Life With Three – A Fine Balance

Which of my three children do I love the most? The answer to this question will vary – depending on who you ask – and whether or not one of them is currently banned from electronics when you do the asking.

Forget about the middle child getting a bum rap – it’s the parents that are stuck in the middle of this age-old argument. I’m going to go on the record to say when my kids start making accusations, I don’t engage. At least not the way they are hoping I’ll engage – which is to say throwing myself at their mercy, begging for their forgiveness and giving in to their every whim just to prove my love for them.

My trick is that no matter their complaint: that I don’t love them, that I hate them, that I’m always so mean to them, that I love their brother and/or sister(s) more than them – I agree. I nod my head as if I’m actually considering what they are saying to be factually based and objectively accurate. This shuts them down so much better than any argument would.

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I’m doing my best to maintain fairness between the three sibs – or in the very least – the illusion of fairness – as that’s all that truly matters in their eyes. I won’t lie – it’s an endless struggle and juggle when balancing life with three kids; a kinda/sorta mental tally. It requires a mind like a steel trap; a skin like a steel sheath. It’s also something that parents of only children can never truly appreciate.

I want my kids to feel extraordinary – to know that they are each truly special to me in their individual way. But I can only do this on a rotating basis. I want to spend quality time with them together as a cohesive family; I also want to share some time with each of them one-on-one; incidentally, I also want to find time to sleep seven hours per night, fold some laundry once in a while and have a personal life.

In order to take some pressure off, I’ve started to plant the seeds for sibling bonding. As much as there’s rivalry and often inevitable, unavoidable togetherness – this isn’t enough. Or maybe it is and the kids will just naturally form a bond with one another. But just in case, I’m laying the foundation to ensure that each of them respects one another and appreciates what they have to offer.

On more than one occasion, I’ve reminded them that no matter what goes on behind our closed doors – they have to stick up for one another out in public. In-house fighting is normal and comes with sibling territory – so long as they are a three-pronged united front in the outside world.

And so what if my girls are at an age where they are fine to be on their own? Once in a while they can get their butts into the bleachers to cheer their little brother on during a hockey game or on the baseball diamond. Lord knows he was dragged to all of their events as a toddler – force fed goldfish crackers when he should have been at home eating supper, playing with toy cars in a steamy viewing deck while his sisters swam lengths below, exploring chewed gum under tables while his sisters skated figure eights at the local rink. They owe him – so going to see the movie of his choice (even if it involves animation and/or superheroes) is the cost of payback.

It doesn’t hurt to remind them that family means give and take; family means balance; family means that everyone gets a choice all their own once in a while.

Life with three means the youngest gets to do things the older ones didn’t get to at that age. And this isn’t specifically due to laziness or a “don’t care because it’s #3” attitude on my part. It’s also because there comes a point when it can be truly hurtful to exclude.

There was a time when it was in everyone’s best interest to plan outings with the baby and other outings without the baby. Case in point, when my son was 18 months old – we debated whether or not to bring him along on our family trip to Disney World. On the one hand, he’d probably get a kick out of seeing Mickey and gang wandering the parks (or else he’d freak right out and be scarred for life). On the other, I knew that diaper changes and nap time and harbouring a never-ending supply of snacks and figuring out an eat and sleep schedule and managing ensuing tantrums and meltdowns – would fall on me.

And I kind of wanted to enjoy this trip myself.

The decision was made. We left him behind with his doting grandparents in the second most magical place on earth – Windsor, Ontario. It wasn’t too difficult a feat to convince this toddler dum-dum that he was going to have a lot of fun – maybe even more than us. Based on the photographic evidence – he enjoyed himself. And he got to experience something that he never had in his life up till that moment in time – a full week as an only child. He napped in a crib and ate at a table. For once he was the sole sun in the galaxy with two grandparents who happily orbited him.

Side Note: We are planning another trip to Disney World in the next few months – and this time the family baby is included.

Currently, this eight-year-old gets to see movies that are sometimes rated 14A, he gets taken to sushi restaurants, he gets to walk to Macs Milk without benefit of a fretting and decidedly unhip parent tagging along, he gets longer uninterrupted bouts on the computer; he gets to watch Bob’s Burgers.

At the same time, I still stand strong in specific areas with no room for negotiation – specifically where safety and the law are involved (such as using a car seat or booster). He still has an earlier bedtime than his sisters – which means that while they are across the hall giggling at an episode of The Simpsons, he’s tucked in bed suffering the injustice of it all.

It was April, 2015 when our imposed “he’s too young” exclusion shifted. I had planned on taking my girls to see the Kevin Costner movie McFarland – based on the inspirational true story of a cross-country coach putting together an award-winning team of runners. My son would stay home with his father.

As we were preparing to leave, he became upset. Not just because we were going to the movies and about to stuff our faces with popcorn – but because he was being left behind. I knew at five, he wasn’t ready to watch a movie like this. He could barely sit still for an entire animated movie – and with this one clocking in at over two hours – he didn’t stand a chance.

Did I really want to pay the exorbitant price of a movie ticket – not to mention the additional $100 for popcorn and drink – for a child who most probably wouldn’t enjoy the film, most definitely wouldn’t understand the plot and wouldn’t even remember seeing this movie down the road? No – I did not. But I did anyway.

Because I realized the cost of leaving him behind was way more than the cost of bringing him along.

Throughout the film, he sat quietly next to me, watching the screen and munching on his popcorn. And when the end credits rolled, there he was unassumingly curled up in his seat fast asleep. But it wasn’t a waste. Far from it – he may not remember the movie’s name or what happened in it. But he remembers the time he got to join us – his mother and big sisters to see a grown-up movie, late at night, as part of the family.

All I want is to see my three into adulthood without them hating me or each other. I’ll keep you posted.