Credo

By Nancy

The advent of the terrorists in our lives has seriously challenged some of my core beliefs. For instance, I no longer believe in Santa Claus, because I know he would never leave two tricycles and two hundred duplo blocks in the same living room. He is much too kind and loving for that. I no longer believe that I will win the Publishers Clearing house Sweepstakes. That car hasn’t been seen in my neighbor hood in years. I no longer believe that cleanliness is next to Godliness, unless it involves two little boys in the bathtub. It has been some time since I believed that dreams come true.

In the past year I am beginning to believe strongly in the evolution theory of creation. No other idea could possibly explain the remarkable resemblance these two terrorists hold to the charming little monkeys manning the trees in the Japanese mountaintop shrines or the stoic Great Apes of Mountain Mist fame. I often think of the Jane Goodall clips when Cristian sits on a stool at the table and fills his face with half a banana at a time. Both children have a remarkable ability to climb anything in order to attain food. At the present time, their favorite perch is on top of the deep freeze while munching cookies and potato chips. Cristian is strong enough, light enough and limber enough to lift his own weight just about anywhere. The other day I picked him up with one arm, and before I knew it his arms were around my head, and he was sitting on my shoulder. I really would have had to worry if he had started grooming my hair. We recently became aware of some strange muffled sounds overhead in their room. We crept up the stairs and to the door of their room to check it out. They are monkeys that know how to use tools alright.

They had dragged the mattress off the lower bunk and positioned it just so on the floor. Then they were climbing to the top bunk and bailing off into the mattress. I think it is a good thing we have Medicaid to cover them, I don’t think an ordinary policy could.

When the older children were young, I believed what the priests and nuns taught us ---- that we had to go to church on Sunday. In a huge rush every Sunday morning without fail, we would race through the barn chores, bathe and change clothes, and inhale breakfast. Then we would pile fighting and screaming into the car to make it to mass almost on time. Now I believe that for the sake of the souls of the rest of the congregation, we should not attempt the impossible more than once a month.

I no longer believe in the three second rule---- food that lies on the floor no longer than 3 seconds is safe to eat. The new order says it is safe to eat if you can get to it before the pup does. I no longer worry that the dogs will drag the garbage out unless it is put up at night. There is never anything remotely edible left in the garbage to tempt the dogs into sin. It is no longer true that children who get kisses from their puppies will get worms. No self-respecting worm would hang around territory that dirty. Oh, there is also the fable that puppy chow is unsafe for human consumption. If that were true, I am afraid I would not have a single child walking on two feet.

As an art teacher, I used to think that crayons were an ideal medium for creative expression in the young. They may well be, but it has no validity when those same crayons are used on my walls, mirrors, furniture and toilet seat. Have you ever seen Mona Lisa smiling up at you from the lid of the toilet? It goes without saying, that my checkbook, organizational calendar, and time sheets are definitely unsuitable places for artistic display. Falsely, I admit, I used to think that refrigerator doors were designed to enhance the décor of the kitchen, and should be pristinely clean and disappear in the overall interior design of any well-run kitchen. In the last year and a half, I have discovered that any refrigerator door still hanging on two hinges after 12 hours of terrorists at large is awesome. If the front side of the door is decorated with torn pieces of paper sprinkled with glitter and covered in red and green paint, that is décor for a queen. Pristinely clean never belonged anywhere except on the cover of some woman’s magazine, and multiple hand prints on the door are just an indication that you are such a good cook that even your left-overs are worth eating.

Regardless of our religious upbringing, most of us were taught that it is good to learn to delay gratification, and that patience is a virtue. Au contraire mes ami! Patience is a necessity. I have also learned the necessity of demanding instant obedience from the terrorists, and that the only thing that can’t delayed on my part is a potty stop between here and nowhere, or alternatively between Cristian and Dawson. Married to the man I am, punctuality was never high on our list of priorities, but we are learning that punctuality at bed time will save whatever small part of our sanity is remaining at the end of the day.

When our first children were nearing the age of departure from the nest, older friends always told us that as soon as they left we should fill the nest with sticks or buy a smaller nest. This would ensure that we had a peaceful golden retirement and would not be plagued with undo responsibilities. These same friends assured us that this was our due, and we would slip gracefully into old age happy and content. Foolishly, we believed them. They certainly were older and wiser than we. I am not sure what sticks they used to keep their children from moving home, but it didn’t work in our case. At this time, I am not so sure we don’t need to look for a larger nest.

The terrorists have changed me, and I don’t regret it for one instant. I do have some core beliefs that they haven’t touched, and never will. I believe that children are our future, and I will never regret the time I took to help a child learn to handle that future. I believe if it is to be, it must begin with me. If not me, who? If not now, when?