Today the girls really lived up to their maniac status. I wondered what it could be and if maybe it was me. It’s possible they are the same and I’m just more irritable today. Or maybe they’ve reached their tipping point and they just can’t take the quarantine anymore.
Then, after dinner, I went outside to close the sandbox and saw the culprit. The very nearly full moon. Dun dun duuunnn.
I’m pretty sure that the parents of young children are the main group of people who blame the moon for things. There are literally so many inexplicable things that happen to a person between birth and age– I don’t know– 100, that the moon or the tides, the humidity, the temperature, the wind, barometric pressure, the pollen count or any other natural force we can’t control, seems a reasonable place to put the blame.
I can’t go into detail about much of what was ridiculous about today because some of it has to do with excrement and if you know me, you know that I am not writing about that.
The highs were so high and lows so low. Today had potty problems and the worst tantrum of all time, but it also had fort building (wait…that actually caused the big tantrum but anyway) and kicking a soccer ball. Nobody ate sand. They played an actual board game together without help. Made necklaces, built potato heads and helped with a new ice cream flavor. They loved their dinner and only praised the food. They built a hospital for the baby dolls where everyone is waiting for a vaccination but they lost their minds over play-doh, refused to wear jackets, got mad about everything, whined and cried, all at a relentless pace.
Still what is funny about all these types of days (if you’re able to see it as funny) is how bi-polar they are. How they go from absolutely spectacular to bottom-of-the-rung worst-day scenarios. There are average days, standard days—Days when nothing too devastating happens and nothing very exciting either. But so many days are filled with extremes.
And maybe that’s the thing with life. Maybe it’s the average days that are out of the ordinary–and not just for children. Maybe the human experience is made up of extremes and the balance is ours to find. Maybe aiming for normal is as detrimental as fixating on the future or wishing you were in the past.
The exciting news is Bavaria announced that the play grounds are re-opening tomorrow. Our county hasn’t seen a new infection in two weeks so after 7 weeks at home we’ll be able to play in public with other kids again. Watching the girls exclaim over which playground they want to go to and what they are going to do there was electrifying, especially when Little Bean detailed which playgrounds have swings and which ones don’t and how many.
The thrill of anticipation made bedtime a circus but finally I hear the calming, rhythmical sounds of sleeping. I mentioned to a friend today that parenthood is literally so earth shatteringly gorgeous when it isn’t pure misery. It sounds extreme, I know and it’s just one more indicator that life is a contest between the depths and the heights. The sooner we accept that reality, the sooner we can start leaning-in to the extremes we like, riding the highs, rolling with the lows and finding solace under the curves of the waves.
As I fall into bed it is my hope that Little Bean and Big Sister sleep at least until dawn. The nights are a mystery most especially with that menacing, nearly full-moon outside– but a girl can dream.