Little Helpers

Kids love to help. They love to help do the things that we least need help with. Sometimes they help when we do need it, but in such ways that they ultimately create far more work for us.

My kids love to bake, especially when chocolate chips are involved. They strap on their aprons, drag all manner of chairs and stools into the kitchen in an attempt to get the upper edge on their sisters, as they vie for space around our cramped kitchen bench.  They argue mercilessly about who is going to do what, as they jostle and grab at the ingredients and cooking implements.  One by one, they abandon the kitchen, leaving me to clean up the glug, flour, chairs and discarded aprons. They soon return however, lured by the aroma of the final product.

Lulu and Josie love to help clean the house. Their preferred cleaning aids are a spray bottle filled with water, and a fist full of baby wipes. I used to cringe at the wasted wipes – until I noticed how effective they were.  I was also pleased with how well they kept the girls occupied, leaving me to get on with other things. I recently seized the opportunity to have a shower while the girls were ‘cleaning’.  As I was waiting for the shower to reach the right temperature, I was startled by a swipe from a cold wet wipe on my bare bottom. Josie had snuck into the bathroom while I wasn’t looking, and armed with a wipe, had seen fit to clean me up!

The little girls recently decided to clean the bathroom using the spray bottle and face washers. They used… Every. Single. Face washer in the entire house, and saturated the bathroom. This was an example of their ‘help’ not being very helpful.  It reminded me somewhat of the time my housemate Mark brought the garden hose inside to clean the bathroom, he was 28 at the time, so I’m not sure what his excuse was.  Or perhaps that is that what happens when parents acquiesce in their children’s misguided cleaning attempts…

Josie has taken to doing the dishes; two year old style. She drags a chair up to the sink, turns the taps on and plunges her arms into the sink.  She grabs whatever dishes are in reach, whether clean or dirty, and bangs them around under the running water.   She is so eager that I have seriously considered teaching her how to do it properly! If only there weren’t sharp objects and boiling water involved. Perhaps I could start a line of miniature washing up gloves, or an all in one washing up suit!

Abby has become a great baby sitter for her younger siblings. She has been helping me with her sisters since she was very young. I used to ask five year old Abby to hold sleeping baby Lulu while I had a shower in the next room. She did it willingly and has always been a natural with babies.   Abby and Charlotte now run baths for Lulu and Josie, and supervise them in the bathroom. They wash their sisters hair, and even dress them in their PJs for me.  

Sometimes the girls have taken it upon themselves to help without being asked, and I have had to clean up a particularly unsavoury mess after a soiled nappy change went array.  These instances are fortunately far less frequent than the genuine assistance the girls provide.  The girls listen to each other read, help with  homework, and assist by entertaining Josie when I am otherwise occupied (which is most of the time these days!).  I am very grateful for my little helpers, but ever conscious not to overload them with responsibilities. After all, I can’t have them burning out just yet!

Karmic Kindness

I was on a bit of a high at one point today.  Two clients had thanked me profusely for the work I’d done for them, one even went so far as to say that I’d been like a ‘breath of fresh air’.  Many jobs are thankless, whereas others are enormously rewarding. It is very rare for family lawyers to be thanked by anyone, let alone by clients who are going through the Family Court.  Family lawyers don’t win money for people, rarely achieve ‘happy endings’, and more often than not - enter the scene when clients are experiencing significant stress and emotional turmoil.  Needless to say, the ‘thanks’ caught me a little off guard, despite being the third time I have been thanked by a client in recent weeks. 

I can now recall a grand total of four ‘thanks’ in the twelve years since I was admitted to practice. Admittedly, I didn’t practice law for all of those twelve years, and the lack of ‘thanks’ may have had something to do with that! (I certainly wasn’t being ‘thanked’ for my mothering and general ‘housewifeliness’ at home either – there isn’t a more thankless, yet rewarding task)  Perhaps it is not a coincidence that the thanks are coming now. Perhaps I have earned my stripes, and am providing a more worthy service to my clients.  Whatever the reason, it struck me today just how validating, encouraging, and important it is to thank people for their efforts from time to time.  (It certainly makes them want to do more for you!)

