Desperate in DC

Summer Blissed?

Dearest P,

I'm certain it's only been 24 hours since you made your hasty exit to London for the month long vacation only Europeans seem able to justify, but I really need your immediate opinion on a matter at home.  You most certainly know my firm belief that people who speak glowingly about children and time spent with them either don't have them or have only a hazy recollection of it.  You also know I have a strong commitment to summer camp for, well, all these reasons.  Why should my life be so radically different when the weather is warmer and the children become less educated by the minute?

That said, I somehow find myself with too many children home too many days this year.  My usually sharp organizational skills seem to find themselves occupied with the transplant of mon pere to the village and I now say, with tears in my eyes, that I am surrounded.  So, today, when teen cherub announced his intent to begin a project, I was thrilled.  It forced him out of bed by 11am and all he asked was that I drive him to a store not very far away so that he could purchase some supplies.  Dutifully, I rounded all those other cherubs in my family I could locate and began the trek northward.

What I failed to discover, having left the details to said son, was the store he desperately longed to enter no longer existed--having only a boarded facade and fading address.  He brightly suggested there was another location and it was "only" about 30 miles away.  As you do know, in DC, thirty miles requires the beltway and traffic and sheer insanity.  Which is why, naturally, I consented immediately as I so admired his tenacity (and mine) in the face of adversity.  This time I did have him call first.

Upon arrival at the store, and more specifically upon ascending the very creaky steps in my perfectly preppy Lacoste sundress, I suddenly awoke from my maternal slumber.  My teen son was intent upon a hydroponics store bc he wanted to build his own greenhouse. In a sudden flash, as I gazed upon the stoners surrounding us, it occurred to me that he must want to grow marijuana.  Remembering  my own parents' obliviousness to the trash can sized bong in my brother's room, I now knew how it could happen.  After all, most of us only want our children to learn to make their way in the world and, most fundamentally, perhaps, leave us alone to lead our own lives.  

You'll be proud to know I maintained my relatively calm demeanor and asked darling son what he intended to do with his grow light.  My sweet youth calmly pulled packets of hulless popcorn and catnip seeds from his pocket and said he really just wanted to know how things grew since he had so little connection to the earth living in the city. 

After I hugged him (we were miles away from home and none of his friends could possibly witness it), I was also a little sad.  Though I certainly didn't want this cherub growing or using marijuana, he has always been a very entrepreneurial kid and I realized that, just maybe, I secretly hoped he was attempting to create a budding empire in his very own bedroom.  Certainly I am not alone in this town for believing that my child has more potential than most but do you think, even by DC standards, I have carried a mother's passion too far?

C. 

Re: Summer Blissed

Dear C,

Wonderful to hear how the green shoots of economic regrowth are sprouting up in the Village in my absence, especially since the talk here in London is all doom and gloom these days, and that's not just when the locals are discussing the weather. May I be the first to place an order for the fruits of eldest cherub's first harvest? Speaking as someone who can barely keep her own children fed and watered, let alone a houseplant, I find it admirable that your son appears to take such a keen interest in horticulture; and even more so, that you would be so willing to drive him to the back of beyond in order to nurture his budding talent. Like me and everyone else in the Village, you must have noticed the strange, jungle-like growth and midnight lights emanating from the garage of our neighbor and renowned conservative columnist; the man who likes to preach the folly of government-sponsored bailouts for GM, while apparently engaging in a little healthy GM crop activity of his own? Surely, it would have been easier and cheaper to ask him to lend a hand to eldest son's admirable engagement in private enterprise, rather than bothering yourself? The latter approach might also have the additional advantage of absolving you of any responsibility, when the Village police call round, as they inevitably will, to inquire whether son has the necessary licensing and permits. I think even our columnist friend would agree that Mother Nature can more easily afford to lose an aspiring member of the local food movement than your father and the remaining cherubs can afford to lose the woman who does everything for them.

P.

The Real Mother in My House

P,

As the mother-in-law was visiting this weekend, I took the opportunity to take her to lunch today for her Mother's Day gift.  I think the real present was my sincere expression of gratitude for helping her son become the man I love today--or most days, anyway.  What I failed to mention are the times I pejoratively call him by his mother's nickname and accuse him of taking her dark side to an extreme. 

You may not know that my mother-in-law and hubby are obsessed with tradition--you know, family habits that no one enjoyed the first time but must be replayed endlessly so they may be recounted in therapy later.  I prefer to set aside tradition and spend endless holidays in a morose and despairing state, roused only by a strong cosmopolitan. 

