bridging the gap

There is a generational gap of gargantuan proportions in our home. The old folks are just not understanding the young ‘uns. Or it could be that the youngsters are just plain crazy.

Recent snow is a prime example. Number three woke up nearly unable to speak because he was so excited about the temperature change that caused liquid to turn to white crystals and accumulate on our lawn. Even though there was barely half an inch, he immediately began digging through his closet trying to find winter boots and snow pants. After destroying the bedroom, he headed outdoors to pull out the snowboards.

Before questioning his sanity, I sat mesmerized that the child who can never find anything (not even his underwear most days) managed to pull together an entire outdoor ensemble more appropriate for 20 below than for the 34-degree October day we were blessed with.

Thankfully the snow didn’t last long. But the next morning, the same kid was looking out the window chewing out the weatherman, mumbling something about doing his job better. (Don’t ask me where they get this stuff - I gave up trying to figure out the mysteries of the world a long time ago.)

All four boys were delighted with the snow. Even the one who couldn’t get his snow boots on. (Turns out he has grown, again, and they no longer fit. Imagine that.) A few minutes later he traipsed out to the garage to get his rubber boots. Problem solved.

The only mentally stable person in the house that day didn’t stay that way long, after first viewing snow on the ground when she had siding to paint and then seeing the pile of wet, muddy “winter” clothes in the entryway.

A few days later, all four boys were clammering to cut into the pumpkins Grandma and Grandpa had given them. (Yes, we’ve had a weird fall in Minnesota.) I had visions of seeds and string and pumpkin guts all over the kitchen floor. And I knew it wouldn’t be long before someone declared a pumpkin fight - seeds, string and all. Then they’d still want to roast the seeds, even after most ended up on the floor.

Number four was adamant that I make him pumpkin pie. All day long, all I heard was him begging to cut up his pumpkin and bake a pie. The only way I got out of it was the “discovery” that I had only one egg in the fridge. Whew.

Number two was insistent that I couldn’t use his pumpkin this year to actually make pumpkin. He was going to carve a jack-o-lantern. Hmmm, boys loose in the kitchen with vegetables (that weigh as much as they do) and sharp knives suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea. The trouble is neither did cutting up three gigantic pumpkins. Either way involved mess and work. And four stinky boys peeking over my shoulder and each other’s for about three minutes before someone bumps someone else’s pumpkin and World War III starts in my kitchen didn’t exactly seem fun either.

Both the snow and the pumpkins were thrills for the boys. I was slightly less excited about the hassle factor they were creating in my world. I couldn’t do much else that day anyway, so I did the next best thing.

I took a nap.

By the time I got up, number two had actually completed his jack-o-lantern and removed all the seeds, setting them aside to soak. Somehow he managed not to cut himself and somewhat more miraculously, managed to not smear pumpkin everywhere, including his brothers’ hair.

The other two, upon learning that they could still make pumpkin seeds, promptly decided that they were going to can the carving and make pumpkin instead. I’m not sure if it was gluttony or sloth that made that decision, but I’m pretty sure I came out on the losing end. Mom is one to bake the pumpkin, puree the pumpkin, make the pumpkin pie and bake the pumpkin bread. I felt a little bit like the Little Red Hen. Who will help me eat the pumpkin pie and snack on the pumpkin bread? You guessed it - four hungry little boys with pumpkin seed breath.

I’m not sure at what point in my life I went from getting excited about innocent things like snow and pumpkins to judging the value of something by how much work it will require of me or how much of a mess it will create.

I used to love the smell of Play-Do; now I cringe at the crumbs it leaves behind. I used to make snowmen outside with carrots and an old scarf; now I hate to waste a perfectly good vegetable or have to wash the scarf in a week. I used to love baths; now I can’t help but gulp at wasting water. I used to be a kid; now I am the Mom.

I think I need to build a bridge.