The happy chaos of six

Mayhem with whipped cream from a can and rainbow sprinkles on top.

Photo by Courtney Cook on Unsplash

We have officially entered our annual summertime ritual fondly known as Musical Kids. Like musical chairs…but with kids.

(Music optional but always encouraged.)

We have a pair of kids living here…then one more home from college! Huzzah! Then just as we’re settling into a routine of who showers when, the fourth one is home and huzzah again!

Now we can immerse ourselves in the happy chaos of dinners for six, rousing games of competitive Jackbox, limitless make-your-own sundaes, stacks of cereal bowls in the sink, art projects and sewing experiments on every surface, WHOSE SOCK IS THIS IN THE BATHROOM PLEASE, and all the multi-celebratory festivities we must cram together in a short time to properly honor the birthdays and dads and grads, comings and goings and moving-ups and moving-ons.

Happy chaos. The glory of disorder. Mayhem with whipped cream from a can and rainbow sprinkles on top.

We could use more doors around here. That’s for sure. More beds and more rooms with doors.

Did I mention we have one bathroom?

We have one bathroom.

And no rooftop access this summer during construction — my urban asylum. My happy place. My open-air mental health break room. It’s gone for now.

I shared this on Instagram Stories this week and you only think I’m joking.

via @merit_la

(I bet they have more than one bathroom.)

(I bet they even have someone who helps clean it.)

I think I’ve mentioned before: We live in what Jon has fondly dubbed The Weasley House. Cluttered. Frenetic. The one I feel like I am apologizing for all the time. (Thank the goddess for the ability to blur your Zoom background.)

Whenever I find myself flushing with the shame of welcoming unexpected guests through an entranceway littered with a tumble of shoes in six sizes, whenever we are compelled to yell IS EVERYTHING OFF? before toasting a bagel or brewing coffee, I try to convince myself, it’s okay! It’s The Weasley House! The Wesley House with mid-century furniture.

One of the kid’s friends comes over to hang out and play video games — a kid without siblings who lives in a beautiful, tidy home with surely enough bedrooms and doors. They smile at me and say, “Can I move in? Will you adopt me?”

“No, but you can stay for pizza.”

I needed that perspective.

I drag a seventh chair to the table.

I’m fairly sure we have enough ice cream for dessert.

How much longer will we get to have this? Jon and I whisper to each other in the night while the kids are still giggling out in the living room, squished together on the couch.

We squeeze each other’s hands. He gets teary and I love that about him.

Then, just as we six are settling into the routine, knowing who likes what sauce on which pasta shape, and whose razor is whose from the Sharpie initials and ironic stickers on the handles; just as we are finding our way with each other and around each other, learning not to complain too much about the messes and the open suitcases… it changes.

When children become adult children, they have their own dreams, and their own jobs, and their own visions for what their lives and their summers will hold. Bags are packed and a Lyft speeds off to LaGuardia.

Our six becomes five.

A first-time counselor heads off for training, another going-away dinner, and now we are four.

Another camp trunk is hauled up from the basement, and by next week (but not before more ice cream), we will be three.

For the rest of the summer, Thalia will get to pick her own ramen flavor, her own cereal, her own room’s A/C temperature. We will see the movies she chooses when she’s not too wiped out from work. We will link arms and walk to pick up bagels or more Advil and talk about things I will never share. She will jump on a subway alone and head to thrift shops, fabric stores, bookshops. She will go out with friends and forget to tell me when she’ll be home. She will take up the whole dining room table with her sewing machine projects and I will still get annoyed, but we’ll work around it. She will get to sleep in late on days off without a sibling clunking around the room.

She will love being home and she will hate it. She will miss school terribly.

She will also feel what I’m feeling:

The quiet here is wonderful. The quiet here is impossible.

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Gratitude Notes: To Marc Elias and his entire team at Democracy Docket who are doing the hard, unsexy legal work of trying to keep our democracy a democracy. Worried about November? Look for the helpers…and support them in every way you can.

Read it Forward: I recently discovered my old friend Rob Tourtelot on Substack! We met in a memoir writing class years ago, pre-kids, and his writing was so exquisite then, that it’s no surprise he’s even better today. Subscribe to This Very Moment…this very moment (ha) for wonderful insights from a dad, startup founder, meditation teacher, and all-around good guy who also believes that stories can change lives.

Listen Up: Do you know I have a podcast? I do! I will try to be better about sharing new episodes around here. Recently, I’ve spoken with Jonathan Van Ness on his new children’s book, Brad Meltzer on empathy and his viral U of M commencement address, and Jaclyn Lindsey on the science of kindness.

Oh! And my daughter Sage just co-hosted an episode with me about teens’ biggest questions about college admissions, all answered by top college counselor, Alyse Levine. If you have college-minded teens, our entire Insider Guide to College Admissions (podcasts and Q&A posts) is absolutely worth your time. (Bonus: Alyse’s team at Premium Prep is offering a free, half-hour live 1:1 counseling session to my listeners. She didn’t pay me to write that here, but I’m telling you anyway because it’s a terrific offer.)

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