I realized something this week. In the moment it felt monumental. On this Friday morning, it still feels relevant enough to share. As parents of young people I think it is safe to say, we try to retain a little bit of cool. True, we are not frequenting bars as we might have at one time. True, to stay up past eleven feels like a holiday (that we will eventually pay for). And true, we prefer clothes that are washable. But, we strive to have fun and don’t feel THAT different than we did BC (before children). We know that someday this might not be true. Someday we will probably feel old. Let me be clear that I am speaking of a state of mind, not an actual number. We won’t understand our kids’ choice in music and might use words like whippersnapper. I just haven’t been clear, up until now, what will happen that will make this transition occur.
It is possible this awareness of “departing cool” is what inspired the purchase of five pairs (yes, five!) of awesome boots the very same day we decided we would purchase a minivan. Like so many others before me, I vowed never to own a minivan. And now here we are, defending the purchase to anyone who asks, totally happy with the purchase, and realizing that things do change. (We will also get rid of the thing the minute its useful life in our family is over.) But, still.
Okay, so back to my point. With three children, sleep is a commodity that we want. We want it desperately. We want it for ourselves and we want it for our children. Heck, we’re not selfish, we want it for you! What we would do for it!!! At our house the first step in achieving IT is getting our three children down for the night. Goodnight rituals can feel like they go on forever. There is a lovely feeling that goes along with being so needed, but at a certain point, you just want the little monsters to go to sleep! Then add to that anything out of the ordinary… for us, right now, the youngest is teething and is quite distraught at bedtime. So a few nights ago we reached Near Nirvana with three kids asleep. Yay! (High fives all around.) Minutes later, we hear the loudest motorcycle ever go by our house. Possibly “Hog” would be a more suitable name for this particular machine. Little one wakes up… “Okay, okay, no problem. She’ll go back to sleep,” I tell myself. And she does. Then the Hog goes by again… and again. I find myself letting loose a stream of expletives that has my husband looking at me wide-eyed. And there it was. I am old.