Just sang Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star while a smiling-faced sleepy-headed little girl sang along too. Along with its difficulties, parenting does have some bright spots.

The other day I had a conversation with Lucas.  He was curious about those pesky green-eyed monsters.  Here’s a snippet.

Lucas: Do you know what a green-eyed monster looks like?

Dad: Well I guess it looks like a monster with green eyes.  I haven’t seen one, have you?

Lucas: No.

Dad: Where did you hear about it?

Lucas: Oh, on a movie.

Dad: What do they do?

Lucas: Eat.

Dad: What do they eat?

Lucas: Oh, your clothes, your toys, lamps, shoes, fences, and grass.

All I can say is… good to know.

we know it now.  We’re in trouble.  

Today the children were leaving (with Mom) for swimming lessons.  They were all packed into the mini-van with the essentials (towels, goggles, matchbox cars, drinks, snacks, sunglasses, hats, … you get the picture).  I poked my head in to say good-bye and wish them all a fun time (and Erin good luck).  

Ethan told me he couldn’t wait to go under water.  

Lucas showed me his matchbox cars and informed me that one had a round front-end and the other had a pointy front-end.  

Alayna showed me the buckle to her car seat (buk-uhl), her hat (hhhaat), and then reached down to find something - and didn’t find it.  She said sunglasses (suhn-gas-es) and began to cry.  

I was in the process of closing the door, but re-opened it to see what was wrong.  What was wrong?  She couldn’t find her sunglasses.  Where were they?  On her face.  I pointed that out and she replied, “Oh” and ceased crying.  

Yes, we know it, we’re in trouble.

We’ve recently started sending our almost two year old to the corner for screaming. She screams… a lot. Today, Erin told her to stop screaming and she screamed one last time and then walked right to the corner. I’m not sure if that’s helping or not, but at least she knows the penalty for her crimes.

Americans really aren’t democratic by nature. We’re really slaves to tyranny. Before you think this is a political discussion, let me quickly say it is not. I’m talking about the American home. Let me explain.

Tyranny. The arbitrary or unrestrained exercise of power. In other words, what goes on in my home (and possibly that of many others). But it may not be what you think. Contrary to popular opinion, I am not the tyrant of my home. But neither is my wife. It’s actually not any one individual. Instead, the tyrant of my house is the child who happens to be screaming the loudest at any one given moment. And there are lots of moments in my home. Lots.

You see, Bill Cosby put it best when he talked about how parents respond to certain sounds emanating from children’s mouths. He described a scene where a child is somewhere in the house screaming “Mine! Mine!” and the sound travels up the parent’s spinal chord, sending irritating tingles the whole way, causing the parent to get out of his or her seat and search frantically for the source of that sound. Upon finding the screaming child tugging at a doll, clasped tightly by her older sister, the parent grabs the doll and gives it to the screaming child. The older sister sobs that the doll is really hers and runs away while the parent responds, “She’s got stuff of mine too!” Cosby explains that parents are not interested in justice, they simply want quiet!

The loudest child is the tyrant of our home. Everyone and everything else must wait until the screaming baby (screaming is too gentle, it’s more like what a teapot would sound like if it got really mad and was going slightly hoarse at the same time) or the screaming toddler or little boy is dealt with. Tyranny at its finest.

So, if my home is anything like most, then Americans really aren’t democratic after all. They are really just slaves to tyranny.

When moonbeams fall across the darkened lands
And wind waves their crescendo rise
On the faces of the stilled

When rose pedals move their hands to open
And sparrows speak in the silence
To absence demanding filled

Then laughter will return from its long sleep
And fullness from its emptiness
To move and arouse the meek

Then joy’s eyelids will tear apart their bond
And merriment flees from grief
To cheer and sustain the weak

Okay, so indulge me as I explain how part of a typical dinner goes at the Vile household.

Tonight at dinner Alayna was eating beans.  Fistfuls of beans were flying down her throat, literally.  When she hit the bottom of the bowl, we encouraged her to move on to her spaghetti.  She requested a spoon, in her usual way, with a scowl and a frantic call.

“Poon, poon, poon, POON, POON, POON, AARRGGHH!” 

“Do you want a spoon Alayna?” Erin responded.

“Yeah!” Alyana answered with a large smile.

Erin got up to get the spoon and Alayna cheered, “Yay!”

Upon returning to the table, Erin handed Alayna the spoon and sat down.  Alayna took the spoon in her left hand and immediately became distracted by something else.  I think it was her spaghetti filled right hand, which she wanted cleaned.

“Een, een, een, EEN, EEN, EEN, AARRGGHH!”

I told her to lick it clean.  She responded by grinning ear to ear and putting her hand into her mouth.  However, by this time she realized she wanted her spoon. 

“POON, POON, POON, AARRGGHH!”

Yes, we got to the yelling point immediately this time.  I pointed to her left hand and reminded her she had the spoon there.  She looked down, and her frowning, mad face instantly brightened with a smile, “Ooooohh, pooooon!”

A schizophrenic?  A bi-polar?  No, just my 20 month old….

Keep in mind this is just one child.  The others are either refusing to eat, falling off their chairs with plates and food flying, crying incessantly from the swing, demanding more milk, etc., etc., etc.

Don’t get me wrong, I love our kids and I love dinner… Sometimes, though, I’d like to love them separately.