Mother's Day Out

"Honor thy father and mother, that thy days may be long upon the earth." This Bible verse is widely known as the only one of the Ten Commandments with a promise attached. Many people think it means if you treat your parents well, you'll have a long life. My mother, however, when driven to the brink, would paraphrase it as, "Do what I say, so I won't be tempted to kill you!"

A couple I know have three children. The father said they only have one rule: "Do whatever we say, immediately." It seems that would keep things simple, but I imagine its enforcement is more complicated. Now that my daughter, Claire is 18 months old, I discipline her when she knowingly misbehaves. She cries, pouts, stamps her tiny feet, and gives me looks that could kill. However, if she attempts to crawl into our gas-lit fireplace, she will receive a consequence.

It is difficult to be firm with someone so small and endearing. I feel a sense of guilt when I enforce my rules, which are in place only to keep her safe. When she attempts to cajole by handing me her favorite toy, when she says, "mama" and pats my knee, it is so hard to buckle down and teach her not to attempt to open the cupboard full of poisonous cleaners. But I know I must if she is ever to reach her second birthday.

By Monday night, I am usually worn out from constantly supervising a creature entirely bent on her own destruction. The next morning, I receive a respite. Claire goes to Mother's Day Out every Tuesday. I drop her off at 8:30 and drive off, chanting "Free at last, free at last!"

Within half an hour, I miss her. As I run errands, I see snacks and toys she would love, and I want to buy them all. I return home to "have an hour of peace". Instead, the house seems eerily empty and quiet. Don't get me wrong; I get a lot done. But it all seems so meaningless without her. At 1:30, feeling as though we have been cruelly separated by a Communist regime, knowing she will leap into my arms once reunited, I rush to pick her up. When I arrive and behold her angelic face once more ... she doesn't want to go. She is very attached to Miss Shirley (who really is wonderful) and likes all the novel toys. When I lift her up, she struggles and hits me on the nose. (sigh) Time for more discipline...

Later, as I tenderly watch her sleeping in her crib, looking for all the world like a plump, pink baby hedgehog, with her feet tucked under her and her bottom comically sticking up, it is hard for me to imagine this same child wreaking her customary havoc. I am struck by the myriad contradictions parents encounter when raising a child. Any child, within a 24-hour period, can be in turns ebullient, irascible, innocent, cranky, compliant, frustrating, and virtuous. Parents must counter these characteristics with patience, fortitude, and acceptance, all the while battling exasperation and constant interruptions. Perhaps this balance of justice and grace is the definition of loving a child. Excuse me, I have to go now. Claire just handed me a booger.