My two kids have recently taken to acting like dogs. Not only that, but I am frequently summoned to watch their “dog shows”, where they pretend to eat, sleep, slurp water, play fetch, and bark a lot. It’s fascinating.

In addition to these performances, I am often asked to watch dance moves, rope jumping, big-wheel riding, bubble-blowing, and swingset tricks. I also have to keep track of movements, or time them, A LOT. “Mommy, see how fast I can run around the house.” “Mommy, count how many times I hop before I get to the car.” These are the times I want to reply, “See how fast Mommy can make a margarita.”

Why is having an audience so appealing to kids? My son even wants someone in the bathroom with him to observe his peeing skills (or lack thereof). I can’t think of anything I do that I would want someone to see. Look at me! I do dishes, I fold laundry! I am amazing with a vacuum!

But, despite the constant interruptions and sometimes being bored to tears, I do find charm in knowing the mundane is so interesting to them that they want to share it. There is such innocence in getting excited about the ordinary tasks of getting to the car, or going to the bathroom. Or, in finding abundant joy because you’re playing inside a big cardboard box.

Maybe we should all try to find delight in the commonplace, because it sure seems like a great way to live. Maybe if we have an unconventional attitude, we’ll learn to appreciate the day-to-day. Though, it’s hard to picture adults doing that. Because, I’m thinking that if I wanted to skip through the grocery store, I’d probably need one of those margaritas first.

A friend of mine sent me an e-mail tonight called “Kids – The 15 Step Program”. It was a humorous look at all the things you should do BEFORE you have kids to see if you’re ready for them.

What got me was Lesson #2, which said that before you have children, you should go find a couple who does, and then BERATE them about discipline, sleep habits, breastfeeding, toilet training, and for allowing their children to run wild. That way, once you have children, you’ll know how to take such unsolicited advice from non-parents.

Unfortunately, I have to own up to something. I used to be that person doing the berating. Only, I had a child at the time.

Our daughter was, and for the most part still is, a model child. She never acted up, cried in the check-out line, threw her food, talked too loud, or had random fits. When I told her “don’t do that again”, she didn’t do it again…ever. After two years with a pacifier, we took it away cold-turkey, and she never even cried for it. She was completely potty trained in three days and didn’t have a single accident after that. Everything came easy. So, I hope it’s understandable that I completely believed this whole parenting thing? Well, it was a breeze really! Why didn’t all these other parents know how to raise their children?!

Ah, but things have a way of working out. I was firmly, and absolutely, put in my place when my son was born. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, has been easy with this child. Aside from his health problems, there were major challenges in feedings, crawling, walking, talking, potty training, and dressing himself. He doesn’t mind having purposeless breakdowns, and he has the ability to make just about anyone uncomfortable with his glaring honesty. If I tell him, “don’t do that again”, that means I’ve given him a green light to do it more. In church, he mocks the choir and throws his head back while he dramatically lip syncs. And, he will walk up to strange women and ask me, “What’s HIS name?” His latest act, for which we can’t seem to find a solution, is that he becomes visibly upset if he sees, or even hears, another child crying.

But, it’s that sweet, wonderful sensitivity that gets to me. That, and when he’s not actually making fun of someone, he’s really very funny. Quite the comedian, in fact. And, all those challenging milestones? Well, that was all the proof we needed to see that no matter how hard something may be, he’s going to work at it until he can do it. Even if it takes YEARS.

So there. My son is not a model child, but to me he’s pretty perfect the way he is. And, to all those parents I criticized when my daughter was young. I’m sorry. I really had no idea.

On occasion I participate in research studies for a local marketing company. They call me, ask me a bunch of questions, and if I answer the way they want me to, I’m asked to come in and give my opinion. In return, I get a couple of hours out of the house, some adult conversation, and a paycheck.

The only part of this process which I dislike are the phone interviews. They call A LOT. And, the opportunities to participate in a study for money are far and few between. Of course, if I have a pleasant person on the other end of the phone doing the interview, it’s not so bad. That was not the case the other night.

A gentleman (and I use that term loosely, only out of respect to his Mother) by the name of Mack, called. The beginning of the conversation always consists of general questions about yourself….age, occupation, income, etc. He then went on to ask me ten minutes worth of questions about my buying habits, before telling me that I qualified for the study, and was invited to participate in person. He gave me the location, date and time and then asked if I would be able to attend. After I confirmed that I could, he said, “Well, I thought so, since you’re just sitting around over there.”

Uh, what did you say? Mack? Is it Mack? I would be happy to let you fill my shoes for a day. I’ll take my turn over at your desk, at your stressful job surveying people, and you can come over here for awhile. You can take care of my five year old who likes to pee mostly around the toilet, and my eight year old who will inform you that she’s bored within five minutes of your arrival. You can spend an hour making dinner that, mysteriously, no one will want to eat when it’s hot, and in the meantime, answer phone calls from stupid market research companies. You can change my son’s shirt three times in a day, wipe his butt, give him all his meds, and deal with the insurance company who always seems to be jerking us around. You can also teach my son to read, help my daughter at softball practice, and you can clean the house. Oh, and that last one…well, it’s pretty funny, but as soon as you clean it, it will be a mess again. It’s like magic, or something.

Those were all the things I wanted to say. But instead, all I could spit out was, “Mack, I’m guessing you don’t have kids”. Of course he doesn’t. Because interviewing people over the phone doesn’t pay for the endless amounts of food they eat, the clothes they tear through, and especially not school tuition. In the end, I will be satisfied with the knowledge that “I’m just sitting around over here”, with my crazy kids, crazier dog, stressed-out husband and messy house. And, that Mack’s just sitting around over there, and he can only hope to someday have a life as good as mine.

Last night, my Mom and I took the kids to a local festival. It was America at it’s finest. We saw nicely dressed folks, and we saw others in Skynyrd shirts with their sleeves cut off. We saw tall, short, thin and robust. We saw mullets.

Food booths went as far as the eye could see, serving nothing but pure, artery-clogging cuisine. And, there were ridiculously overpriced, no-chance-to-win games, where the basketball is obviously bigger than the rim, yet we donate $5.00 anyway. My son did manage to win himself a stuffed dog by pulling a duck out of barrel. Though, that stuffed dog is so hard you could skip it on a lake, which is exactly what I might do with it.

After forking out $40.00 for tickets, we hit the Midway. Yikes. Most of the workers running the rides were smoking cigarettes, while sitting back in chairs with their feet propped up. They were nothing like the dapper, young, teenagers I usually see in charge of amusement park rides. These were seasoned professionals. Though, it appeared that more than a few of them had been working the Break-A-Plate game, and some fair-goers misread the sign and thought it was the Break-A-Carnies-Tooth game instead.

The kids and I took a white-knuckle ride on the Scrambler, which was being run by two men who “no speak good English”. I don’t remember the Scrambler actually scrambling, but this thing was as rickety as they come. I had to wonder if you needed to be able to read instructions to set it up, because I’m pretty sure they “no read good English” either.

The music was way too loud (Eddie Money was playing…what happened to him?), and it was hot, humid and sticky. When it was time to leave, I looked down at my kids, whose faces had been stuffed with hot dogs earlier, and were now covered with a mixture of bug spray, powdered sugar and funnel cake crumbs. And, after all the noise, sweat, smoke and chaos…they couldn’t have been happier.