I believe with every fiber of my being that my children are here to teach me necessary life lessons. (Narcissistic much? Why yes, thanks.)
Chickadee teaches me to cope with many of my less-desirable character traits, as things that make perfect sense while I’m doing them suddenly look really horrible when I see them mirrored in the smaller version of myself. Chickadee and I are the president and vice-president of Dramaholics Anonymous. We’re developing a twelve step program to break the cycle of Everything That Ever Happens To Me Is So Very Important The World Should Grind To A Halt Because I Said So. One day at a time, my friends. One day at a time. (“Hi, my name is Mir… and I’ve been melodrama-free for… twelve minutes.” “Hi, Mir!”)
Monkey is my little peek into uncomplicated joy. I used to think–I’m ashamed to say–that he just wasn’t very bright. I reasoned that you have to be a little bit dumb to just be happy most of the time. It’s not true; he’s plenty smart. It’s just brains without neuroses (which is rare, I think). And he knows how to go with the moment, take joy wherever it springs, and be happy just because. If anyone ever robs my son of this quality I will personally beat the snot out of them. I am in awe of his basic contentment. Also, I am a natural ham, and his easily-amused factor feeds the clown in me.
This morning we dropped Chickadee at camp and as we were driving home, I asked Monkey if he thought I needed some coffee. “YES!” He shouted. “You’re needing some coffee! Cuz I’m needing some chocolate munchkins!” Dunkin Donuts is guaranteed to make his day. And when it’s that easy–and I get coffee out of the deal–who am I to deny him?
The drive-through line at Dunkies was loooong. Well, we weren’t in a hurry or anything. But I felt annoyance setting in… and I checked my watch and warned Monkey that we’d probably be in line for a while. “Can you push the person in front of you up a little?” he asked hopefully.
“Hmmmm. I dunno. I can try. Hey, you! Get off my donut!” Monkey craned his neck to survey the line of cars as they all rolled up one space. He burst into delighted laughter.
“Mama! You’re very good at that! Let’s do it again!”
And so we passed five minutes in the drive-through, shouting at all the other cars to get off our donuts, and laughing and cheering every time the line moved. I think I may have been a little disappointed when we made it up to the order box.
Now we’ve had our coffee and munchkins, and the rest of the big, bad day awaits. One of the things I need to do today is pay bills. I am seriously considering writing “Get off my donut!” in the memo box of all my checks.