Tips from the Trenches: A Guide to Practical Parenting

My new guilty pleasure is the HBO soap-drama Big Love about a polygamist family trying to live secretly in the mainstream Mormon culture of Sandy, Utah (near Salt Lake). Not only is the show unexpectedly addictive, but I think I'm learning a lot and I really think the polygamists might be on to something.

After all, despite the fact that they have nearly a million children (each wife tries to have a baby once a year-ish), they are still able to have 3 really nice houses with a community yard (and a pool to boot). They share child rearing responsibilities, they share the husband (1/3 of the good, but also 1/3 of the bad), they share the money, and they get to have lots of sex. (For all you parents out there, that is what got you in this position in the first place, but you've probably just about forgotten about it by now.)

Also, parenting en masse really seems like a much better option than what we monogamists have to do. For example, each mother/wife can have a different parenting responsibility. Kind of like good cop, bad cop. One mother/wife gets to say "yes"; one gets to say "no"; and the other gets to have the swing vote. (This is the wife with all the power, you see. She's the favorite and always gets her way.) If I had the swing vote, I'd be sure that I voted in such a way that I would be able to leave the kids with my sister wives, get a paid job, and set myself up with a little private flop house on the other side of town.

So, you ask, what's the downside? None! None that I can see based on the extensive research I've done through watching this very realistic show. My only question is can I have 3 husbands? That way we'd get thrice as much done in a third of the time, have lots of sex, and....oh, wait....I'd still be the one doing all the laundry.

Pre-Sort

Post-Sort

Have you ever noticed that since you became a parent your floor lint takes on a whole new texture, a whole new meaning? Not only is the lint stickier, more prevalent, and generally dirtier, but is also just plain bigger.

Non-breeders would probably not agree with me that Lego quickly is reduced in status from toy to floor lint, but when you have to use a broom to get all the pieces off the floor it definitely morphs into a this new onerous category. Large pieces of potato chips, My Little Pony hats and shoes, Barbie jewelry, popcorn, Cheerios, stuffed animal parts, and small balls become doomed to the garbage pergatory of floor lint.

Instead of just sweeping it up and throwing it away, which I suppose I could do, there is now an extra step that I never thought would apply to floor lint. Sorting.

The sorting stage involves not only separating the common genus and species of floor lint from the less common variety; but it also means I have to decide if the toy pieces are unharmed, broken, usable, part toy that can be reunited with it's whole, or part of a toy that was previously sorted in to the trash (Toy Heaven) on a previous sweep. It's just another example of a simple job gone bad.

It's such a tedious world and I get no respect!

My husband has been working nights pretty much continuously for weeks now. (It isn't really just nights either because he often goes in before 7am and comes home after midnight. But far be it for me to complain. He is serving his country and all.)

But, by the time I've crawled bruised and bleeding through the mine field of cooking dinner around Emma's food allergies and Jack's likes and dislikes, I've pretty much given up putting my dietary preferences on the map. So, I put the kids to bed and crack open the faithful box of cereal. Occasionally, I'll treat myself to a carton of sushi that I was able to pick up during my trip to the grocery store, but basically cereal is it.

Cereal seems to be a reasonably well balanced meal. Grains. Milk. (and some fat, if you still allow yourself to drink milk with fat.) But I'm pretty sure I'm not doing myself any favors with this diet. After all, I pretty much start shaking at 10:30 and 4:30 every day as I experience carb-withdrawal and need to recharge.

Because cooking for one is such a pain, I'm pretty sure that I'm not the only parent who has tried to subsist on this Lonely Person's Diet, but I think it's time to take action. I propose that every cooking family in the building makes an extra portion of what they are making once a week and deliver it to a needy neighbor.

For my part, I will happily pay for this kindness. I also promised to clean my plate and always send my compliments to the chef.

If anyone is interested, I eat everything....well, except peanut butter.