through the wringer

Have you ever seen a wringer on an old-fashioned washing machine? Two rubber rollers, placed closely together, that when cranked by hand would pull the wet laundry through and wring the water out it? 

I feel like I've been through one.

Could it be the fact that the -30 Celsius temperatures we had last week forced teachers and parents to keep their children inside for five days straight? Or the full moon we had last night? Whatever the reason, our kids drove us crazy all weekend.

I feel like we're doing things as "right" as we can. We limit refined foods, spend time playing with our children every day, read lots, limit screen time, have consistent bedtime routines, and take the time to talk with them about the parenting path we've chosen. We encourage creativity and lots of time spent outside, go on outings, and have close bonds with our extended families. When the baby naps, as much as possible I do crafts or play games or read to them (even though I'd like to be scurrying around tidying up or just resting myself). 

Having a larger-than-average family means that you're constantly juggling the needs of children at various stages of development. One is growing a tooth as another is losing her first. Another wants to play with someone at all times, while another wants time alone. There is a need to constantly assess who needs what most at any given time, and no parenting book provides a one-size-fits-all prescription. Children are as unique as any adult, even when born of the same parents and raised in the same environment. 

A lot of the time, it feels pretty hit and miss. I'm beginning to suspect that "good parenting" is a mix of experience, preparation, and luck. The learning curve is steep, and this past weekend, it felt insurmountable.

Phew.

Harmony feels as arbitrary as chaos these days. Some days are really peaceful. Some days are not. Whether the dynamics change according to who is here (most days it's just me, on weekends my husband is here, too, and often my mother is here during the week), the phase of the moon, the weather, or how much sleep everyone got last night, I'm exhausted with the guessing and troubleshooting and the trying.

Jude wants more independence and control over his life. For him, this means more screen time and making decisions about how he spends his day. We can adapt to that. The older girls fight, bicker, and argue from the moment they wake up. This is more complicated to figure out...the older is competitive, the younger is clingy and needy these days. Oh, and the infant...well, her needs always come first, I'm afraid!

My big girls in a rare getting-along moment.

Oh my goodness.

Just in case everyone out there thinks my life is perfect, I just wanted to be clear here. Most of the time I don't have a clue what I'm doing. I run partly on gut feelings, partly on what my own parents did, and partly on what I've read about parenting. Throw in my husband's own (often differing) approaches and philosophies, and we've got a mixed bag of tricks and techniques. We're learning to present a united front even when we disagree, and we're learning to lean a bit more towards each other (I think he's too strict, he thinks I'm not strict enough) to meet in the middle.

It's hard not to feel that, in spite of your very real and determined efforts, you're still going to screw your kids up somehow. 

In the meantime, I've treated everyone homeopathically for: clinginess/neediness, sibling rivalry/competitiveness, and shock/fear. We remind ourselves that everyone is still feeling their way around this new family-of-six-ness, and that they're testing the boundaries of these new spread-a-little-thin parents. I try to give each child one-on-one time, lots of cuddles and kisses, and my undivided attention at some point each day. It still doesn't seem to be enough. 

The vision I have of our family, our children, and of ourselves as parents doesn't quite match up to the reality at the moment. But we just keep working towards what we envision, bumping along in our imperfect way, keeping the faith that even the most wrung out, limp, wrinkled thing can dry (in the right kind of breeze) into something beautiful.