Onward and Upward

On the first Saturday where sunshine, warm weather and children all converged at my house, the kids were out the door in one jabbering mass before 8 in the morning.  The backyard is securely fenced and they’ve gained almost enough sense to play there briefly without exploding, escaping, or eviscerating each other, especially on a day when the curtains and door are flung wide and I’m within earshot of their antics.

I trailed behind them a while later, which seems to be our usual mode of operation these days.  They lead, I follow.  They form the advance guard, I serve as Rear Admiral.  They run, I chase.  While they frolicked in the warm morning light I tackled an overflowing basket of laundry with the help of the cats, who determinedly attempted to bed down as I folded.  I was thwarted at every turn.  I pulled forth a miniature dress while a kitty nipped at its hem.  I rolled another cat off a towel as he wildly batted.  This, I tell myself, is why I don’t fold more often.

At the same moment I was ready with sunglasses and drink to join the shrieking melee outside, my eldest’s best friend arrived for a day-long play date.  We exited together, and for the next few hours the children ran without stopping for anything other than snack or drink.  I slipped inside to fix a rapid lunch, which was served to sweaty children under a tree.  They barely slowed down even for that.   Up again after ten minutes of munching, they played for another long stretch until the littlest one’s imminent meltdown forced me to call a time out.

We napped for a scant hour, just enough for the baby to recharge and the older kids to vegetate in front of the teevee.  Then we packed a snack and juice and headed to the park.  Again they ate; again they ran full tilt for a couple hours while I observed from a bench, happy to see their boundless, exuberant energy.

When we left, starving again and nearly worn right out, I marveled at my eldest’s new-found ability to travel without a car seat and the little ones’ just-purchased “big-kid” boosters, which already they are on the verge of being able to operate all by themselves.  We picked up a special treat for dinner: burgers, fries and shakes, which they most certainly earned with such enthusiastic play.  They ate it, of course, outdoors, and sat still only until the last slurps and noms were gone.   Then one last time they ran, they scampered, the screamed, until at last bedtime forced them reluctantly inside.

Collapsed in front of the television some time later (kids in bed and unsurprisingly fast asleep) I wondered why I could hardly move from tiredness.  But then I did a little math.  In all we’d been outside nearly nine hours that day.  Nine hours where they’d mostly entertained themselves, where they marched hither and yon with only mild suggestions from me, where they’d gamely buckled themselves into and out of their car seats without any appreciable drama.  Eight hours.

This is progress.  We are making progress.