I remember wanting to blame the mess in my kitchen on Skippyjon Jones.
For those of you who don’t know, Skippyjon Jones is the animated creation of award-winning American author and illustrator, Judy Schachner. Skippyjon, a Siamese cat who pretends to be a Chihuahua, has taken our smallest one on adventures through schoolyards, Egyptian tombs and Mexican deserts.
Skippyjon Jones
The favorite adventure, of course, included a birthday piñata. Thus, the mess in my kitchen.
After I read the book using all the voices, the smallest one latched on to the idea of a piñata for her upcoming birthday and would not let go. Being that our smallest one is number four, and that I have been on the parenting merry-go-round for nearly 20 years, I figured I could reasonably pull off Operation Birthday Piñata.
First, we needed a test to ensure piñata success.
In a flash of true brilliance, I grabbed a brown paper lunch sack, stuffed some leftover Halloween candy inside, and tied the top with yarn. I handed the smallest one her pink Louisville Slugger souvenir bat, stood on a chair in the living room, and encouraged her to whack away. After 10 minutes, a few tears and a near-miss of my shins, the little bat made contact and candy flew about the room.
Step one of Operation Birthday Piñata was complete. Step two was the actual build. It required a little more effort. And time. And materials. And math.
I stood at the kitchen table for a long time, praying and figuring, and praying some more. Our smallest one had requested a unicorn piñata. The more I sketched and figured, the more I decided that a unicorn head would be just as exciting as an entire unicorn body.
Soon, I was elbow deep in a gloopy flour and water mixture. Dripping strips of newspaper pasted themselves to the kitchen floor. Some even landed on one large and slippery balloon. That was the measure of success. I was grateful for the two-week head start. Paper-mache unicorn head piñatas are neither for the last minute, nor for the faint of heart.
It took multiple layers. Multiple messes. Multiple lessons.
As much as I wanted to blame being elbows-deep in paper-mache on a cartoon, the blame really rested in me, in my heart.
You see, I delight in the delight of my children—to a degree.
I endure trips to fast-food restaurants, rehearsals, sports practices, tea parties, ball games, animated movies, plays, and loud, little-people group things—to a degree. I read the books, listen to the tales, fix the foods, sing the songs—to a degree.
I endure, I schedule, and (dare I say it?) I sacrifice because these things delight others.
Taking delight in the delight of others stems from a smidge of wisdom.
At some point in my life, I learned what My Favorite Things included. My Favorite Things help me to feel satisfied, useful, creative. Someone, somewhere, gave me the space, the time and the tools to acquire this important category. Someone, somewhere endured, scheduled and sacrificed for me.
Good mothering—and good humanity—means I must allow this same opportunity for my own children—to a degree.
I keep writing that—to a degree.
“To a degree” means there are limitations. There are rights and responsibilities that must be achieved by both parties. Operation Birthday Piñata in the month of March is good. It is an agreeable mess for a specific portion of time that produces delight. Operation Birthday Piñata every single day is not good. The mess would truly become too much to bear. However, because someone, somewhere poured into me, it is good and right to be willing to pour into my children and others.
Sometimes, when we least expect it, we find that seeking the delight of others produces a delight in our own hearts.
When the Operation Birthday Piñata mission was complete, I didn’t dwell on the time and materials and math. I didn’t focus on the mess. I smiled at the squeals of our smallest one as she whacked at a suspended unicorn head. I tucked away the memory of her sheer joy as she plucked candy from the slender blades of almost-spring grass in our backyard.
I wonder what would happen if we figured out how to teach ourselves anew about delighting in the delight of others. I wonder what would happen if we figured out how to endure what might cause a bit of a mess for us, simply because it is good and right. I wonder what would happen if we each stood at our kitchen tables and prayed and figured and prayed some more.
I wonder what would happen if we finally discovered some messes are agreeable after all.