Ender is crying that his daddy is at work.
Flora: Daddy has to work a lot right now because we have to eat and Mommy’s writing another book, and books don’t pay nearly as well as corporate whoring.
It’s one of those moments when you (I) just don’t know when to laugh or cry, right?
Note to Self: deploy internal censor more often when speaking in front of the children. And instruct Flora to not use the term “corporate whoring” when talking to her friends. Better yet, perhaps, I should stop using the term in front of Flora. Children. People, period.
Flora’s lost my car keys and is panicking. She can’t find them, and we can’t leave, and it’s all her fault, and tears, panic, self-hate, help mom… I find them, in five seconds, under her brother’s ice-skating helmet. Then deliver a lecture about how panicking is a useful response only if it gives you the adrenaline boost you need to run away from a predator but is absolutely useless when you need to strategize, i.e. retrace your steps and figure out…
Cinder: Not helping, Mom.
True. I know this. What am I doing? Never, ever deliver a lecture to a hysterical child. Instead:
Jane: Ok, everyone in the car. No, don’t turn the radio. We’re going to listen to Beethoven’s violin sonatas until Flora calms down.
Flora: I’m good.
Jane: I think you’re still upset.
Flora: Totally good. Perfect. In total control of self and over that whole car key incident. Radio?
Cinder: Well played, Mom.
And when I really need to shut them up? Sufi meditation music. Oh-yes. I say, “I’m going to play The Passion of Rumi,” and the car falls COMPLETELY SILENT and they will DO ANYTHING I ask…
Caution for the beginners in the crowd: the secret to the efficacy of this technique is to NOT overuse it. Deploy sparingly.
(Apply the same rule to the use of obscenity, in writing and speaking. That’s a separate conversation I have with Cinder a few minutes later.)
I’m trying very hard to practice loving communication, mindfulness, presence, compassion, and then, traffic…
Jane: Goddammit, bitch, get-the-hell-out-of-my-way-and-let-me-merge, what-da’-fuck-is-wrong-with-you?
Cinder: You’re kind of a terrible role model.
I’d turn on The Passion of Rumi to punish myself but I’ve raised clever children; they won’t let me.
I’m burning supper, and the kids are pretending to be helping, and nobody’s doing the dishes, but there are enough clean plates left to set the table and Ender is really really hungry and getting really really annoying and…
Jane: Cinder, please, please, please do something to amuse your brother for five more minutes so I can get supper on the table?
Cinder: But of course. At your service, sir-yes-sir. Ender, come here. Come here ya’ little buttsack. Listen. ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, children turn dead if you hold them by the neck for a minute or two.’ Look, I’m a poet, just like Mom.
My proudest moment.
Actually, maybe this was my proudest moment:
Cinder: Mom, Mom, Mom, you have to see this!
And he’s right. I HAD to see it. And so do you:
For the writers in the crowd: Famous Advice on Writing: The Collected Wisdom of Great Writers via BrainPickings.org
For you: “When I count my blessings, I count you twice.”
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Noted the Rumi for prospective grandkids. You are never too old to be magnificent.