuff with?"

The longer we've been married, the more I think this must be the most beautiful answer in all the history of pre-Canna. Because our daily life feels so special to me, and all we do is do regular stuff together. When I clean the kitchen after Dan makes dinner, when Dan brings in 9 lbs of tomatoes for me to freeze, when we play with our kids in shifts and stifle our giggles at Zion's mega tantrums, all these times when we just "do stuff" I feel like we are sharing something magical, something beautiful, something that is both special and ordinary and spectacular.

The truth is, if I think about it, that everything in my life is lovely and enjoyable precisely because of Dan's involvement in it. He is encouraging and inspiring. He bears half the load for the things that are hard. He makes us smile when things are boring and he makes us laugh when things get tense. He is 100% wonderful, and I have no idea how I landed him as a husband.

So happy anniversary Dan. I don't need any present today but you. I mean, and I also really need the vacuum fixed.

Not to put to fine a point on it, but this is a big deal. Harvey participated in a corporate act of worship. He participated in a group. He followed directions from an adult who's not his blood relation.

I know other kids do this every week, but this is my kid we're talking about here. My kid who is usually so overwhelmed with the number of kids at worship that all he can do is lie on the floor and wait for it to be over. This is the kid who was jumping and singing.

Sitting next to him, it was all I could do to keep myself from crying.

What solicited such a break-though this morning? Was it the year I spent sitting with him in kid's church every Sunday? Was it a sign that his social anxiety dash extreme defiance is just a stage that's running its course? Was it an act of God? Whatever it was, it was absolutely beautiful. More so because he's never been able to do it before.

I spend a lot of time convincing myself that I don't NEED my child to act any particular way. I love him just the way he is, with his unique personality and proclivities. I don't want him to BE a normal kid; I want him to be the person he is.

But deep down, I want him to look good, to do what he's told, to perform for me. I want him to wear the costume, to stand up on his hind legs, to sing when he's told to sing. I sense that this impulse is maybe evil, or at the very least controlling. I spend a lot of time trying to pretend like I don't feel it.

Which is why I'm happy that today, when he sang in kid's church, it wasn't a performance. He didn't do it for me. He did it because (for whatever reason) today he wanted to sing. He wanted to jump. He wanted to (if you can believe it) do the hand motions. It was between Harvey and Jesus, that worship, and the smile on his face had nothing to do with his mother.

Praise the Lord.

We have come to share in Christ if we hold firmly till the end the confidence we had at first. As has just been said: "Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts" (Hebrews 3:14-15)

I thought I would make a space themed present for the occasion, but it can be hard to think of handmade gifts for little boys. Harvey kept suggesting that we sew his friend a baby doll, and I hemmed and hawed a bit because they don't know each other THAT well these kids, and I want Harvey to be invited back to more age-appropriate parties in the future. So I procrastinated until the week of that party. Then an idea struck me as I was unwrapping a new bed sheet (Thanks to Judy who hears we need a new bed sheet and actually goes and buys us one!) The sheet was folded around cardboard and came in a fancy ziplock bag. I thought to myself: this could be the start of a space-themed coloring set!

I cut out the cardboard pieces with an exacto knife, leaving extra cardboard at the bottom to fold under and make a stand for each piece. Then I outlined the drawings with a sharpie. All in all a pretty low-intensity project, but I was happy with the result. Hopefully it'll be fun to color in for like five minutes.

I don't know if the present was well received or not. The gift time was hijacked midway through when Hendrick opened a Nano Hex Bug. If you have a 4-year-old boy in your life, do not waste time cutting out cardboard; go online and buy him a Nano Hex Bug for his next birthday. Better yet, buy him several Nano Hex Bugs. That way you don't have to retrieve each one when it scurries under the sofa. Trust me on this one. These are tiny robotic bugs that vibrates, and the vibrations make the things wander around when you put them on the ground, as well as really annoy other kids if you put it in their hair. Really, the party theme should have been Nano Hex Bugs. I don't want to try to tell them what to do for next year, but I'm just saying...

