Don't Panic!

A long time ago in an alternate reality where I actually got to sit and listen attentively to speakers instead of repeatedly scouting the potty or drinking fountains, I was at a business conference where the keynote speaker encouraged his audience to find a written declaration of their resolve and to post visual reminders of that goal for them and their guests.

When my hubby and I bought our house we sought such a mission statement. We settled on a phrase from Shakespeare (to reflect our shared love of the written word) and a small saying posted invitingly above our entryway which reads,

“Home is where best friends live.”

Although the sentiment is charming, I have concluded that it may be overreaching and slightly saccharin. This month, my children have been about as friendly as a badger wearing sandpaper underpants. We should have settled for “Home is where we pull our punches,” (most of the time) or even more attainable “Home is where my key fits in the lock.”

So, these are the candidates for my new mission statements. I think these more accurately reflect the issues and resolutions of our household of bristling minions and defeated parents.

“People will accept your ideas much more readily if you tell them Benjamin Franklin said it first.” David H. Comins

I know that I am not the only person whose children have selective and sudden attacks of explosive hearing loss. I think that adding the words “Benjamin Franklin says,” to the beginning of any request, might lend a air of expertise that may prompt action. (My eldest minion would move with superhuman stealth if I borrowed the credibility of Nikola Tesla instead.) “Benjamin Franklin says, 'Always lift the toilet seat.'” Perhaps I should be more clever, “Benjamin Franklin says, 'A washed dish gathers no flies.'” Although we are Christians, we will stray from the prescribed WWJD adage and adopt WWBFS (What Would Benjamin Franklin Say?) **Since composing this post, my children have adopted the habit of attributing everything of any import to them to Benjamin Franklin. My four-year-old even said, "Mom, Benjamin Franklin says, you need to let us play video games."**

Perhaps I should just get all cinematic and quote from Cameron's Titanic (suggested by a reader),

“And all the while I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming at the top of my lungs, and no one even looks up.” This quote, though written in a dramatic scene, garners a giggle when put in a parental context. Sometimes I wonder if I am suffering from a Patrick Swayze/Ghost moment and somehow unknowlingly slipped this mortal realm. Perhaps it is more philosophical than Hollywood and my minions have ignored me long enough, therefore I cease to exist.

 

“Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple.” Dr Seuss 

I am sure that my interpretation was not the one he intended, but anybody who has had to answer the nagging pleas of a child has a complete understanding of this principle.

 

Complicated question from Minion #5: (Please read with a breathless rapidity due to the fist fight that had ensued previously and a sing songing lilt of a tattling child.)“Mom, mom, mom, mom MAWWWW-OM! Minion #4 says that photon torpedoes are more deadly than a plasma cannon, is he wrong?” (Actual question posed by my preschooler in regards to a declaration by my six-year-old.)

My simple answer: “Dunno. Go ask your father.”

"When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her, though I know she lies." Shakespeare

Again, I am sure that the inspiration behind The Bard's words is much more romantic and lyric that my parental interpretation, but parents everywhere are nodding their heads in agreement. I especially love playing detective with toddlers and preschoolers. Every parent knows the puzzling mixture of anger welling up in the heart while stifling a giggle in the throat when the lie is so incredibly evident, but the denial emphatic.
Me: Asking the question as a mere technicality. “Minion #5, do you know what happened to the envelopes of hot chocolate mix I brought home from the store this afternoon?”
Minion #5: (The important aspect of this conversation is the appearance of Minion #5 much more than what he actually utters.) With two magnificent blue eyes, twinkling with a combination of hope of escape and fear of discovery. He is also donning a smile ringed in a powdery, sweet, brown halo. His lips part, unsheathing chocolate stained teeth, and he shrugs revealing dimpled fingers creased in sticky brown rivers of sugar. “No, Mom. Maybe the cats ate them.”
My older minions invent lies of more import, but equal in their lack of creativity.

