Chaos reigned almost immediately. Virginie and her companion got to working on tearing each other up at each moment. He claiming everything and I mean EVERYTHING as "Mine!" My water. My room. My toys. My Momma. Whatever. And Virginie working on cutting his little behind down to size with a lot of No's, Don't do it's, and Not Nice's. You guessed it, love at first sight. Lily, feeling a bit left out, got to loving on this little boy like no one else and he, feeling the love, gave it back to her. Lots of hugging and shout outs, sharing, singing. Love triangle on a tiny scale. Because Didier's mother and brother are coming next week, he was not able to take off too much time to be with us, so many nights we were fending for ourselves. It was during this time that I realized what I have been missing all my life, OK, all my life with children. A village. As in, it takes a village to raise a child.
A community of people, women, to help me tend to my children and my household and the opportunity to do the same. Sharing tasks and responsibilities that allow the kids to be together, learn, grow, fight or nearly kill each other, and the adults can prepare dinner, do dishes, laundry, tend to shower time and other night rituals. Together. It has been well reported how tiring and maddening all this has been for me, alone in the house night after night, pleading with the children to do the right thing and eat, brush teeth, shower and go to bed with not too much fanfare or crazy childish outbursts (imagine that, crazy mommy). With others in the house, or at least on site, I could tend to Virginie while someone else did vocabulary words with Lily. Wash bodies and leave them for a bedtime story read to the group of children. Eat dinner, DINNER, sitting down at a table and share, participate in adult conversations. Even go out without the children or the husband! I have missed this.
It doesn't always happen when guests with children visit that we are able to sync our schedules, our programs, or our needs seamlessly, but as Virginie and her pal are just months apart, nap time, feeding schedules, play, and bed times fall at similar times. My friends were not hard pressed to do everything possible in Barbados and keep their boy up for all hours of the night. They still got in a bit of surfing, visits to cool tourist destinations, beach visits, swimming with the turtles, and other activities but as the sun began to set and the needs of the children came to the fore, they were there. We were on the same page.
Getting back talk, having my lovingly prepared dinners handed back to me untouched, screaming matches over hair combing, demands for popsicles, chocolates, ice cream, anything contraband before dinner or before bed were all made easier in the presence of and with the support of others. A tiny village on the West Coast of Barbados where even watching the monkeys is not so bad. OK, not so much, but they certainly are cute when viewed with good friends. When one came charging at us, possible to take a closer look or maybe to scratch my face off, my friend stepped in front of me. When she and her son played cautiously at the edge of the pool, I encouraged her to let him leap to her arms, knowing she would certainly catch him and that he would be thrilled. Her partner took Lily to the sea to collect sea glass and talk about the tides. Lily felt special and appreciated. Honored just for being herself.
A village. Working together, finding the best in each other and letting each rise to his or her talent. The kids cannot help but feel loved and cared for. The parents too. There was never a moment that any child was out of the sight or company of a loving adult. In this idyllic setting, being with the girls, raising them, loving them, teaching them was so much better than doing it alone, waiting for my man to come home. Sure, it was a dream, just two weeks out of my life, but I hope that wherever life takes us, we find community. A village in which to raise our children.
(c) Copyright 2011. City Mom in the Jungle.
