Live and Learn

Grainy shot from cell phone taken right before the ascent up to sleeping quarters.

Live and Learn

These three simple words best surmise my experience in motherhood thus far,

although it could be applied equally into all elements of my life.

Just about the time I think I've worked out the kinks in my tightly run ship chock full of toddler and preschool types, one - or three- of them suddenly decides to indulge in even the smallest measure of growing up (it must be recognized that this indulgence is a privilege and a gift to behold), creating a need for frequent revaluation from the Captain's Quarters.

This holiday season we witnessed increasing levels of hyperactivity from each member of our little tribe, watching a full unleashing of their inner Tarzan as they would hang on legs of fun-loving uncles and not know when to let go, simultaneously start whooping and hollering (happy hollering, normally) about whatever they thought exciting and ram into us (their parents) as we stood by the kitchen sink, talking over dirty dishes. This was not directly a result of increased sugar intake, as we monitor that quite closely given the hefty impact it makes in our tribe. At some point, when it became too much, we decided to reevaluate their nap (for those who still do) and bed times and the expectations for behavior in between.

We tweaked time schedules, eliminated the "extras" that seem to throw them off kilter and clearly explained the new laws of the land to it's little occupants. (We always start out with "We love you very much. It is our job to help you become good women and strong men...". Thankfully, none of them have learned the classic rolling of the eyes. It's coming, I know).

It was after that explanation that a fresh idea dawned upon my weary brain. In my desire to instill a good set of manners into my children's every day living, and my seeming failure to do so up 'til the present, it occurred to me that the learning of how to be civil should be FUN! I ignored the light radiating from the Ghost of Failed 'Fun' Projects Past hovering nearby (who had the nerve to hold up half-done chore charts and five neglected breakfast buckets). Nay, I resisted the suggestion of futility and in a blaze of glory, with my furry black robe flapping behind, l lept over the blasted living room gate I can't wait to burn to present my FUN plan to the unsuspecting natives I was eager to civilize.

With great conviction and cheery enthusiasm we (ok, mainly I) went over the newly founded "Manners of the Week Club" in which they could all be upstanding members of IF they remember to practice the two manners focused on each week. For instance, this week we will remember to a.) use our inside voice and b.) show respect to adults who come to visit...no running into them, hanging on their legs, even though we are just having fun. If we want to get their attention, we suggested they put there hand on their arm and wait until the adult is done speaking and gives them the go-ahead. A calendar, stickers, morning/nightly reminders and sweet (Candy) rewards at the end of each week were involved. The children were, and are, quite enthused.

Will this last forever? Of course not.

Will the "Manners of the Week Club" live to see it's one month anniversary? The odds are not in it's favor. Let's just say I haven't stocked up on sweets.

Is it worth a try? Absolutely.

All we can do is live...and while living we will do stuff like make silly manners charts, find out we punished the wrong child for the wrong thing, consumed raw egg unknowingly when we were pregnant and craving Caesar salads, roll up a car window while a child's fingers never left it's top and tell the crying child to be a good little soldier and toughen up only to realize that oops! it was a broken finger after all!...and learn from it all. Grace and mercy, and a whole lot of love, will hopefully soften some of the memories when those we are rearing grow older and look back to realize we were learning as we lived...just like they are. 

"Kids have little computer bodies with disks that store information. They remember who had to do the dishes the last time you had spaghetti, who lost the knob off the TV set six years ago, who got punished for teasing the dog when he wasn't teasing the dog and who had to wear girls boots the last time it snowed. "
-- Erma Bombeck