“You are a perfect example of the inverse ratio between the size of the mouth and the size of the brain." Doctor Who (the fourth Doctor)  

 

I include this not only for the exquisite quote, but for the geek-cred with my hubby and eldest minions. I am the harried mother of a pre-teen boy and for this reason, this quote is intensely applicable. Yesterday, in the throws of trying to derail a pre-teen tantrum (complete with foot stomping and flying limbs that allude to the grace and presence of an angry gorilla), I growled, “Not one more word or I am going to have to **insert applicable punishment for his one hour of ranting maniacally here**” With a sour pucker on his face and blind determination for victory in his heart, he looked me in the eye and contemptuously said, “Hi!” REALLY!?! I know that I am raising intellectually brilliant children, but in this situation, the televised Time Lord is right. The portion of the brain that regulates self-preservation is obviously miniscule in proportion to the mouth that muttered that ill-conceived one-word salutation! I know with surety that there were so many moments where my mother fought the urge to lace her fingers around my wildly ranting throat because my brain temporarily shrunk to the size of a peanut, but my mouth continued spewing venom like a faucet. (So sorry, Mom.)

“All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others,” George Orwell

I know academically that this is a symbolic literary evaluation of communism, but for every parent who worries about buying an equal number of presents at each birthday or refereeing fist fights and games of keep away over a millimeter more of cheese in a slice, this quote takes on an entirely new meaning. This weekend, my singular daughter minion had a sleepover with a dear friend's daughter. This sweet child is friends with ALL of my children regardless of age or gender, so the benefit was fairly mutual, but ONE of the boy minions skulked around the house mumbling about the injustice of it all. This same minion complains about being bored when he has chosen seasonal sports and rejects offers because they are, “not his thing.” I would love for my minions to have a gentle visual reminder that I could treat them all equally, but a preteen boy with painted fingernails, tights and a makeover might not be the equality that he anticipated.

 

“Roses are red, violets are blue I'm schizophrenic and so am I.” Bill Murray

I know that my children are not true sufferers, but being the mother of an eight-year-old girl sometimes makes me wonder how many little girls are living in that one little body. Her moods swing like a pendulum, only more erratic. At least you can predict the path of a pendulum. One minute she is giggling and spinning around the house and the next she is writhing on the floor like a worm on a hot sidewalk and screaming as if she should be vomiting split pea soup alla Linda Blair. Then, in a flash, she is weeping as though I had just murdered a unicorn. An inkling of predictability would be a worthy goal, even though I understand from firsthand accounts that it may be more fruitless the closer she gets to her teen years. **My daughter wants it noted that this paragraph is not funny**

"Under certain circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer." Mark Twain

 I have explained to all of my neighbors and friends that they should not approach my house during school hours. I add now that they should not grace my doorstep during the hours of getting ready for the morning, fixing breakfast, trying to leave for an outing, bathing for bed, cleaning the house, trying to get into bed. In other words, as much as I value your friendship, unless you want an education in colorful expletives loudly shrieked, my house is pretty much out of bounds. I will come to you and your blissful ignorance of my foul language can continue. I have faith and confidence in the power of prayer, but when I am facing a child who is dragging their feet about doing algebra, the artful use of profanity has been shown much more satisfying than an uttered prayer. (Ducking and searching the skies for signs of targeted lightning.)

“Don't Panic!” Douglas Adams

This is a fairly universal rule to those entering the chaos and mayhem that comprise my life. The overwhelming sense of dread and anxiety that wash over you when you step through my door...dance over three or four school books...politely ignore several crumpled homework assignments...stagger through the wading pool of laundry guarding the top of my stairs... or fluff the blankets that overshadow the surfaces of my couch...These feelings of anxiousness are completely normal. I have it every time I enter a room. Adams offers a great and simple piece of advice that should be posted as a visual reminder on every surface of my home. Actually, in thinking about it, his suggestion of the constant companionship of a towel wouldn't be ill-advised in my chaos either.