The flap of a butterfly's wing

Has everyone pondered the idea that the simple flap of a butterfly's wing can have great consequences? The premise is that the flap creates a breeze, which starts a domino effect of ever larger events finally resulting in a hurricane or some such. So. Jacob got up this morning and went to the bathroom. He missed the actual hole in the toilet. The urine hit the raised lid and ricocheted to the right, dowsing the floor and Claire's potty. About 2 minutes later, Claire and I entered the bathroom to brush her teeth. I got her started brushing then started mopping up the mess. Boy and Baby (ever present dolls) were unable to sit in their usual location on the potty. After some discussion and a tantrum, they were stashed in the storage drawer of the step stool. Due to the mopping, I only got one pigtail in Claire's hair before she was finished brushing. Thus, we arrived at the breakfast table late, half-kempt, and crabby. We left the house completely kempt but late and crabby. Claire was still crabby by the time we arrived at daycare, which means I did not get a goodbye kiss. I was distracted and even crabbier by the time I arrived at work, leading me to make a mistake in the backup routine. I had to call a counterpart in a different office to explain the problem, causing a disruption in his morning routine. I'm fairly certain that he will in turn cause an even bigger disruption and on and on until finally something horrible happens. Keep your eye on the news is all I'm saying. Jake splashed urine all over the bathroom and that could eventually cause a war in Iran.

35 minutes

In 35 minutes I can:

• Make spaghetti
• Bake 12 pumpkin muffins
• Steam 2 crowns of broccoli
• Unload and load the dishwasher
• Wipe off all the counters and the table
• Clean up a pile of wooden blocks
• Comfort a screaming child
• Rescue the markers and crayons
• Make a cocktail
• Sing 12 verses of Wheels on the Bus

In 35 minutes Claire can:

• Dump a box of wooden blocks twice
• Dump a box of plastic interlocking blocks
• Dump a box of rubber bugs
• Find a pattern card for the above rubber bugs and squeal with glee for 2 straight minutes without taking a breath
• Decide to color the pattern card, opening the art drawer into her face
• Squeal with terror for 2 straight minutes without taking a breath
• Tell me off for removing the crayons and markers from her possession when she resumed her attempt to color on the bug pattern card.
• Find a sheet of stickers in an undisclosed location (I suspect that she hides things on her person) and dole them out to all of her beloveds, including me and a stuffed frog.
• Dump out all of the play-doh toys.
• Open 3 canisters of play-doh.
• Find a laundry basket and sit in it while singing Wheels on the Bus
• Find an empty box and ride it like a horse.
• Sneak a slice of banana bread off the counter and stuff the entire thing into her mouth while giggle maniacally. "Tee hee heee mmf mmf mmf."

She wins.

Looking through mommy glasses

I don't think that being a mother has entirely changed my view of the world, but I do find that it has given me one more perspective. I've got my rose colored glasses, my faith glasses, my feminist glasses, and now I've got mommy glasses too. I find that certain types of stories bring out the mommy glasses and paste them to my face, more or less. Stories about people in pain smack my mommy glasses onto my face so hard that I reel from the impact. I have, I think we all have, been hearing a lot about a couple of very unhappy women the past week or two. When I saw the vulnerable head of Britney Spears in a photograph, I wanted to tuck her onto my lap, rock her back and forth a little and tell her that everything would be all right. It's the mommy glasses. They make me want to cuddle and coo and fix every ouchie with a magical kiss. And inevitably, I turn my eyes toward my own children. I don't ever want my children to feel that vulnerable. I don't ever want my daughter to feel that she needs to be beautiful to be loved. I don't ever want my son to feel that he is alone in this world. I want them to be tough enough to endure. I want them to be able to look into the gaping maw of unhappiness and say, "No thanks. I think I'll find a different path." I want them to feel connected to the world, so that when they feel lonely it will be a passing thing, a mere glimpse. I think that sometimes I need to pry the mommy glasses off my face when I'm looking at my own kids. When they cry, I need to tuck them onto my lap, rock them back and forth a little, and then help them to figure out how to fix their own ouchies. The very thought breaks my heart - but better mine than theirs. What do you think? How can we prepare our kids for the reality that life isn't always happy? How can we teach them to take care of themselves? How can we give them the possibility of happiness?