Time. It’s an amazing thing. Someone great (or someone great being portrayed in a movie) once said time can’t possibly mean anything, because at the moment you discover the hour and minute, it's already past and you’ve wasted it figuring out what time it is. I remember seeing in a movie. It probably wasn’t a real quote. Thirteen years ago I’d have laughed at you if you told me I was ever going to meet “Mr. Right”. Eleven years ago I’d have committed you as certifiably crazy if you told me I’d have four kids and live in
Five minutes ago I didn’t believe there would ever be a moment in my house where someone wasn’t crying. Time. There’s never enough, or there’s too much. People spend half the day complaining about the other half of it. I see it on Facebook ™. Memphis, TN.
Today my time was spent between crying sessions. Whiney World was the sub name of my house today. Peanut and her runny nose, Monkey Man and his “this is not what I wanted” typical three-year-old routine, Bug (that’s my new name for Little Frog, BTW) was generally fussy. But the main sponsor of Whiney World today was Bean. Oh my Lord at the whining. Whining over paper. Over markers. Over the air we breathe. Over everything. After I started, dinner I threw them outside, fed Bug and started other chores. Then the whining began again. Our door “ding dongs” when you open it. It’s a great feature if you want to know when someone is coming and going. Not so when someone is whining.
DING DONG “Peanut said I’m not 5” DING DONG “Peanut said I can’t play on the slide” DING DONG “Monkey Man threw something at me” DING DONG “How much longer until dinner?” DING DONG “The dogs are barking too loud” DING DONG “I’m cold” DING DONG “I need a drink of water” DING DONG “Is it dinner time yet?” DING DONG “Peanut told me to quit tattling” DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG
“Oh for crying out loud! Open that door one more time and you’re going to live outside!” No, I wouldn’t make them live outside. But the thought has crossed my mind. Just for the quiet. And no ding dongs. Then I realize that it’s time. Time is what they want. Time is what I don’t have much of with them. In the long run. It’s been twelve years since I met Clark
, but it seems like yesterday. Bug is already 3 ½ months old. Summer is coming up. Life is going 100mph on a slow day. It’s already May. The middle of May. It’s all I can do to grab hold of it and grip it with all I’ve got and hope it doesn’t leave me in the dust. I’ll spit bugs out along the way and wipe the dirt from my face. I’ll take the five minutes of quiet and make it mine. And I know I’ll miss the whining. Right? RIGHT?!? Everyone tells me I’m going to miss the whining. Whining and inconsolable crying. The things that drive a mother mad because she has them all the time, and then suddenly doesn’t have them anymore. When the house is so quiet that all you can hear is the lonely. Then who’ll be whining? Kent