I'm fairly certain my way is better only b/c it prepares my children for all the failed expectation soon to follow in their lives.  Innocence and fun really only offer the naive the belief that things may turn out o.k. in the end.  Why not offer them a taste of reality while young and impressionable so they may be sent into the world cynical and slightly soured on life.  It seems, dearest P, that anything good that happens after that is only icing on the cake, right? 

Do tell me, P, if anything I've suggested is off base.  I'm headed right now to tell the cherubs dinner is canceled and they must forage for their meal.  Oh, won't they appreciate me more tomorrow night when I put any old thing on the table?

Faithfully,

C.

Re: The Real Mother in My House

Dear C,

Funny, 'cos the first time I met your mother-in-law, I thought she actually was hubby in a leisure suit and a tan..........Seriously though, while the Spartans may have approved of your hard-knocks school of parenting, I'm afraid I can't. Ingenious though it may be to teach your youngest to fend for herself by pan-handling outside the metro, I can't help but wonder how your educational consultant is going to be able to write up such skills in her application to private school. As for your elder daughter, the memory of how she hauled off and punched her big brother in the face, giving him a bloody nose, is one I will treasure forever, but do you really think she will be able to apply such life lessons during the course of an existence which, one trusts, will be spent a la Angelina Jolie, dispensing acts of charity and ordering around the help?

For my part, I cherish the innocent years of my daughters' youth, as they skip through the sunlit meadows of childhood, blissfully ignorant of all the hunger, poverty and wretchedness in the world . By which, I mean, of course, that for unfortunate public school types like themselves, it's probably the only time in their lives they can remain oblivious to the fact that the world is filled with people who are far richer, better-looking, and (worst of all) thinner than themselves.

Faithfully,

P.

Snip Snip Clip Clip

P,

As it's clear that hubby and I have far exceeded the natural limits of human tolerance and mangement capacity with four cherubs, I'm considering asking hubby to go under the knife to end his future reproductive capacity.  Although there are certainly methods I can use to avoid childbirth in the future (only some of which involve the word "no" and most of which involve menopause) I've realized there is a far larger worry to be considered: hubby's unending potential for fathering children other than mine.

It's not that hubby exhibits the classic signs of one likely to cheat, at least not on the surface.  It's just that his well-ingrained midwestern nature, including both shame and guilt as overriding emotional components, make it less likely he would prepare for a moment in which he might encounter a willing partner.  Setting aside my dread of disease and dimemberment (his, if caught in such an act), it's entirely possible, dearest P, that hubby could father other children well into his old age, a fact I find has more than the usual distate brought about by a Michael Douglas/Catherine Zeta Jones kind of relationship. 

Of course, one must also consider our dear family internist's viewpoint, who recently suggested a vasectomy was a bad idea: who knew if hubby's next wife, potentially still in high school, wants to bear his offspring as well--a matter only to be considered if the first family was, natually, tragically killed in a sudden and might I suggest, suspicious, accident.  I'll of course follow-up later for the name of a new doctor, but I think his viewpoint gives me additional reason to act quickly: what if some of the cherubs survived and were cast aside by the step-monster in favor of her own offspring?

It is, therefore, with some urgency that I beg you to consider how I might convince hubby of my point of view.  Think of the cherubs, P, to whom I may already have denied the pleasure of abundance by their sheer numbers.  And let's save the world from one more younger wife who gets all the benefit of the maturity we have yet to see in our spouses.

Faithfully,

C. 

Re: Snip, Snip, Clip, Clip

C,

While I agree that you and hubby have done more than enough to re-populate the world, when it comes to my emasculating the oldballandchain, I suddenly find myself uncharacteristically reluctant to go for the snip.  Not that I am in any way condoning your internist's point of view vis a vis preserving a man's right to sow his seed well into his dotage, fourth wife permitting.......As a matter of fact, until recently, the obc has preferred to sleep with one eye open, lest he wake to find me looming over him with an oversize pair of pinking shears in my hand. 

Ever since the birth of your youngest, however, I find myself pining after babies the way I generally only lust after the pectorals of the hispanic youth who cuts my lawn.  Could it be that I am in fact not yet ready to hang the Out of Business sign on own my uterus?  As someone who only knows how to get pregnant by accident, not on purpose, I am not quite sure what to do with these feelings.  Do I lower the drawbridge and let the obc lay siege to my fortress, which for the past six years has remained stoutly impregnable?  Or do I add another lock to the old chastity belt and let this moment of temporary insanity pass?  The irony is, I would have to make this third pregnancy also look like an accident, since planned fatherhood is about the only thing the obc fears worse than the prospect of becoming a eunuch.

As a sometime mother of three, is it really true that three children are actually easier than two, or is this something only grandmothers tell you so they can have something to cackle over with their friends, once it's too late?  I defer to your wisdom, as always.