I am not an overtly religious person, but I do believe strongly in a karmic force of sorts; what you put out into the universe, will be returned.  It may not be returned directly to you, it may come in an unexpected way, and perhaps even long after you have left the physical world. 

This belief was confirmed for me today as I delivered Charlotte to her music teacher’s house for her weekly lesson.  Charlotte’s teacher knew my mother-in-law, in what started out as a professional relationship, but later became a friendship.  My mother-in-law showed great kindness and empathy to this lady, at a time in her life when it was greatly needed, and appreciated.  We learned this only after Charlotte had commenced lessons with this teacher, who we located via referral from other students, and several years after my mother-in-law had passed away.

Charlotte was just one year old when my mother-in-law, her grandmother (‘Nonna’), died.  Charlotte never had the opportunity to know her Nonna, nor to appreciate Nonna’s immense musical talent.  However, Charlotte’s music teacher did get to know Nonna - and I can’t help but feel that the kindness and generosity Charlotte’s teacher extends to Charlotte – is her way of repaying my mother-in-law for the kindness shown to her all those years ago.   In this way, Charlotte is the beneficiary of her Nonna’s kindness, in an unexpected but entirely meaningful way – through the gift of music.

I love living in a relatively small community, where people readily support each other in times of hardship.  There exists an opportunity to make a tangible and lasting difference in a small community, as the sense of connectedness to the whole is very apparent.   The links in the chain are much closer together, and it is hard to ignore the fact that we are all in this together.  It is from this philosophy and deep sense of belief, that my commitment to what I perceive to be the weakest links in the chain, arises.  For me – those links are the children of conflicting, abusive or neglectful parents.   

I am determined to make a small difference, whether through my professional work, by agitating and advocating for more and better services, or by providing foster care to some of these children (we are due for approval as foster parents in the coming months).  I will do my part.  I have been privileged in my life, to receive a very good education.  Through my various personal and professional experiences, I also understand the damage that conflict has upon children.  I can use my experience and knowledge, to help people who have not been afforded the same opportunities.

I am not motivated by the prospect of personal reward, or for the karmic kindness which may ensue.  I pursue this course because it is simply what feels right to me.  I want to live in a world where people care about each other, both in their minds and in their actions. This may sound clichéd and idealistic, but I believe that as long as I am doing my bit, being part of the answer rather than part of the problem, then I will be true to my beliefs – and therefore, my heart.  

Battle of the (t)wits

It is not uncommon in our house, to have a discussion about which of the children are smarter than Tubs.  We have known for a long time that Abby and Charlotte are often more ‘switched on’ than their dad, but it seems that Lulu and Josie are edging ever closer to over-taking him as well.

Lulu, at just 5½ years of age, can write the numbers from 1 to 100 without assistance.  She does so with no reversal of numbers and no mistakes.  (I am not suggesting that Tubs cannot do this, but I doubt he was doing it age 5.)  When asked at Tubs’s birthday dinner this week, to guess how old Tubs had turned, Lulu thought carefully before answering.  She put her finger on her mouth and pondered deeply as we gave her clues, waiting with baited breath for her response.  We told her that ‘Mummy is 36 and Gran is 61’, and told her that ‘Daddy is older than Mummy but younger than Gran’.  After thinking for some time, she said ’52?’  Tubs turned an ashen shade of grey (he turned 40) and sighed, ‘Well, Lulu, I hope you enjoy cooking your own dinner, doing the dishes, making your lunch…because you are on your own from now on.’

Gran and I erupted with laughter.  But sensing Tubs’s disappointment with her reply, Lulu immediately re-thought her answer. ’21?’ she said, in a highly conciliatory tone.  Tubs immediately lit up and all was forgiven. ‘So…Lulu…what sort of car do you want for your sixteenth birthday? If there is ever anything you need, you just ask Daddy and he will get it for you’, he said.

