Let’s build a tent…

I sit up straight in my seat and hold my breath. I don’t move a muscle as my blood pressure rises and my body fills with dread. And then I hear the words again, clear as can be and there’s no mistaking. It is what I feared.

“Let’s build a tent! Let’s get our blankets and pillows and make a tent!”

The announcement is followed by cheers and a chorus of enthusiastic yays as the six brothers run off to get their gear.

And my motherly instinct is exploding. I do not want a tent! I’ve had too many shabbos tent building experiences in the past 18 years that I know the future; this will end with many little people crying. It’s hard to predict who will be the first, but I definitely know there will be tears.

But do I stop them just because I’ve been burnt by this seemingly exciting and innovative idea of building a tent with blankets?

The pictures lie. Any picture you have ever seen of kids playing in magical pillow and blanket forts under tables or with chairs lined up was probably taken one split second before the big outburst. The big outburst of tears and hands and feet and more tears. 

So the big question lurks in front of me; stop the excitement or let them have the experience. And I’m sitting on the couch so comfortably and I know it’s about seven minutes till I’ll be summoned for the first misdemeanor.

But the joy in their voicess… I hear it traveling down the steps, stopping for a moment here and there as they stop catch their breath from the weight of the blankets and excitement.

I really, really don’t want them to make a tent! Why bother when it will just bring so many tears??

But if that’s the case, I laugh to myself, at this point we would do nothing because at this point I also know that just about everything that involves multiple young children ends in tears.

Let them have their fun, I reprimand myself.

And so I wait. Count to 60. I already hear the first signs of disagreement and a non cooperative three year old who thinks it’s more fun to enter the tent from the roof.

Oh it’s so hard to be a mother; to know when to get involved and when not to.

There’s quiet as somehow it gets resolved without me and back to teamwork.

I smile for a moment with pride, hearing the six brothers working together. They really are such good boys.

My moment of pride is gone, replaced by some words we don’t use in our house. 

Should I go now?

Wait for them to resolve it?

End this tent making experience before it causes more damage?

It’s back to working together. 

And then someone is crying.

And then they’re laughing together.

And then it’s quiet as they all huddle inside the tent and someone says a spooky story.

And then my three year old tries the roof again. And then another one tries to see if the sides really are sturdy or can be removed with a tug.

And someone else want to make an unauthorized window.

And then it’s complete mayhem.

And there’s lots of tears.

There’s officially a war.

And my time on the couch is over for sure.

As I go referee as my mind races; see, you were right. You should have never let them make a tent! It always ends with crying! How do they always forget that, why do they want to do it again when each time is a disaster?! 

I calm the crowd and dry the tears and divide the blankets to be returned to their proper locations and everyone insists that they didn’t take any blankets so they don’t need to put them back. And I’m silently promising myself that I will make sure they never ever make a tent again, for at least 10 years.

And then my husband joins us and as I am about to tell him that this family is never, ever making a tent again, my five year old excitedly tells him about the cool tent they made.

And I’m staring, dumbfounded.

It takes everything not to interrupt and say, but you guys just fought a whole time and everyone cried!! 

Instead I listen and watch the joy on his face and I slowly reevaluate the tent making and shift my perspective.

Maybe fighting is just part of the process. Maybe it’s a necessary part of how memories are made. Maybe us adults make a bigger deal out of it than we should. Maybe.