the ugly truth - february

warming on the radiator, blizzard outside

     Through every new phase I march with my children, I discover new joy and new hardship. When Bela was a newborn, the seemingly insurmountable challenge was simple exhaustion. It was shocking. Nothing could have prepared me for the utter fatigue, both physical and mental, of negotiating my way through the day with a newborn baby.

     As she's gotten older, and as Mae has come along, I've come up against other, new obstacles: their emerging selves, the introduction of the word 'no', their stubbornness, the constant fighting, the tattling, sleepless nights, bed-wetting, excessive temper-tantrums.

     Unsurprisingly, my special challenges have changed recently. Bela constantly wants me to do something for her, and it seems at times relentless. Each time she opens her mouth it is to request some service or some privilege from me: I want my own knitting needles, I want to sew, I want another cookie, get me another cough drop, please let me watch TV, will you read me a book, I want new toys. When she wakes up in the morning, when she gets home from school, before she eats, before her boots are off, before her snow pants are hanging up, she's asking for something.

     Additionally, she requests - demands, even - more and more of our time and attention. The second Chris walks in the door she asks for Hide-n-seek, tickling games, lego building. With me, it's teach me to knit, teach me to sew, play a game with me, let me make dinner with you. On the one hand I think this is great. It's exactly what I hoped for: a daughter with whom I could share my interests, who would grow up to enjoy knitting, sewing, maybe even be my running partner. On the other hand, I'm thinking, isn't this what I had Mae for? To entertain Bela?

     Which brings me to the point of this post, The Ugly Truth. Let's call this Volume 1, Issue 1. This has been a particularly hard post for me to write. In my first post (let's call it The Pilot), I set out to temper my online presence with a little grit. To tone down the long-lazy-crafty-afternoons-full-of-fairy-house-building-and-walks-in-the-woods-with-my-beautiful-family a bit and pump a little reality into Cicada. I wanted to remind myself that we all have our high and low points, as parents, and by sharing only the highest we may be sending the wrong message, setting impossible standards.

     But sometimes it's also hard to make sense out of my perceived low moments. Chris was out of the country for 10 days, plenty of time to give me fodder for this post. Parenting two girls and working a full time job are hard enough to do without a missing partner, as many of you surely know. Do I write about all the times I lost my cool? Stomped my feet? Said 'god DAMN it' in front of the kids? Do I write about the way I shamed Bela when she wet the bed for the 6th night in a row?  How do I make sense out of these moments, connect the dots and narrate some meaningful message in this space?

     I don't. It's not in me. Not right now.

     I will tell you that today, as we sat watching the beginnings of a potentially historic blizzard, I sat down to put in my quality time with Bela. We played Memory, as is our custom. She's a terrible cheater. She takes her time to set up the cards, looking at each and every one, placing them for easy pairing later. I usually let her win. Usually. But today, I was feeling a little gritty. I shamelessly beat the pants off my 6-year-old daughter, because today... I just needed to win.