I’ve blogged in the past about Charlotte’s superior intellect.  A recent, and birthday related example of which, was the card she chose for Tubs’s birthday.  It has the number 40 blazened across the front and reads ‘Dad, for your birthday I’d like to give you an honorary award to wear’. There is a picture of a cat pointing to a badge pinned to the card that says ‘I am the BOSS around here’.  On the inside it says, ‘…you can give it back to Mum tomorrow.’  Needless to say, Charlotte didn’t have to twist my arm to purchase this one!  I loved that Charlotte selected this card out of all the cards in the shop, and that she saw the humor (and truth) in it.

One evening this week, we were all sitting around the dining table, eating dinner with Gran, when Josie (age 2) indicated she wanted a serviette.  We keep serviettes in a serviette holder in the centre of the table. Josie pointed toward the container and said ‘some’.  She held up her dirty little fingers in support of her request.  As Gran was about to pass her one, I said ‘no’, and reached to the floor for the serviettes Josie had pulled out earlier, but not used.  I passed one to Josie but she frowned and said ‘No’.  I told her she couldn’t have a serviette if she was going to be silly, so she started to cry and looked pleadingly at Gran and Daddy.  I passed the serviette that I had tried to give Josie, to Gran and asked her to put it on the top of the serviette holder, and then re-offer it to Josie.  Josie watched as Gran put the serviette on the top of the pile, and replaced the weight that keeps them down.  Gran then took the serviette out again and offered it to Josie.  Josie looked around at everyone else, as if to say, ‘you don’t seriously expect me to fall for that?’ She then frowned again and recommenced crying. 

Gran then started to remove the second serviette from the top, one that had not come from the floor.  Tubs chimed in at this point and said, ‘If she accepts that one… she is a genius.’ Sure enough, Josie accepted the serviette that she had originally wanted; fresh from the top of the pile as opposed to a second rate one from the floor, merely masquerading as a fresh one.  As she wiped her hands she glanced rather smugly around the table with a look that without doubt, said ‘Now, was that so hard?’

These stories are intended to demonstrate how clever our children are, but perhaps we are too easily impressed. There are occasions when the children are required to ‘lift their game’ in order to outsmart Tubs and I, but by all accounts, the standard of ‘genius’ is comparatively low in our house when judged by the parents. I suspect this is not a rare phenomena.  

A rare but recent example of us getting one up on the children occurred this week when Charlotte presented her diary to me for signing.  (A parent is required to sign it each night, acknowledging that the child has done their required homework.) Rather than sign it unquestioningly, I asked to see her homework because she seemed to be in a hurry, eager to move on to other things.  After several requests, Charlotte reluctantly showed me her work, which displayed a distinct lack of effort and was rushed and untidy.   I refused to sign the diary, and told her to try again.  As I was offering to explain what was required, and even offering to help, she stormed rather indignantly out of the room.

Meanwhile, Tubs was way down the back of the garden, tending to his vegetables and chickens, and chatting with the neighbours over the fence (his ploy to escape the homework, teeth brushing and general pre-bedtime regime). Charlotte suddenly appeared, with her diary and pen in hand, and asked Tubs to sign it.  He paused for a moment, and said ‘Charlotte, do you know what I do for a living? I am a lawyer. I don’t just sign things. If you have walked all the way out here, to get me to sign your diary, you obviously haven’t done your homework.’  He looked eagerly toward the neighbour for approval, feeling very proud of his parenting-self.

Charlotte was quite taken aback, but didn’t argue.  She scurried back inside, and repeated her request to me.  Frustrated that she’d been gone for so long and still not done what I had asked, I grabbed an eraser, rubbed out her answers, and told her that I would sign her diary when she had done her homework properly.  This battle of the wills went on for about half an hour, and it soon became clear that Charlotte didn’t understand what was required of her in the homework task. But rather than ask for help, she scrawled any answer, just wanting to be done with it.  Charlotte soon realized that this approach was simply not going to work!  She finally relented and let me explain the task, she then completed it with relative ease and I signed her diary.  And as I did, I looked at her as if to say ‘now, was that so hard???’