Yours faithfully,

P.

A Most Startling Discovery

P,

Returned home from exercise this a.m. to a remarkable scene: three children, a baby and a husband saluting me at the door.  I promptly saluted back and released the olders to their father's care for transport to school and took the youngers in hand for whatever it is we spend our day doing until the au pair is available for duty. 

I am fairly certain they intended to mock my perceived desire for order and cooperation in the morning.  The plan, of course, has backfired.  I will now require such a morning line-up, especially on mornings I am fully in charge. Hubby always claimed I missed my calling as an Army General (no lesser rank to be sure!) in charge of logistics. Perhaps Iraq is less well-served b/c of my childbearing decision.  Maybe I can't have it all but why not run my home in a way that is a perfect fit with my missed career opportunities?  After all, if momma ain't happy, ain't nobody gonna be happy in this house.

Ten hut,

C.

Re: A Most Startling Discovery

Dear C (aka Il Duce),

Wish I could have witnessed the charming little scene outside your front door this morning. Next time, perhaps, you could order them to parade around the block, with a pause outside our house for a twenty-one gun salute? It may be the most effective way to wake my own children up. As for A. - saluting at fourteen months! You must definitely put that down on all her private school applications, while of course making it clear that on no account does she support any kind of military conflict, esp. those embarked upon by the Bush administration. Meanwhile, we like to take a more laissez-faire approach to child-rearing chez moi, which is why you may have seen my children attempting to dress, eat breakfast and race for the bus simultaneously this AM, while their father barked orders at them to 'Run faster!' But what do you expect from the kind of white trash that persists in sending their offspring to public school - not out of some ideological zeal, I hasten to add, but simply through the unfortunate marital and financial decisions they have taken in life? Guess my first mistake was signing up to the be the mother of my husband's first family, not his second or third, which is how most people seem to be able to afford school fees here in DC.

Sieg Heil,

P.

Let it Breathe

C,

Speaking of Carpe Diem, what is your family policy on the wearing, or not, of underwear in bed?  My sisters and I were raised to roam free beneath our nightgowns, but latterly I have developed something of a phobia about the prospect of being caught sans culottes by potential burglars or my children, who are getting to the age where seeing their own mother or father naked leaves a lasting impression, akin to the blindness caused by staring directly at the sun. 

I ask only because my invariably right and never interfering mother-in-law has taken it upon herself to inform my children that it is positively unhealthy to wear undies in bed - something to do with letting it breathe, although I have no idea why 'it' only requires oxygen, like trees, at night.  Nevertheless, my impressionable young daughters promptly threw caution to the wind, right there and then, and it's been a frenzy of knicker-burning ever since. 

I wouldn't mind, except that my dear MIL neglected to supply them with the appropriate Victorian-length nightgowns that should accompany all such political statements, or teach them the accompanying behavior, which requires that one forgo practicing half-lotus position or being photographed by the paparazzi on each and every occasion one chooses to go commando.

Do you know of any etiquette schools in DC that might teach them this, without at the same time trampling on the delicate flower of their self-esteem, which at present dictates they let it all hang out? 

Faithfully,

P.

P.S. Saw Au pair at the bus-stop this am, engaged in earnest discussion with M. Should you be concerned?

Re: Let It Breathe

P,

Thank God I've got you to distract me with these urgent matters or I might notice that AP has asked that we have a special mediation session at her agency to determine whether we might "work on" some unresolved issues.  I don't suppose sending her on that three day spa weekend will do any good at this point.  Frankly, all I can hope for now is that she too overpopulates the world one day and is saddled with a helpless twit of a teenager as her only lifeline to the outside world. 

'Fraid I might not be much help on the bare bush front as our only controlling family precedent is a firm rule requiring a good Clorox spray down of any eating areas on which naked parts have sat.  I fear I subscribe to your MIL's philosophy, only on a 24/7 basis.  Air is an important commodity when so much of  life is spent accomodating the entrance of potentially hostile invaders, right?   You may be pleased to know the result of our house rule is a rather prudish second cherub who nearly refuses to remove her bloomers for even the necessary potty time. 

I hesitate to mention that she has noticed the abundance of girl parts on view at your house.  She does seem a bit offended by the new open door policy, so to speak, and may take it upon herself to lecture you on, as she calls it, your newfound immorality.  Don't worry, the lecture isn't long, although rather tiresome, so may I suggest you use the time to reconsider your home's to-do list?  It's a trick I've mastered during intimate moments with hubby and it really works wonders on my enthusiasm and engagement in the process, especially the time it occurred to me just how lovely our bedroom ceiling would look painted in a very pale shade of yellow.

Faithfully,

C.