A Whole Year

It’s been nearly a whole year since we suddenly became a family of five.

I think I can state with some confidence that through all the joys, heartache, triumphs and disasters – this right here is the grumpiest I’ve ever been in my life.

Just when I’m at home though.

I don’t quite get it; I’m extremely pleasant at work. I occasionally feel a mild annoyance towards people who can’t fill out a form correctly and subsequently make my job more time consuming and difficult. But even that doesn’t really phase me. I just get on with my day, smiling and sociable, and then I go home.

That’s when the grumpy starts.

Maybe it’s all the noise.

The baby will sometimes overflow with effervescent spirit and it must be expressed in the form of shouts. It’s kind of cute by itself. But he’s shouting while the TV is on and someone’s practicing the guitar while someone else is banging on our snare-less drum set. The sonic barrage is no better on the first floor where someone has an iphone playing music as loud as the speaker can go. There is no escape.

Maybe it’s the dirt.

Somehow I didn’t realize that “clean the bathroom” translates to “wipe down the sink top and toilet seat and call it a day.” Yeah, uh, no. In other news, sweet lord, the bathtub is BROWN! Soap scum is really hard to get off when it is left to frolic for two months (by the way, a good way to remove it is to spray on a mix of warm white vinegar and blue dawn dishsoap, let sit for two hours, then dust on a little baking soda and scrub with all the rage in your heart). And really, why should I ever, EVER, need to say the words “do not leave dirty diapers open on the CHAIR”? Oh but I have said them. Twice.

Maybe is the constant need for help.

I use the word “need” really quite loosely. Subtraction can often be accomplished using a calculator and the bug spray is in the linen closet right where, coincidentally, it ALWAYS IS. Also, my help is not needed to find that one thing in the fridge when I am in the living room and you currently have your head, hands and eyeballs right there in the kitchen. I messed up my back last weekend (I thought it might be gardening related, but looking back it may have something to do with ripping apart cardboard boxes with my bare hands while growling “hulk smash”) and while I was lying flat, totally incapacitated, a young person comes in asking if I would come to the kitchen and show them how to use the toaster. Really? The toaster? The most remedial of all the home appliances? It’s really too bad I’m such a grouch; I missed a golden opportunity to sing the Toast song (“take a piece of bread/put it in the slot/push down the lever and the wires get hot/you get toast/YEAH TOAST”).

You probably already figured this out for yourself: I’m a bitch.

This is not to say that they aren’t really good kids. They are kind and respectful and an invaluable help with the baby. They’ve never gotten in trouble at school or with the police. So I should really count my blessings. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure the next time I pull out a pot to start dinner and find that someone has lovingly burned food onto the bottom of and put away without washing, I. Will. Lose. My. Mind.

Sigh.

I’ve been following the coverage of the humanitarian crisis on our border as thousands of kids are trying to escape the violence they were born into. I tell my husband how much I wish I was down there, doing something. Anything. All those frightened little kids.

He gently reminds me of the two kids from Central America snatched out of poverty a year ago. Right here in the chaos of our house is my tiny part in saving the world. It’s not enough, but it’s not nothing either.

Maybe I should try to yell at them a little less.

So do you ever want to throttle your kids or are you just, like, a way better person than I am?

I Hope

Troy is growing up really fast.

Like really fast.

It’s kind of hard on mommy.

The weirdest thing isn’t that I no longer have a baby, the weird part is that suddenly there is this little boy living in my house. Who are you? Who will you be?

Like every parent, I have so many hopes and dreams for my little one. Obviously, he’s going to be the most awesomest, successful person ever. I can just tell.

I hope he’s funny.

I hope he can make the people around him feel happier and more comfortable because of his uncanny ability to crack just the right joke at the right moment. I hope that when he sees the world, with all its beauty and terror, tragedy and triumph, joy and injustice – he can appreciate how it is all just a little bit ridiculous. He’s got a great laugh; I hope he uses it well and often.

I hope he is kind.

You can teach children to be respectful and well mannered (for the most part). But there is something more, something innate, that makes you seek out ways to help, that pulls you towards the outcast. I will try to show him never to be scared of people for being different. I hope he has it in him to stand up for the picked on and be gentle with the helpless.

I hope he remembers where he comes from.

He is a child of two worlds. He will mostly live here in the States, in material wealth, but I hope he will stay connected to the cultural and relational wealth of his father’s homeland. I hope he never feels entitled to the latest and greatest gadgets but has some sense of appreciation for Daily Bread. I hope he will understand that American consumerism isn’t normal or healthy and will care more for people than for things.

I hope a thousand, thousand things for him. But at the same time, it’s so hard to imagine what he’ll actually turn out to be. I know he’ll be amazing. Just like how I couldn’t picture what he would look like while I was pregnant and he turned out to be the cutest baby ever to breathe air upon this planet (objectively speaking).

And from the little bits of his personality that are already poking through, I think I’m really going to like this new little boy in my life. Last night he slept with Eli and me. He woke up sometime in the middle of night apparently in great need of snuggles. He would sit himself up and then fling his whole self into giant hugs for mommy and daddy. And he gave us kisses. I’ve been teaching him to give kisses on command, but this was the first time he ever volunteered a smooch.

This mommy’s heart is so very happy.