Ode to Auntie Sis

The house we moved into is right around the corner from my sister's house. We don't even have to cross the street to get to each other's house. It's one of the best things about our house. When Sis and I were in our twenties, we were next door neighbors in Portland and even though it was the year I suffered from a wicked case of depression, it was one of my happiest living situations I've ever had. But now, we have the added bonus of being close to Sis not just for me, but for her to be an Auntie.

     Several people talk about the necessity of being close to family once you have kids, and I have friends who only use family for their childcare purposes. I admire families that can make this work, as often cases just because you live in the same city as family, it doesn't mean they are close or convenient. You can still end up spending 45 minutes in the car one way to drop off your child. Or like some of us, we have family members, where just because they are family, it doesn't mean they get to watch our child, either because it's inappropriate (like my mom after the death of my step-dad went into such shock that we all agreed it was just not a good idea) or because we have such different views of child rearing or appropriate discipline, that it's best to not even bother.

But Sis we use for occasional childcare or Auntie time, as we say. She watched Fyo on my birthday when my husband took me to dinner and when my husband arranged for a surprise date.  Mostly, we love the Auntie-ness and the Sis-ness on the day to day interactions. That even if we're not spending the afternoon together, I can call her and say, "We're walking a few blocks to the store. Do you want to come?" She'll meet us, walk with us to the store, and then afterward go back home. Or I can call her and ask, "Can we come over for a cup of tea?" And we'll go over for half an hour, the tea will never get made because we didn't stop talking long enough to make it, and then we'll come back home for Fyo's nap. Fyo then gets sad for a minute because he wants Sis to come and nap with us.

It's the small day to day interactions that are such gifts.

Yesterday, Sis had talked about coming over to do her laundry, but she also had a dress to finish. She thought she might make it at five. She didn't. She called and said, " I can't come for dinner. I'm battling sleeves."
     I said, "I'm making Spinach-Ricotta pie."
     She said, "I'll be over in an hour."

Yesterday was also a day that Husband worked late. I've been doing rather well with nights that Husband works late this week - and in between nights where I have the dinner meal already planned, I've gravitated to eating with my son as if we were bachelors. I had a friend who pointed out that my stupidly simple meal of one pot pesto wasn't as stupidly simple as say, opening a can or a box of Annie's Mac & Cheese. Or as is the case this week for Fyo and I, fruit smoothies with protein powder and a bowl of guacamole. (In my defense, we're not total bachelors. I do make him turn off Pingu. No TV during dinner. No exceptions.)

But last night I was feeling energetic and I wanted comfort food. Or I was feeling energetic until about 7:30. Then I expired. I didn't just turn into a pumpkin. I expired.

We didn't even have a bad day; it was just two year old busyness of playing, a trip to the park, and a small dose of trying to continue to unpack boxes. Nonetheless, when I'm on duty into the nighttime routine, I expire. I don't know how single parents do it, unless they have their child in daycare during the day. I even wonder if Crack mothers deserve more compassion, if they're just doing the crack to keep up with their child and they don't know of any other coping mechanisms (not that I'm excusing the use of such things - or parents who give their kids Benadryl at 6 o'clock in the evening just so they're asleep by 6:30. Yes. I am talking to you Betty Draper.).

I got Fyo in to the bath, and into his pajamas. Sis came over bringing my New Yorker, like some gift bearing fairy.  I went to take my pie out of the oven only to discover that the oven had shut itself off. It had to bake for another half an hour. Another half an hour before dinner.

Fyo had eaten. Technically, it was his bed time, but I was too tired to put him to bed. If that makes sense. But I was. I was wishing Husband would come home and do it for me, because I just didn't have the energy for reading stories and the routine. I knew if I tucked my son in, I'd fall asleep right there with him, and I wanted my dinner. So against the advice of every parenting book in the world, I kept him up past his bedtime until I could gather the strength to brush my teeth and find my pajamas.

The pie finished baking in a rather quick 30 minutes (funny how quick time goes when you have someone else playing Ring-Around-the Rosy with your child). We ate. It was delicious. Fyo, having had his own dinner, asked for some. Then he went and got his favorite books of the day and asked for Sis to read to him and crawled into her lap. I sat at the table unable to move.

Sis looked up at me and said, "Go take a bath. We're going to read in bed." She took Fyo upstairs to tuck him in.

After Fyo was born, Husband and I learned the hard way, that friends and family who say they are coming over to help, aren't. Generally, they are coming to eat your food and hold your baby while you do the laundry. Some don't even bother to hold your baby. There are rare exceptions; friends who show up on your door with a lasagna and a pie plate of apple crisp, or people who show up only to ask for your grocery list because they are going to the store.

But I have to say, last night Sis won the prize. She tucked Fyo in, read him stories, found his bear and object du jour (Fyo doesn't have a security object per se. He has a list of favorite things, and essentially he falls asleep holding any number of things, or whatever caught his fancy. Last week, he fell asleep holding an apple.) She let herself out of the house.

That is what I call help. And the kind of help that is an absolute gift.