Little kids, little problems.

Perspective.

My life lately is all about maintaining perspective.

A call from daycare to discuss Crowbar's behavior. A parent-teacher conference with an extraordinarily stern 4th grade teacher who never once smiled during the entire meeting, despite Mad Dog's positive report.

They say Little Kids = Little Problems. Big Kids = Big Problems and I believe this to be true.

The obstacles and challenge I face today, as gigantic as they might seem now, will be nothing compared to what I'll surely face with a house full of moody teens.

I'll worry about drinking parties, online activity, sexting (oh God) and teen pregnancy. So for now, I vow (makes scout's promise sign) to freak out less over the all of the little big things that make raising a crew of 4 to 9 year olds so frustrating, worrisome and exhausting.

Some day I'll look back on this time with fondness. I'll wish for it even.

Maintaining perspective is what pulled me through the latest household drama, where The Deuce, in a performance worthy of an Oscar, dropped The News.

"I want to go live with Dad!"

Remaining calm, I gently probed to get to the bottom of this surprising new request.

"I just don't belong here," she said, breaking down into tears.

I traded glances with Mark who was standing nearby. He was visibly concerned. And so was I.

I held Deuce in my arms and stroked her hair as she heaved big boogery sobs. I patiently listened to her list of reasons which included not feeling like she fits in, having very little privacy and feeling like she just wants to get away.

After a few nervous moments, she finally revealed her true motive:

"I just wish I was an only child," she wailed.

I was relieved to learn that it's not so much about her wanting to be with her dad as it is wanting to live free from her pesky siblings.

It spilled out like a flood -- a list of reasons why she simply cannot live with them anymore.

When she'd finished, we drew up a list of pros and cons of her moving out. Ultimately, she came to the conclusion that living with Dad was a logistic impossibility. When that door had been sufficiently closed, she petitioned to live with various relatives, including my retired in-laws and bachelor brother. She also asked if our town had an orphanage. (We don't.)

After a while, she reluctantly accepted her situation, as dire as it is. She has to stay here, with me -- as the middle child.

Perhaps we all can benefit from a little perspective.