Pancake Love

I always wanted lots of children. As a child, I wrote stories that included elaborate illustrations of large families. Each child had a special characteristic and multiple drawings depicting them in action. As an adult, both of my children were hard to conceive and were long-awaited, joyful answers to prayer.

When our girl was ten years old, we were thrilled to learn that I was finally pregnant again. She joined in our excitement anticipating the new addition to our family. Mind you, she had been my one and only, had survived a horror of divorce and death of her birth father, rejoiced later in my marriage and thrilled to be adopted by that good guy. In her ten years, this little girl had already experienced another person's lifetime of loss and hope.

As the pregnancy moved along, we found out the new addition was going to be a little brother. I was beyond myself to realize I was going to be blessed to have "one of each".

Our girl also rejoiced as much as a third grader can. She drew us pictures, eagerly came to doctor appointments and earnestly crafted gifts for her soon-to-be-born brother.

In the midst of all the joy and hope, I sensed that something was going on within her. I truly believe God prompted me to ask her about this one day. I was careful and casual, and I must have done something right because the net take-away was that she wondered how I would be able to love her new baby brother without some of my love for her being subdivided.

We had the best chat! I told her that the love God gives everyone just keeps growing. In order to love someone else, nothing is taken away from those we already love. It's like a pile of pancakes. We already had a pile "this high" but with our new little guy coming along, God would pile it even higher.

That turned out to be just what she needed to hear.

Gap Parenting 101

“Mom!! He spit his toothpaste on my curling iron!!!” Screamed my 14-year old daughter from the kids’ Loo.

“Well Honey,” I calmly called back from the kitchen, “If you didn’t leave it in the sink your brother probably wouldn’t do that.”

Parenting a literal four-year-old who sees a sink as a sink regardless of what’s in it along with a scattered teenage daughter with her hormones emerging is a joy to look back on. That’s because the scenarios like the one described occurred regularly. I worked hard to hold a “valium face” so the kids wouldn’t know they got to me. (Truth be told, I felt badgered and outnumbered unless my husband was home.)

I’m sure my daughter would tell you she knew they got to me even then, but her brother now 16 reminisced about when his sister was his current age. She would “wool him up” to the point where they were pouncing, smacking, and screeching at stroke-inducing decibels. Their “20 minutes of fun” equated to an hour and a half of cool-down time before the house returned to Zen. I used to try and interrupt this daily exhibit, and all it did was get me further up the stammering and shaking barometer.

How could they both act like 3 year olds? How should I respond?

Finally one day it hit me. My daughter had Red Cross training. Even though it looked like it, she truly wouldn’t kill her brother. Let her experience the consequences of wooling up an ADHD kid and just leave.

So, once their gig started I would take my purse and head for the coffee shop. I drove off to get my decaf mocha and let them work it all out.

Net result: Mommie wasn’t rattled anymore cuz she didn’t have to watch or participate in the scene. Bonus: Mommie got her mocha!

The kids lost their audience.

Wonder of all, the house was quiet when Mommie got home within the hour. They wooled each other up a lot less once I started going out for so much coffee. Pretty soon, I didn’t even have to go for a mocha as an escape and could even take my tigers along...