My toddlers have been in the bathroom for fifteen minutes. They ran in there after I told them it was too early to be up (it's six-thirty) and that I was going to take them back to bed. I must've had that "i'mtoodistractedtocatchyou" look. And they're quiet, which is dangerous. And pleasant at the same time.
Not to sound like a whiner, but I am really, really tired today. I don't know if it's the running around for the older kids (the weeks before school are like football two-a-days for moms)or the running around after the little kids or the getting up early or being kind of addicted to Howie Mandell on AGT which keeps me up too late. Maybe it's being out of vitamin supplements and not having the cash in the budget to buy more this week, or maybe I just need another cup of coffee. But, Baby, I'm tired.
This week, Caden has a rock climbing class at the Outdoor Y. Very cool, I must say, and while he's climbing I've been taking the toddlers swimming. Yesterday, it was sooo muggy I witnessed a desperate mom lay flat down in the middle of the baby pool. Toddlers just sort of straddled right over her like sand crabs over an abandoned bucket castle.
I'm driven to somewhat desperate sadness after our mornings there. The toddler hour is also day camp hour. And although I'm happy for the day campers who get to splash about for a while, I'm sad for them because they are subjected to these grumpy, frumpy twenty-somethings who, let's be factual, are being PAID to be kind, patient, dare I say... energetic? And their annoyed mishandlings of the charges in their care are pretty consistent and obvious. Even Ellerie asked, "Mom, why is that mother so ANGRY with her kids?" "Those aren't her children," I replied, but didn't know how to finish with why she was so angry or why the kids had to stick around and listen to it.
In particular, I cannot get out of my mind the scene in the locker room. I had bustled my three in to change out of wets as we had a doctor's appointment, a sports physical for Caden to be exact, so we needed to be somewhat presentable. (Mind you, I forgot my bra, so I was more hodge podge in dress shorts and bathing suit top with tank pulled over it. In my head, I looked sort of "trendy European." In reality, it was more like "damp Mom.") Changing wet kids, or motivating them to peel away suits can be Odyssean, for it requires perservance, strength, and one eye on the far distant shore of Readyhood. So I get that it's exhausting and kind of hairy dirty from the locker room floor, but for this one little day camper, it was just humiliating.
She was ducking her head, trying not to be noticed by the room full of swarming kids, while being barked at by her "counselor" (an oxymoron, this) to "hurry up, you don't need a fitting room, just get changed." But she did need a changing room, or at least wanted one desperately. Her humiliation was utter, as her skin--her whole round,sweet self-- turned sort of pink in embarassment. Two skinny, tweeny trend girls popped out of the changing room giggling at the counselor's irritated countdown, while this poor girl struggled, head still down, to get into her sports bra. I couldn't help but to keep glancing at the predicament, and noticing the child's silent pleas, but felt helpless to help as my hands were full with my own wet wigglers.
But last night as I took out my contacs and brushed my teeth,still, she was on my mind. And I wondered if she too was getting ready for bed, dreading the thought of the swimming and changing and barking and giggling. And I realized that I could have pulled a "mom" and intruded and found an empty space for her, or held up a blanket and darted "dragon lady eyes" (Caden's term)at the rest of the giggling gaggle, or at the very least simply have wheeled my own bustling chaos nearer to her corner and distracted the rest of the room. Maybe even chatted with the counselor about what a difference she makes in the life of a child.
I need the energy from this cup of coffee today to be patient with those toddlers who published this post once, unfinished, while I refilled my cup. I need to be patient and helpful with my own teens who are getting ready for band camp and expect me to pack their lunches rather than write on the computer, even though they wrote on the computer until they were too tired to pack their lunches last night. But mostly, I know that I need to grasp them, these fleeting moments and elusive, disguised opportunities for kindness, and mercy. To encourage someone else see them, grasp them, and wonder about how to make the world gentler, too.