Sometimes the children are all sweetness and light, like at a party last weekend where Harvey banged a drum enthusiastically with a kiddie music class and Zion announced, "Where's Harvey? There's Harvey! I love Harvey!"

Other times Harvey is just looking for ways to be bad, like taking Zion's toy out of his hands and throwing it out the door. And then Zion bites him. Which, you know, gets me out of coming up with a punishment.

I don't want this to turn into a discussion of disciplinary methods - I'm perfectly comfortable with mine though I know other people make other choices. But whether you are practicing "love and logic" or spanking or enforcing no limits at all... parenting just sucks sometimes, huh? If any other human being treated you in this way you would stop being around that person. If a spouse screamed "I WANT A COOKIE!" and then hit you, you would try a separation. If a coworker grabbed your breast every time you sat down you'd have him fired. But if your child does these things, and it's only noon, your only option is to continue loving and serving him for the next eight hours.

Your children. Sometimes you love them because they're lovable, and sometimes you love them because it's your obligation.

Because those people who are unreasonably violent? The molesters? They are my actual children, and I am responsible for them becoming different from this. I am responsible for them becoming human beings unlike the human beings they currently are. And while I do this I am simultaneously their victim and their jailer. Their forgiving victim and their loving jailer.

Put this way it sounds like a tall order on short amounts of sleep.

Not to overstate the obvious, but when you're out and about with a dirty cloth diaper you can't DISPOSE of it immediately. So a trip to church may earn me a heavy purse filled with several soggy cotton candlepin bowling balls.

I often think I am a poor candidate for a hippy lifestyle because I have a low tolerance for the disgusting. Yeah I like not washing my hair and not wearing makeup, but mostly because I'm lazy and I already have a poor opinion of my appearance. It's not like I have a "back to nature" aesthetic or anything like that. I hate germs. I don't like the smell of dirty. I yelled at the kids for playing in the water pooled in a public drinking fountain until Dan chastised me for acting crazy.

All that is to say I don't love carrying a purse that smells like crap. I tolerate it because I love the environment, and because living my values is important, and because cloth diapers save like a hundred dollars a month or some similar figure approaching obscenity.

But I gotta work for that extra hundred bucks.

Because when Zion's awake he needs a diaper check every 30 minutes. If I miss a check and he pees twice in one diaper then he'll leak his pants. Or he might drink a big bottle of juice and pee once and leak his pants anyway. On a normal day he goes through about 10 diapers and three pairs of pants.

Yes, I do a lot of laundry.

But this isn't what I wanted to write about. I wanted to write about my hippy holidays. Well, confess really. I want to confess about my hippy holidays.

Because sometimes, when I have a big outing scheduled and morning sickness is more than I can bear I say: "You know what? Fuck it! I'm taking a hippy holiday!" By which I mean a holiday FROM hippiness. Then I stuff my bag with five (tiny!) disposable diapers and throw the kids in the car without a care in the world. Because one disposable diaper? I don't have to check that thing for TWO HOURS! That's ten pounds in cloth diapers candlepin bowling ball years. (Yeah, I know that's a horrible mixed metaphor that doesn't make any sense. But you try sticking your finger in thousands of dirty diapers and coming up with something poetic to say about it.)

Then at the end of the day I feel both relieved and guilty and judgmental. Because yes a break is nice, but what am I, a half-assed fair-weather environmentalist? And seriously, you ladies using disposables all the time? You better be curing cancer in all those minutes not spent laundering urine soaked onesies.

And while I'm setting myself up for pillory here, I have another confession about toothpaste.

About a year ago I stopped using toothpaste. I was frustrated about buying toothpaste, the high cost of it and all, and also by the way it wears down your teeth and makes them sensitive. Really there were a bunch of anti-toothpaste arguments that I can't remember now. I should have written them down at the time. (Oh wait, look I did write about it at the time! EXACTLY a year ago, in fact! Oh I'm good.)

