Thank You For Screaming

Today, I played the roll of stay-at-home Dad. The Superhero is sick, and since we don't have any kind of backup childcare arranged, I took a vacation day and looked after the boys.

On a side note; this puts into perspective the importance of our respective work. If The Superhero's job didn't get done for a day, there's a very real chance that someone might die. At the very least there would be much chaos, hunger, crying, and probably some kind of injury. As for me, if the code doesn't get written today... well, um, nothing happens.

We had great plans for the afternoon. I am by no means a childcare professional, but I've had enough days alone with our short and loud people to know that if there's nothing planned to break up the day and give it a little structure, the hours seem to crawl by. So we had plans: after lunch our youngest went for a playdate with his cousin, and the three older boys and I went for a walk to pick up some popcorn and came home to watch a movie.

This seemed great on paper; some exercise and fresh air followed by some down- (read adult-friendly-) time.

So we drop the little one off at his playdate, and the rest of us trudge off for the store, which is about a 5-10 minute adult walk away. Adult is the key word here. This does not take into account the seemingly infinite number of ways that twin 4-year olds and a 3-year old can find to stall, whine, complain, scream, stop, fall, trip, lose a mitt, ask to be carried, ask for a piggy back, ask for a shoulder ride, and tantrum in the snow. 1 and 1/2 hours after taking off, we arrive back home grumpy, tear-stained, wet and sore. And the kids weren't in great shape either.

And then, Twin B starts to scream. I don't think The Superhero has mentioned the twins' scream. It is surely the most nerve-grating, stress-inducing sound that has ever come up from the depths of hell. And it hasn't changed since they were born, it's only gotten louder. When he has calmed down enough to put some words together to describe his problem, they are: "I don't like popcorn.". Oh dear lord.

There is a happy ending to this story. 20 minutes later the 3 big boys are tucked in downstairs watching their movie. They have blankets and pillows and bowls full of popcorn. Even Twin B, who changed his mind and decided to eat the popcorn rather than scream about it. And where was I? I was on the main floor, alone, reading a library book with a coffee and some popcorn of my own.

I don't think I know anyone who has the same appreciation for calm, quiet adult time as The Superhero and myself. Although coffee was delicious, and the book was interesting, I'm sure that 90% of my enjoyment of those blissful 10 minutes of movie-watching and book-reading came from the rarity of that kind of adult indulgence (especially pre-bedtime), and the hard work that preceded it.

In some ways, this afternoon was a little microcosm of my adult life. We had 4 kids very close together. The last four years have included a lot of hard work similar to this afternoon, and required a lot of patience for various short people crying and whining and throwing food on the floor and pooping. In time there will be much more time for adult relaxation - our nest will be empty when we're 43. I always hope at times like this afternoon when I sat down to a short oasis of calm that my 43-year-old self will remember this and cherish the opportunity to spend an afternoon in a coffee shop with The Superhero and a book as much as I do today, but I know I won't. As time goes on and our freedom increases we'll forget to appreciate the time to ourselves and we'll get used to it.

But for now, as long as Twin B (as well as Twin A) continues to make that ear-splitting noise that makes me want to rip my ears off, these moments when I sit in the dim light of the living room in soft glow of the computer, and can hear nothing but the hum of the fridge and The Superhero flipping the pages of her book, will continue to induce a sense content happiness that I don't think is available in quite the same way to the rest of the world.