Fine, Fine, We’re All Fine

While doing a little Saturday morning computer clean-up so it will run faster, I found this piece which I wrote almost exactly two years ago. I'm posting it here today in honor of Zazzy's 3rd birthday. Happy Birthday Dear One! How did we ever manage without you?!

Fine, Fine, We're All Fine

I have a crawler again, moving fast and into everything. And I have the vague feeling of being taken in by a very small and clever con artist. Because, let’s face it, kids get away with so much because they are so darn cute. I don’t know if it’s because we gave him a name starting with Z or because he’s number four or because he’s a redhead, but while a lot of my friends think I must know what I’m doing by now, when I start to hope they might be right, then he looks at me with a very clear expression on his face: “Lady, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Each time when one of my children is at this particular stage and my mood alternating between frustration and adoration I wind up sitting on the couch watching the chaos the crawler is unleashing wondering that God loves us so much. If God is the parent, then I am the one year old pulling dirty forks out of the dishwasher and dropping rubber duckies into the toilet. The beauty of this theology is that it makes Bella our black toy poodle a kind of protective angel, something I’ve always intrinsically known. She stands and watches Zarli from nearby, casting worried glances in my direction. Clearly she feels something must be done about him, but she waits for a divine message from me.

Recently Manuski took a trip to visit his parents on the other side of the world. He was gone for ten days and took our five year old, Mr. P, along. This was by far the longest time I had been separated from P, or any of our four children, but I wanted to make it work, for Manuski’s sake, for his parents and especially for P. I would be fine, I told myself, and did not dwell on how much I would miss him, but instead on what a wonderful adventure he would have with his dad. I was more worried
about how I would do, and decided to fill their absence with a project. Mr. P. had long wanted a jungle room, so while they were packing I secretly gathered paint and rollers. I started to regain my confidence and anticipate their absence.

Friday night the girls and the baby and I dropped them at the airport, stifled our tears and bucked ourselves up with a little retail therapy at Ikea where we found fabulous jungle-y sheets. We filled ourselves with meatballs and lingonberry sauce and ate wild late night frozen yogurt. I can do this, I thought on the drive home, I’ll be fine.

The morning after they had left the girls and I were in Zazzy’s room, enjoying the morning sunshine and waking up together. After a few minutes of togetherness, Zazzy crawled out into the hallway with Mina following a moment later. She came back to inform me the dog had pooped in the hallway. There followed a very long moment in which it all registered. Dog poop in hallway. Baby crawling in hallway.
Baby unaware that dog poop is to be Something to Be Avoided. Of course it was too late, and the moments that followed rocketed to the top of the list of Most Repulsive Moments of my motherhood. The clothes came off the baby, the screaming naked baby went under the faucet, the Lysol went all over the hallway floor with good intentions of a chemical-free home lost in the moment. Somewhere between the screaming wet baby and the Lysol the phone rang. It was Manuski of course, calling to say they had arrived safely. Mina answered the phone and greeted her father. I thought very hard in her direction: “Don’t bother telling him about about the…”

Her business-like ten year old voice said, “Well, she’s kind of busy right now. Bella pooped in the hallway and Zazzy crawled through it.”