They Really Own More Than One Pair...

The casual observer may think "Those poor kids..." as they see my children in the same pair of shoes daily (or hell, the same five outfits).  I promise you this is not the case.  Each child has many, many pairs of shoes; and while even I only see them wear one pair...I *KNOW* they have more.  Here's how I know:

We have a rule that only one pair of shoes may be left by the front door.  I've come to discover that being a SAHM means my near full-time job is shouting, "PICK UP FOR YOUR SHOES FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST!"  Shoes.  Plural.  Many, maaaaaaany shoes.  Yet, they only seem to wear one pair. 

So, the greatest mystery has become - Why are there so many shoes strewn about my home?  And why do they appear to multiply on their own?  Every day, I wander, picking up shoes and chucking them into our front closet.  All while muttering to myself, "FFS, how many shoes can a kid have?!?"

Today was no exception, and included three pair of winter boots, two pair of sneakers, a pair of Crocs, dressy shoes and some slippers.  And I know you think I'm prone to exaggeration...but seriously:

So, in this moment I decided to call my mom, whom was on the pick up end of my countless teenaged shoes, I'm certain.  And I wonder if it is just a motherly rite of passage. 

Something I've Discovered as a Parent

Recently, I've come to realization as a parent, that there is a universal language - Parentese.  Parentese you ask?  Yes, Parentese...  Let me explain.

If you have kids, you can speak the language of any other parent regardless of race, religion, political views; you name it.  And it doesn't matter how old your kids are, or how old the children of the other parent - you still speak this language. 

You've been there: in a restaurant.  Your older kids are eating away just fine (after you made sure their food is no longer touching) and at the table over from you, sits a couple with an eighteen-month-old who is in the middle of a fit, has thrown their head back and banshee screams...all while arching their back akin to Reagan from The Exorcist.  You know *EXACTLY* what those parents are thinking as they quickly scan the room: OMG, did anyone else see that?!?  I'm mortified and just wish I could shush this child to stop the scene we're making.  You can respond in many ways that they'll understand; with a kind smile, nodding your head, or even mouthing, "It's ok.  Don't worry!" while gesturing to your own children.

I thought about this yesterday as I stood in line at a grocery check out.  In front of me was a clearly frazzled mother.  She had two young boys in the front seat of the cart (I'm guessing they were very close in age - maybe a year or so apart).  One child was minding his own business, but the one that was on my right was standing in the cart, shouting and pressing all the buttons on the card reader, OVER his brother.  She turned, looked at me [ooooh, I know that look well, it said "I'm SO terribly sorry!"].  She reached into her purse for her coupons and her son teetered.  I quickly reached out to help the little guy stay inside the cart.

At this point, things got interesting...  She thanked me and then proceeded to apologize to the cashier and me.

"I'm so sorry I'm taking so long.  Please, sweetie, just sit down.  I need to get this done.  I'm sorry.  [insert a look of defeat] I don't know if I'm even going to make it through today.  I just feel like I'm drowning..."

Here it comes.  My inability to keep to myself.  I had to reply to her in Parentese.

"I'm not in any hurry.  I've been in your shoes.  [I neglected to tell her that once upon a time I had THREE under the age of four, I didn't want to lessen her situation] He's fine.  They're perfect, and you're doing a fantastic job!  I *CAN* tell you there is a light at the end of the tunnel.  As long as you keep them alive, one day you too will shop childless and have all the time in the world to just breathe in line at the grocery store.  Don't apologize for kids being kids, and be kinder to yourself.  Take a deep breath and know you're not alone."

She sincerely thanked me and off she went.  The cashier told me I was incredibly kind.  Kind?  No, lady...I just speak her language.  I heard her silent prayer for sanity.  I used to say mine in five minute increments.  I can only hope I answered it for even just a brief moment.

I'm not sure who needs to hear this today, but somewhere, you'll encounter someone at the end of their rope.  With one nerve left.  On the brink of crying in public.  Be kind.  You speak their language.  You can use words.  You can use a look.  You can give the "It's ok" sign.  But know you DO speak their language, and they will hear what you say.