In anticipation of the worst case scenario of a Nazi invasion, the British government designed but never distributed a poster with the above slogan. It was only recently discovered and can now be found in any number of applications; I've become aware of it through a framed poster on a prominent wall of a friend with a three-year-old son and recently-mobile year-old twins. My daily routine may not be quite that caliber (yet,) but I find myself repeating the mantra throughout the day anyhow. (Hey, propaganda really works!)
Sometimes it seems that some of the most difficult days of parenting aren't determined by the KIDS being rotten, but are more a function of my own core willingness to be everything they need me to be, and ALL DAY.
Yesterday it became apparent that the symptoms I'd chalked up to a new molar for Judah were, instead, the beginnings of a cold. It seems that Judah's system is more susceptible to bugs than his sister's, but his demeanor is rarely as affected by his ailments, if at all. For this we are blessed. We are also, however, contagious. Since nearly every activity outside the house involves spending money unnecessarily OR other small children whose parents I assume would NOT like sick kids, we were house-bound. (You're welcome, friends and general public... although I should probably issue an apology to those at the jungle gym yesterday before I knew what I was dealing with.)
So, though I don't want to go on and on about the trivial little trials of being home with little kids, yesterday was one of those days. I am just about 38 weeks pregnant, and carrying around IN MY BODY an eight-pound person. A BLESSING, yes. A heavy little blessing pulling on ligaments each time I get up to, say, help someone on the potty, break up a squabble, fix another sandwich, wipe down another sticky tray, or, oh yeah, keep up with the incessant snot faucet that is the boy.
At the core, these are not actual problems- certainly nothing complaint-worthy. In the very center, it is MY attitude that requires tweaking. Parenting is a selfless job when it's done right, and I know this. I should know this, but selfishness creeps in with a sense of entitlement that is difficult to shake, suppressing appeals that can be summed up with, "Could you PLEASE just NOT NEED me for five minutes?"
Keep calm and carry on.
Judah woke up early and has a cold, and is rubbing his eyes at 9:30 in the morning. He hasn't taken a morning nap in a few months, but he's sick, right? And crabby? So I snuggle him down in his crib with a dry diaper and his blankie and his binky, and sure enough, he sleeps happily until 11 or so, when he wakes up chipper and ready for lunch. Great! In an attempt to compensate for this, I push the afternoon nap back by an hour, but to no avail. He didn't sleep at all, but talked in his crib for an hour and a half. A twenty two month old awake from 11am until bedtime equals...
Keep calm and carry on.
We bust out the paints in the four o'clock hour with all the precautions in place: the apron, the table mat, the washable tempera, the careful three year old. But when the project, a painted oatmeal canister, rolls off the table onto the carpet and under the table, it leaves a colorful primary spectrum across the nap.
Keep calm...
And when Judah, who I THOUGHT had already filled his quota for dirty diapers for the day, sticks his HANDS DOWN HIS PANTS, brings them out, examines them quizzically, then waddles up to me with splayed fingers and a telltale aroma and and questions, "Momma?"
...carry on.
Postscript: This morning Eden, not surprisingly, awoke with a runny nose. However, her Oma is picking her up for a special Saturday date this morning, and few sniffles are not enough to wreck that fun. The sun is shining, the boy snot faucet is laughing at Milo and Otis, the belly is wriggling around, and I have freshly laundered stem green flannel to sew into burp cloths while I pop vitamins, gulp orange juice and bathe in hand sanitizer. (I can promise nothing for the tone of a post in which I'm MORE pregnant, dealing with sickies, and a sick self.)
5 comments:
Love the mantra. Love you. Soon, soon friend, you will be basking in that new Momma glow and waited on hand and foot for a very deserved 2 day mini getaway! I share your hospital love, and look forward to the break I know all too well you need!
It's a powerful thing isn't it :) keep calm and carry on my friend. I laugh in the face of poop filled hands and big brothers pushing sisters down. hahaha. my other mantra "figure it out" that's said a lot in our house. ps. I am kidnapping your daughter next week
But Beck, THE SUN IS SHINING!!!!
It makes all the difference.
Trust me, you won't remember these little trials some day. It passes faster than you can believe.
I will stop short of telling you to enjoy a little one coming to you to solve the mystery of why his hand stinks after sticking it in a dirty diaper. "Butz"
As a new parent, my only reaction to your post is to think, "Man, that really, really, really sounds HARD."
I know most of these trivial matters will be a blur one day, but this is my REALITY TODAY.
The British are so funny. As are the Australians, who I could totally see having a slogan like this. Actually, this slogan probably permeates much of their culture already. Australians are such no drama people, taking life as it comes.
Anyway, can't wait to see your new little person!
I love this Becky. Again, you put into words exactly what I am going through and CANNOT put into words. Elle woke up Saturday with pink eye and a wicked cold that she undoubtedly picked up from the gym daycare...then Dave got sick...therefore we have been quarantined and I'VE been in a state of depression.
This post was meant for me this morning...thanks :) p.s. I might need to get that poster.
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