Since becoming a mother I’ve read books and attended seminars on all the golden little nuggets of wisdom around how to grow a child through empowerment and self sufficiency. I’ve reorganized their rooms so that their little short torsos and nubby hands can grab items in their world with ease. I’ve tenaciously surfed the internet for that one special kitchen tool designed for children’s mobility. I’ve tried to make sure veggies and fruit were prepped and accessible as to leave no excuse for them not to make their lunches for school, relocated the laundry detergent so they can reach it themselves to do their laundry, written chore charts, faithfully re-stalked cleaning supplies in their bathroom to ensure the tools they needed are readily available to them. I’ve even watched videos filmed by my kids to get a glimpse of what it’s like to be of hobbit height. Such adjustments to the house have often meant sacrificing my preference of decoration and beautification. Such as the ugly plastic water pitchers that they can pour themselves or piles of shoes I leave alone because after all, they did do what they were asked so why undo and “fix" it? I want them to feel this is their home which means I’ll just wait a few years to replace the hallway book case full of random crap with flowers and candles.
However, I’ll admit these efforts to create a self-reliant-confidant-responsible-non entitled-poster child, often manifest into ridiculousness. What kind of ridiculousness you ask? Picture an adult adamantly lecturing on how "the actions or lack thereof, to participate in the household expectations of packing your own lunch the night before school result in you not eating a lunch at all the next day” I say this to the devastated, wide eyed child and then it dawns on me - she’s 5 yrs. old. She only just recently (a matter of a few years) arrived at the exciting new world of going to the bathroom by herself much less packing a well balanced meal 12 hours before she plans to eat it. But onward I press into the abyss of forward thinking parenting. Which leads me to my main topic - our lazy susan.
A little backstory here for all of you who enjoy long winded tales - I’ve always been frustrated at the helplessness of my kids at meal time. Our table is large, their arms are short. Are you seeing the dilemma? "Pass the green beans" turns into a grunting / stretching exercise session which slightly resembles momma/baby yoga except it’s actually just dinnertime. It’s mind boggling to me how my daughters can reach within themselves and deep down magically muster up the strength of Wonder Woman when I ask them to carry in the groceries because they’ll grab the 50 lib ice cream carton without hesitation. They’ll pick it up with ease and run it inside like it’s on fire, eagerly anticipating swooping their 'spoonfuls of delight' into their mouths the moment they reach the kitchen. How is it that they can lift a gallon of Blue Bell with their pinky but are immediately disabled when it comes to passing a pasta bowl? So I thought "I should get lighter serving ware that they can actually pick up and pass" but well, let’s just be honest - I don’t want to because it would end up being a sister to that ugly plastic water pitcher and my self denial only goes so far. My conclusion? A lazy susan! You know, those turntable things from the 70’s. Perfect! But not just any lazy susan, the ideal one. Large enough to turn for everyone to reach, lovely to look at and of course, durable. I had one in mind and after 2 years of eyeing it the hubby got it for our anniversary. It’s one of my most favorite things in this house next to the dog and pottery….oh yeah, and the kids. It’s made from birch and driftwood by an art company in Iowa. We came across it in an artisan’s co-op in Boulder which is a good thing too because once I knew we should get one, lucky I could just swing by on a 2 hour drive to the store and pick it up. Hand etched is a mountain scene, a little house and the four seasons (not the band) surrounding the perimeter entirely illustrated in watercolored earth tones. Words carved along the outer ring say things like “Go out for Adventure, Come home for love” and “See Beauty”. A true piece of art. While my beloved brother delights in referring to me as a trendy suburban hipster - I’d like to think of myself as an artistic and eclectic homemaker. . . he obviously doesn’t comprehend exquisite taste. Poor fella. Regardless now our dinner table is embellished with this earthy functional goodness and I think to myself - AH HA! Dinner time dilemma is solved! I cracked the case.
We sit down to eat and the mad chaos begins. Someone says “Amen” to our deeply heartfelt 2 second prayer and it’s as if Seabiscuit was just released from the gate. One hand turns it right, another swipes it left. Then someone else spots the bowl of cheese sitting on the lazy susan which will inevitably fix Mom’s boring chili that she's labored over, so that hand grabs on tight to try their odds and there you have it. It’s like a live auction and the person with the most force wins the final spin! Whiz! Swoosh! The platters are clinking and the ugly plastic water pitcher is teetering on the edge of this fine piece of craftsmanship. Once the realization covers their little faces that not everyone can actually turn the lazy susan at the same time, disappointment sets in. I thought this would solve our dilemma but really all it’s done is created a venue for children to gaze down in forlorn hope at the lazy susan as it rotates by on it’s way to deliver the cheesy bowl of redemption to the person sitting next to them. But it doesn’t end there. Because the lazy susan is so wonderfully made of sturdy reclaimed wood it sits on a large wonderfully made base of sturdy reclaimed wood. This base is about 3/4 inches thick which of course causes all of the food to sit on a platform off the dinner table by a little over an inch. Didn’t see that one coming. So when my 4 or 5 yr old. Hobbit grabs the ladle to the giant silver stock pot in order to serve themselves up a bowl of chili- (because remember we are the Montessori home of self-sufficiency), it unavoidably comes toppling down and those beautifully hand sketched words of “Cherish family” are soaked in black beans and spicy tomato sauce disguising the message to say something like “C SH MILY”. But there’s good news because while I’m running for the dish towel and the Seabiscuit race turns into soup kitchen cleanup, my sly youngest is getting her calcium intake as she’s now polished off the contents of the cheese bowl when no one was looking. Did I mention that the recycled parchment paper instructions which the hippie at the store enclosed with the lazy susan advised the avoidance of extreme heat directly on the wood? Call me crazy but isn’t a lazy susan meant for food and here in privileged countries such as ours we often eat HOT food for dinner?
It was about this time that I realized this lazy susan is just a thing. It’s not my child’s heart or pschye - it doesn’t feel, it is not impressionable so I had better react in a way that doesn’t make my kid feel bad that she’s completely and utterly destroyed my enjoyment of my brand new piece of art. After all, she’s got short stubby arms and they can’t quite navigate the toils of a chili bowl on a lazy susan. They can however be of sufficient length when she is reaching for the highest cupcake on the cupcake stand - oh yes. Then her arms are filled with grace and Bruce Lee like concentration but “pick and choose your battles” they say. So instead of looking at her with beety little eyes muttering the words “I’ll get you my pretty, and you’re little dog too” I softly ask her to get up and help clean up the mess. Which of course translates into emptying her lab of lentils and black beans while the dog rushes over for his fair share. Ironic - I was just thinking of him.
Finally I find myself in the morning hours sitting at the breakfast table with a soft candle lit on top our lovely lazy susan. A cup of coffee, morning devotions and a quick thumb through a book filled with all the golden little nuggets of wisdom for creating a space in my home in which kids will thrive. Because, after all. . . we are all about growing confidant little minds around here and surely there’s something I can do around this joint that introduces independence. Right?
