The Year 2003 – As seen through a “typical day” at the Burk Motel

5:40 a.m. Up and at ’em. Someone has either (1) wet the bed, (2) had a bad dream or, (3)best yet, there’s a cat disemboweling some poor critter under the crib in the nursery. And whose idea was it to install pet doors? “Mommy!” says Ellie, her eyes wide in wonder, “There’s a WRAT unner my BED and Sam is EEEEEDING it!” Oh joy.

6 a.m. After changing sheets and or flushing mouse innards, attempt to wake Paul for his behind-the-wheel student driver course which meets–get this!–at 6:30 a.m. at the high school. As if rousing adolescents from their warm beds at this ungodly hour is going to make them want to obey traffic signals.

6:15 a.m. Sneak downstairs for a cup of coffee before anyone really gets going. Turn on baby monitor. Hear the shrieks and screams of two toddlers tearing their room apart.

7 a.m. Make sure Lacie is awake. Order her downstairs by 7:45 with some bribe/threat concerning her “phone privileges.” She’s missed the bus three times in the past two weeks. It is, of course, the bus driver’s fault.

7:55 am. The Lacie blur passes through the kitchen on her way out the door. A jingle jangle from all the metal jewelry, a thunk of books, the swish-bang of a door, and she’s racing down the driveway to catch the bus.

8 a.m. Time for Sesame Street. Yaaaaaay! If they are dressed, with shoes hair accoutrements, teeth brushed, nails trimmed, breakfast dishes scraped and rinsed in the sink (who am I kidding), then I let them watch a bunch of techni-colored fur puppets bop around to the Backstreet Boys. People tell me this icon of children’s culture is educational, but frankly I don’t see it. And I don’t think there is anything less appealing than Elmo’s voice.

8:20 a.m. Load ’em up. Four mittens, two hats, two coats, a trip to the potty and one school tote later, we are buckled into the van and off to pick up two other preschoolers on our way. I dread the many construction sites on the short 15-minute drive, since whenever we pass dirt, exposed to dirt, like a digging site for pipes, the apparently unmistakable scatological associations come alive in the preschool brain: “POOOOOPY!” They all shriek. “Poopy-head! Poop brain! Poop shoes!” And riotous laughter fills our merry minivan as we tool down the road, screaming future playground slurs at the top of our lungs.

And such is life at the Burk Motel. This is just the morning. The afternoons and evenings involve more noise, more bodies, phone calls, coming and going, a tantrum from one of the four (They each get a day, then Bill and I get a day, and we try to avoid the Lord’s day at tantrum-free. Isn’t that what they meant in the Bible about “rest” on the 7th Day??!) You’ll notice that poor Daddy misses the fun. Bill is spending about half the week in Potomac caring for his mom, who’s two-and-a-half-year struggle with cancer is coming to an end. We had a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday with her, and with Bill’s sisters and all of the cousins. In the midst of it, Mrs. Burk was carried out to the hospital for one of the many complications and crises which have marked this year. When she came home from the hospital, she kept calling for her grandchildren–all seven of them, from ages 16 years to 22 months, to come into the living room so she could see them. She is declining sharply this month.

Lacie is a freshman whose chip (as in, the one on her shoulder) has softened quite a bit. She senses the strain at the center of our family and has a deep grief already for her grandmother and what that loss will mean. She seems more balanced this year, and has just spent the week crafting and hot-gluing up a storm for all of her school friends. She didn’t get an allowance this month (It costs you $5 at our house for the ride to school after you miss the bus), but ever-clever, ever-driven, she just raided my craft stash and is happily cutting and pasting Christmas presents like the old Lacie. She loves to chat on the phone and take 28-minute showers. Her latest hair color? Black. Before that it was blue. She doesn’t seem quite so sick of her old-fashioned, decidedly unhip parents and is content to be at home a little more, and–even more surprising–invite friends over to our lame, boring domicile. Paul is busting to get behind the wheel for real and is at last within spitting distance of his driver’s license. He is somewhat aggravated that the brand new sports car with full tank of gas will not be waiting for him in our driveway. Every week or so, like clockwork, he gets a wild hair and starts calling area stores and businesses for a job, but to date no luck. He is feeling the pinch, at this age, of having more time on his hands but no money and no will to make use of it.

So we hope that this desperation, and the humility of mooching off his friends (more than all those parental lectures on responsibility and work ethic) will propel him into gainful employ. He is a rather agreeable, likable guy, at the ripe old age of 16-and-a-half, pal-ing around with equally nice boys and, for the most part, staying out of trouble. Basically, he skateboards and plays video games. And goes to the movies. And chases a girl or two, now and then.

We had a fun spring and fall with much outdoor play. Bill build a miniature mansion for the girls to play in–the “Green House,” we call it, because I let Ellie choose the paint color. It’s called “electric green.” In the spring it perfectly matched that luminescent shade of new grass. In the fall it looks like–well, a glowing radioactive waste bunker nestled in our barren woods. Another fun pastime, for the grown-ups in the house, was “dump” shopping (like we don’t have enough stuff but hey, it was all FREE!) And for a while we were bringing home kids’ trikes, bikes, an easel, garden paraphernalia, and the biggest hit–a battery-powered Power Wheels–FOUR of them, mind you, piling up in our garage and waiting until we would also happen upon a battery pack–also at the dump, of course, so as the power the fool things. Then we realized, in the searing heat of July, what a moan it was to have both our “big people” vehicles parked on the blacktop driveway at the temperature of the sun, while our four children’s drums, skateboards, bikes, scooters, trikes, and yes–four Power Wheels–packed up the nice cool garage. So we purged… and we were within a few days’ and a few square feet of actually getting the van into its own garage when Bill, ever the pastoral type, went into the clergy salvage business, “helping” a retired clergyman (and fellow packrat) clean out his garage and shed. His garage was stripped bare while our garage was heaped even higher than before. I bit my tongue and decided to wait until the winter to hope for a garaged van. Well, it’s January and I’m still maneuvering around some other guy’s boxes, bins, broken fans and old Tupperware filled with nuts and bolts. Maybe if I set up a little “You want it, You take it” sign out on the driveway–just like the one at our local dump–maybe Bill will stop by and take things away from it!

Ellie loves to dress up, listen to books on tape and do puzzles. She spent about ten days solid wearing a Belle costume, in and around Halloween. I’d be scraping the oatmeal and yogurt off the front of the thing, and she be insisting that yes, she wanted to wear a yellow satin ball gown and cheesy Disney tiara to the grocery store. Her other endearing “Let’s Pretend” is to play “Puppy,” which involves lots of shrill yapping–Ellie and Sophie down on the floor on all fours, pawing at me and barking. Which… come to think of it, is indistinguishable from every other moment of the day! Sophie goes right along with the games, and as long as there are two of whatever you hand them, they get along pretty well. As the youngest member of our family, she is articulate, consistent, not-to-be- stepped on, and the cleverest of them all. You can literally see the wheels turning. For her second birthday in February we are planning a Valentine tea with her godparents and her Mamie (Jen’s mom) who is flying down. At that time, and in the years to come, I know how much we will mourn the loss of Grandma Burk, her namesake.

Our year has been marked with illness and sadness as much as with joy. We are even more aware of the fragility of life, and the abiding blessing of family and friends.

God bless and a good happy year to all. Love from Jenny and Bill