Happily Ever Again
God, it’s bad . It’s all so bad.
The truth is, I do feel deranged. Don’t you? If it’s a syndrome maybe there’s a cure. I do indeed feel ill doing the four things I do: scroll social media apps I don’t even like, frantically do NYTimes puzzles, whimper in the direction of my emails, and interpret the entire world and its history for my three children.
I bought Larkin a big board book where every fairy tale fits on a one page spread. To do that, the authors cut right to the chase. I cut it down even more because I can read and she can’t. “Cinderella’s two stepsisters made her clean the house” is right where we drop in. I love it. Just as jarring as real life feels, when you’re minding your own business and a headline parachutes in from nowhere.
Larkin has to do the last part of every story. “And they lived happily ever again,” she says.
Happily ever again: just the kind of brilliant mistake that makes having a toddler worth it. To her there is no after. There is only again, or brand new. That’s it. I’ve read that I’m supposed to be a better mom by saying things like “after you clean up, we will watch a movie” instead of phrasing it more like a threat, but it doesn’t work.
The truth is, “after” is a tough word. Nobody knows. It’s a promise more often broken than kept. Most people have zero idea what’s coming next. Much safer to go with “again,” although any catchphrase ending with that word is risky.
I prefer not to think of “again” as some static, perfect time to return to. We all know that’s not right. “Again” is how a two year old experiences it: weightless on a swing, in summer, before gravity takes you down. AGAIN! is pleading joy, more joy, five more minutes, three more pushes, far away from the car buckles and wood chippy ground and sleep. Again, again, push me up where life is good.
Cinderella’s shoe fits, the beanstalk is chopped, the wolf “runs away”. It’s a book for two year olds, after all. Anything could change. And Larkin seems to know that. It’s my job, our job, to show her that “after” is a real place, and not just a fairy tale.
There will be an after. There always is.
*the book tonight is “My First Lift-The-Flap Fairy Tale” by Ingela P. Arrhenius. Highly recommended!
I’m way off my posting goal so expect an uptick as I race to the end of the year.