Rewards

Okay, kids, only two days left in the week! Breathe. . .breathe. . .breathe. It's that time of evening.

Martin's out three out of five nights this week, a total that would have driven me to crawl up the side of the house by my fingernails previously in my parenting career. But the girls are relatively easy; Merry helps more and more all the time and truly I have nothing to complain about. However--

Occasionally, an especially loud scream causes the tension to begin prickling up my back--I can feel it, like an animal, crawling up my insides, toward my throat, where, unless swallowed, it manifests itself in some sort of unattractive, aggressive noise.

How to deal with this? Singing helps a great deal, when I remember to do it (Fanny Crosby tonight). My sister has been known to growl out loud, which also helps and does no great damage to anyone unless you are excessively prone to introspective wondering (am I truly sane?). Parents of course, occasionally give themselves time-outs. Also, it helps to remind myself that certain rewards waits for me, such as a quiet viewing of an episode of "The Vicar of Dibley", at some uncertain but possible moment later in the evening.

Perhaps, occasionally, it's the constant noise that gets to me most. . .the questions, the singing, all the happy clamor of children (add to this the constant motion--the climbing, the jumping, the jiggling, the expanding and contracting of the young). I remember feeling baffled by the mother who wrote that the thing she loved best about her newborn (a second child) is that the baby never talked. Suddenly I understand.

Speaking of which--my privileges await me (reading to Elspeth). . .and I mean this with no irony. More snow tomorrow? Rewards tonight, rewards all day if I am relaxed enough to see them.