Growing Little Artists (or Black Hawk Down)

There is a space in time parents create to get things done. It's usually about 3 minutes. It's that time when the kids seem fine. They're taking care of themselves. Oh, how loving they're being with each other, I'm sure I can go upstairs and use the washroom. I'm sure I'll hear if anything changes.

I've actually learned that silence is the first sign of creative expression.

The first major "incident" in the 3-minute gap was early in my days as a stay-at-home-dad. Everything seemed under control. Baby sleeping, girls gently playing. I can send that email! The gap begins... Just enough time for both daughters to create their own stealth hair salon, in the same room! I turned around to notice a large beautiful pile of blond hair, next to a large beautiful pile of red hair on the kids' breakfast table. And two wide eyed kids looking up, each holding a pair of scissors, smiling. "Look Poppa, I layered Khona's hair just like Andrew does." As a parent, I've learned that this moment requires a certain kind of response: stopping, pausing, smiling, and then taking a picture.

I've begun to document this gap, or really the effect of the gap, that end of that moment in time between kids being totally fine, to complete Lord of the Flies. Just today, there were three of us looking after three kids. Pretty good: one to one ratio. Suddenly I can hear "Driipppy... Driipppy... Driipppy" being chanted from the deck like "Piiggy...Piiggy", and I look out to find Sanoah & Sikhona putting little sister Nella through a frosh week water hazing. Nella is performing a self-defense downward dog, and madly trying to crawl away from the island.

The other night, Mary-Kate left Rowan & Sikhona in the basement to go upstairs and hang the laundry: the gap begins. When she returned, she found them standing naked in plastic Ikea drawers completely covered in blue paint, beginning to hand paint anything they could touch stretching out from their perch ... floor, walls, shelves ... "Miiike, I neeeed hellllp !!!" I grabbed the camera. A Smurf like bath ensued with much scraping of skin and crying.

Last week, in the heat, the girls somehow got into the fine art of peeing in various places and containers. One evening, we discovered Rowan and Sikhona each squatting over their own ice cube tray, saying "I did it! I did it! I got it in." "No, I got more..." OK girls, nice work, I notice you're developing a skill. How about we work on the Olympic sport of peeing in a potty.

Recently, before bed one night, we left both girls to burn off some energy by doing some Playmobile, jumping on the bed, running around. Oh, they're so good at entertaining themselves. Mary-Kate and I slumped downstairs in the couch, each enjoying a brief wine respite. As we enjoyed the quiet moment, we looked at each other, and realized it really was awfully quiet. When we went back upstairs, we peeked around the corner to discover both girls squatting on their own bed, peeing. We both stood there, hands on our hips, jaws dropped, as they then began to jump over their pee marks, saying, "Hey, mine looks like an H". "Look at me. I jumped right over it!"We looked at each other with total exasperation, open mouthed, pointing, as if miming to each other "what the f--- do we ... ?" So we just turned and left, walked back downstairs and drank our wine. Ah, the joys of parenting when the helicopter crashes in the ocean.

I later went back upstairs to check on the carnage. Rowan had passed out on the floor of the laundry room, and Sikhona was standing, arms out, in front of a fan, with thumbs up, and a smile, as if everything's all good up here Poppa. And everything was for these beautiful little provocative artists. Everything was.