So I started brushing my teeth with only water, but the toothbrush absorbed a yucky mouth taste after a while. The solution I found was to use a drop of peppermint essential oil on the brush. This was highly refreshing, and it took me a year to go through a $6 bottle of essential oil. I'm not sure how much I was spending on toothpaste in a year, but I assume it was at least a tube every two months, at three-something a tube, which means over a year I cut the cost of brushing by 2/3. Not bad!

Then last week I ran out of peppermint. I brushed my teeth with water for a few days, and then I went to Whole Foods and I forgot to put the essential oil on the list. And then I brushed my teeth with water for a few more days and felt REALLY over the yucky mouth taste that had returned to my toothbrush. So I said fuck it, I'm taking a hippy holiday! Isn't there some dentist sample toothpaste around here somewhere?

And low and behold, in the bottom of the cabinet was a small tube of crest something-or-other. I put it on my toothbrush and it foamed up my mouth, and I had this revelatory experience like I was a thawed-out caveman encountering modern civilization for the first time. "This is how people brush their teeth? This is AMAZING! This foamy stuff gets your teeth SO CLEAN! It just goes in there and takes all that food and crap completely off! Like SOAP for your MOUTH!" And here I was flossing every day like a sucker!"

So yeah, whatever, I may look like a hippy but I'm really full of shit. Or to be more precise, filled with lovely, convenient, ecosystem-destroying chemicals.

Okay, tomorrow's Monday so I guess the holiday's over.

Play, the researchers tell us, is how children learn to do everything. It also served a vital function in the pioneer or even the hunter-gatherer household. If children are happily playing, I posit, it means they are somewhere other than underfoot. Adults are therefore free to do the work that allows them and their progeny to survive. Work like gathering the raw inputs of food and turning them into edible nourishment. Work like maintaining the shelter and addressing needs of basic hygiene. You know, housework and crap. Those things need to get done if the children are to continue living.

And yet, here I am on the floor of the Discovery Museum (because there are no adult chairs, thank you heartless museum designers) and I'm here all the useful hours of the day, away from the laundry that must be folded and the food that must be cooked. I am doing nothing but watching my children play. Why? Because some theoretical meteor has pushed us out of our ancestral equilibrium. Now children's play is a thing that must be fostered, curated, and supervised by actively involved adults.

We have adapted to support the adaptation, rather than letting is support us.

What went wrong?

I may be waxing armchair evolutionary biologist here because I'm reading this book on the history of autoimmune disorders. Specifically, the book explains how environments with fewer bacteria seem to foster more allergic people. Thus, the reason that our kids can't have nuts in school these days is not because parents' over-protectiveness causes psychosomatic symptoms in their children (as Dan might argue). Allergy increases seem to be one result of our over-sterilized modern environment. Processed food inputs, increased vaccination, and less exposure to dirt and animals mean that children' insides do not contain the bacteria, viruses, and microorganisms they've been designed to contain.

Now I'm not prone to allergies myself, but the amount of unfolded laundry in my house seems to be giving me symptoms similar to Hay-fever.

Is there a simple cure to return my children to the self-sufficient playfulness of pioneer life? Is it fewer toys? Corporal punishment? A believable risk of starvation?

I'm tired of begging my kids to let me do housework. I'm tired of looking at them like little walking time-bombs of need. I'm tired of acting like a human television set, reading books for two hours a day, coming up with games they might like or craft projects they could try. I'm tired of packing lunches and snacks and juices and driving to places that hold zero interest to me because there needs to be something stimulating(!) and educational(!) to fill all those hours in the middle of the day. I'm just plain worn-our tired. Can't they just go and play?

Discovery has a new exhibit on wind where the kids can make foam shapes and play scarves fly in all manner of blowing things. I took so many pictures there I could practically make them a brochure.

This morning I took my kids on a walk to the train-tracks where they played and played, and I watched them and watched them, and I didn't feel that life was as pointless and frustrating as I did yesterday. Not having a fever and a migraine certainly helps, then. One should never discount the obvious.