Total Eclipse with Children
Lunar eclipses are cool, but sometimes I just don’t care. I’m tired and there is TV to watch, books to read. Who has time to look up? Especially when the kids have completely sucked you dry. We were going to let the kids watch the eclipse, but at 6:30 I couldn’t imagine spending another fifteen minutes with my offspring. Definitely not three hours. My husband saw the look on my face and informed the kids, “They canceled that eclipse.”
After we finally got them in bed, I changed my mind. We hauled them into the driveway to watch the super blood moon. The toddler wouldn’t go to bed anyway, so it’s not like I could watch Austenland and drink a glass of wine (plan A). I’m using the term “watched” loosely. The one-year old pretended to mow the lawn and chased the cat while I chased him. My six-year old spent an hour arranging beanie babies so they would have an optimal view. My eight-year old read a book. My husband shone a spot light through everyone’s hands to see veins and climbed around in the tree house. My mom looked overwhelmed until she stood up and serenaded us with Total Eclipse of the Heart. I noticed some of the neighbors drinking beer and lounging. They were mostly sitting in chairs.
Here’s a picture of my toddler enjoying the super blood moon in my husband’s garage. (I’d prefer to distance myself from that mess.)
My mom could only remember one or two lines of the song, but the lyrics, which came to me later seem apt, especially the falling apart line: “Once upon I was falling in love. But now I’m only falling apart. It’s a total eclipse of the heart.” I might also be suffering from a total eclipse of the heart. Kids eclipse a whole lot of things. I don’t know which end is up anymore.
Speaking of that, you should watch the literal video version of Bonnie Tyler’s music video. It’s hysterical. Watching it tonight, it strikes me that it’s a pretty accurate portrayal of living with children, at least in its total randomness and all the spilled beverages at the preppy table scene. When you watch it, just imagine the ninjas and zombies as six-year olds. Imagine more juice boxes, toys, and Bonnie Tyler’s dress wrinkly and stained.
I should have known super blood moon would be more like a Bonnie Tyler video than an episode of The Wonder Years. Little kids don’t process things like lunar eclipses in chairs. They process them while running through the neighbor’s lawn in special moon-watching pants. That’s alright, though. The next blood moon, which my husband informed me will be in thirty years, I’ll get to do the whole thing again, except the crazy people mowing the lawn in the dark will be my grandkids, if I’m lucky.
