Mark has been working 3-11's lately, and when he gets home around midnight, I'm still plunking away at my keyboard. I was lamenting to him last night about the sadness in this tree. The infant/child mortality rate was one thing that was bothering me. It was not uncommon for a couple to have 8-10 children and lose more than half of them to death before age 5. I can't imagine bearing children knowing that there was less than a 50% chance that they would survive. Mark said, "Well, they were a lot more accustomed to death than we are." I know he's right about that. It started making me think about, not only how shamefully spoiled I am, but how ungrateful I often become for the things I do enjoy.
This evening, for example, I was going to run to get a pizza for us to eat for supper, as I sometimes do when Mark is not home at dinner time, and I want a quick eat and clean-up. Austin is old enough to stay with the younger kids for a few minutes at a time, but Levi and Claire wanted to come with me to town. That was fine with me, because I figured it would cut down on the chances of strife at home while I was gone if I took 2/5 of the brood with me. Levi and Claire were in the back seat, and I was listening to him trying to make conversation with his big sister, "So Claire, what you bent?" "What I bent?" asked a confused Claire. Levi replied, "Yeah, what you bent? You know, what you bent?" Claire exclaimed above the radio, "Mom, Levi is asking me what I bent. What does that mean?!" I turned down the radio and had her repeat her question. Then I said, "I think he's asking you where you've been." He said, "Yeah, Claire." She said, "Um, in the car with you."
A little while later, Levi decided to try again, "Claire, what Wiggle do you want to be?" Claire sheepishly responded (finally considering herself a little too mature for The Wiggles), "Oh, I don't care." He said, "Okay, you can be Mary." She said, "Murray?" "Yeah," he replied, "Mary." Claire just said, "Okay," undoubtedly hoping to end the conversation. He then asked me what Wiggle I wanted to be, and I turned down the radio again to tell him I wanted to be Greg. He said, "Good. I'll be Jeff," and promptly pretended to snore. I began to holler, "Wake up Jeff!" And, after awhile of my nonsense, Claire actually decided to join me.
Later that evening, I was putting the children to bed without Mark here, which is always twice the chore - twice the stories, twice the medicining and teeth brushing and expander key turning and talking and singing. Violet (18 mos.) is obsessed with tooth brushes, tooth paste, and anything else associated with dental hygiene. She takes the toothbrushes and paste out of the drawer in the bathroom and disperses them throughout the house, and the older kids have taken to hiding their toothbrushes to keep them from being stolen and redistributed. Last night they hid the toothpaste also. So this evening, she was looking for the toothpaste for her brush. She brought me her toothbrush, and a sample tube of Eucerin lotion. She wanted me to put the lotion on her toothbrush. She spent the rest of the evening trying to put anything that comes in a tube on her toothbrush.
All of these things can either strike me as cute or annoying, depending on my mood. Following around after a child, putting her messes back in order or having nonsense conversations in the car when I'd rather listen to the radio is a blessing I am taking for granted. If I had been in my ancestors' shoes, I would likely have lost some of my children (or my own life in having them). I doubt I would have felt at ease giving my whole heart as freely to my children either - fearing I would likely lose them at some point. (I know this, because I'm afraid of getting attached to the kittens that live in my garage for the same reason - and I didn't even birth them.) Not that I never worry about the safety of my children, but I am blessed to live today, when I can feel freedom not to worry to excess. Maybe the idea that we now have some level of control over life and death makes us feel more like gods ourselves. Maybe it makes us feel less vulnerable and more powerful, and, as humans, we can get drunk on that feeling. But I have to keep remembering that it is, after all, only a feeling of control.
I obviously haven't been able to protect my children from all heartache. Mark and I have a book about helping your children heal from the pain of divorce. Speaking of which, I am aware, through the typing of my family tree, that I am one of the scoundrels in it. I didn't kill anyone or end up in an asylum (yet, anyway), but I have had two marriages, two sets of children. We were at a park with some friends last week. My friend and I were talking when her son came up to us and said, "We're playing house." I said, "Oh, yeah? Who's the mom and who's the dad?" He said, "Katelynn's the mom, and Levi's the step dad, and Mason's the real dad." I immediately looked at my friend and said, "Oh, no. We have your kids playing step family! You may have some more explaining to do on the way home." We laughed about it, but it wasn't funny... not really. I had an immediate lump in my throat when it happened, and now it's more just kind of a twinge of heartache. It's not only that my children are "adulterating" their friends, but more that they are adulterated themselves. They have met, at such a young age, with a cruel truth of life. Yes, it's one that many share, but that doesn't mean it's not unfair or that it's right. There are a lot of people who have done something wrong or are doing something wrong and, instead of seeing their sin for what it is, demand that other people get on board with it... agree with it... or even endorse it. They want people to accept their lifestyle so that they feel better about it. I've never felt that way. We had family/friends who refused to come to our wedding because it was a second marriage, and we understood and respected their choice. We hate it when we see our own sin effecting our children or anyone else we love. We have grown through our divorces, and we have changed in unimaginable ways, but we don't ever expect anyone to be okay with our situation. We're not even okay with it. We are thankful for God's grace, and we hope to extend it to others, even if they can't find it for us sometimes.
I'm thankful that my family tree is just a vignette of the truth of who I have been made to be - who I am becoming. Some truth, after all, actually is subjective.
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