(“ARDT! ARDT, ARDT!!” — Keep this, you’re going to need it later. It is the sound a trained seal makes asking for treats after a successful task.)
On the drive to Target it occurs to me, this is not the family I signed on for.
“MAAAAAAAAAYER!!” Renny shouts. She has a gift for this — a squeal that would curdle paint.
“NoooooooooOOOOo, Renny!!” Mare answers, then cries.
“Wah,” adds Schmoop. “Wah.”
I hate them. They’re horrible. I grip the steering wheel as the noise rises to a high crescendo.
I have no idea what they are fighting over. I don’t think that they have any idea what they are fighting over. It has been like this for weeks. No one has expressed any direct hostility toward the baby so far — just toward everything else they can possibly think of.
We arrive at Target.
“Can you get us a treat?” they whine in the entryway.
“Do we have to be here long?”
“What are we getting?”
“Can you get us a treat?”
“Can we ride in the cart?”
Then they fight over who gets to get in the cart first, and who gets to sit at which end and who is taking up more room.
“Wah,” Eden says.
And then we are going up and down the aisles and despite my telling them there will be no treat if they ask again, they’re asking.
“Candy? Can we have candy? How about ice cream? Oh, Momma, how about that great big slide can we get that?”
“Wah,” Eden says.
This is it. This is my life, now. I’m wheeling a cartload of whiny kids around, begging for a shot of liquor and some really tiny straitjackets.
I’m so tired. My diet of bland carbs and mother’s milk tea isn’t cutting it, and the nights of nursing and worrying and cleaning up barf are taking their toll. I need a break and instead I got this.
And then I see myself in all my absurdity — complaining about a situation I have created. Blaming the children hanging from the shopping cart because no one is stopping them.
I stare at them, they stare at me, and then I know for sure: I didn’t come this far just to suck at it.
“Wait here,” I tell them. I find the candy aisle and grab a bag of Tootsie Rolls. I rip open a box of Ziploc baggies and slip out two — one for Mare, and one for Ren.
They hold the bags and blink at me.
“Okay,” I say. “Mare — what happened to you when Ren was born?”
“I went crazy,” she says with a wide-eyed nod. I have told her this story before — how for three months she was a brat, refusing to do anything the first time she was asked, stealing toys on playdates, pitching fits when she didn’t get what she wanted.
“And what’s happening now?” I ask.
“Oh, we’ve all gone crazy,” she says.
“Right. TOTALLY INSANE,” I say. “We’ve forgotten the rules of our family. And I don’t think our family is as much fun without those rules. So we’re going to play a little game to remind ourselves of the rules and see if we can’t make things fun again. Here’s how it goes:” I drop five Tootsie Rolls into each bag. Their eyes light up.
“You can’t eat these,” I say. “Until tonight. And you may end up with more before then. Every time I see you girls doing something unusually good — like offering to help before you are asked, or being kind to each other or someone else — you get another Tootsie Roll.”
“YAY!!” they cheer.
“What do you think happens if you break a rule of our family?” I ask.
“You’re going to take them away?” Mare shrieks.
“One. One Tootsie Roll for each rule you break. So, let’s go over the rules. Do we ever fight with sisters?”
“No.” Two slow head shakes.
“And what happens when Momma says ‘no?’”
“No means no,” Mare responds.
“Right. What else?”
“We do not ever punch our teachers!!” Ren pipes up.
“Right, yes, that’s a good one. What about whining?”
“No whining,” Mare says.
“No whining,” I say. “Let me be very clear: Anyone who whines loses a Tootsie Roll. Okay?”
“Woah,” Ren says.
They nod, and we’re off.
It takes about fifteen point two milliseconds before it begins, with Ren’s shoe slipping off.
“Here, Sissy, let me help you with your shoe. Is that better? Who’s my cute sissy? WHO’S MARE’S BEST CUTE SISSY???”
“Good job, Mare,” I toss her a Tootsie Roll. (“ARDT! ARDT, ARDT!!”)
“Thank you, Sister. Next time could you please not tie my shoe so tight? It hurts a little.”
“Good God, Ren. Here’s one for you.” (“ARDT!! ARDT ARDT ARDT!!!!”)
At the checkout, no one asks for candy. No one whines and leans against other people’s carts. I have all kind of volunteerism going on.
“Momma, let me load the paper towels, I can carry those. Ren, you better grab the napkins. I would hate for my Sister to lose a Tootsie Roll for not helping.”
They thank our checker, they smile, they hold hands and wait patiently for me to start the cart moving.
I chuck them each a Tootsie Roll. (“ARDT!! ARDT, ARDT, ARDT!!”)
The checker stares in awe.
“I so reaking rock,” I say.
“Enjoy it now,” says an old woman standing in the next checkout lane. She is lanky, bitter-faced with a stern set to her mouth. “It won’t always be this easy.”
Shut up, you old hag, I make my own destiny.
“We’re outta here, girls!” I say, motoring past her with my cart and my children and my bags of stuff.
And now here I am at last. Mother of Three, making my way in the world with my girls, doing head counts, answering questions, watching for traffic and predators, and Things They Should Not Be Touching. And it’s all okay.
Predictably, Ren is the first to lose a Tootsie Roll. It happens in the Whole Foods, at the gelato bar.
“Can you get us ice cream?” she asks.
“Not this time, Sweetheart,” I say. Her face instantly contorts into a red-faced squeal. Really, I have no idea how she does it, but she goes from sunny to squashed tomato in the merest flicker.
“Ren — remember the rules of our family. No means no, and we don’t cry to get our way.”
Her face wavers for a second, and then she does it.
“I WANT ICE CREAM!!” Without a word I walk over to her baggie, dig my hand in, fish out a Tootsie Roll.
“NO MOMMA NO I’LL STOP I’M SORRY I’LL STOP.” I drop the Tootsie into my purse and proceed past the ice cream. She weeps into her sister’s shoulder. I say nothing.
By the time we are at checkout, she has stopped weeping, and they are both offering to help with the bagging again.
“Let me help you, Sissy,” Ren says. I drop her a Tootsie and she grins.
“Momma,” Mare says. “I really do like this better. Our family is nicer like this.” We smile at each other and I think what a great woman she will be some day.
They both lost Tootsie Rolls for fighting at bed time, and again for not getting their teeth brushed the first time I asked. Ren lost another one for getting out of bed.
So I can’t say everything was suddenly perfect, but it was all much, much better. We stopped needing the Tootsie Rolls the next day, and everyone was just in a better mood.
And the moral of the story? — a kid will prostrate herself for 2.2 grams of sugar without ever considering whether it’s really worth it. (“ARDT!! ARDT ARDT!!”)
Or maybe the lesson is just the reminder of that absurdly simple rule: our own happiness depends upon how we approach the world. Positive action yields positive results. Inaction, bad behavior, negativism yield bad results.
Life is settling into a pleasant early-summer routine. I am starting to really be able to do things again. Gran’s good work holds — the laundry is going on an efficient cycle. Eden always smells sweet and fresh, no matter how many times a day she pukes. The Bigs have clean sheets and fresh nightgowns and plenty of choices before school in the morning. I finished the semester’s grading, and even planted flowers. I am sleepless and achy, but picking up speed.
Eden has gained six ounces and peers out at the world with alert eyes. Her sisters love her.
Last night I filled the clawfoot tub higher than I normally do, and I added baby wash to make bubbles. Mare and Ren piled in and when they were sitting nice and still, I brought Eden in and floated her beside them. Her little arms and legs flapped and her eyes lit up. They rubbed her belly and her downy head and kissed her and she squirmed and almost-smiled.
This is the family I signed on for.
