ITS WHAT'S FOR BREAKFAST
This morning the kids let me sleep in. At 8:30 Cookie patted my cheeks with the first thing he says almost every morning
Mama, I need to go potty. I was bleary-eyed and heavy headed and begged him to wait five minutes while I summoned the
will to live ability to get up. I asked Samantha to go hang out with the babies while I got my act together, as they are much happier when they have a friend. Fifteen minutes later I went to fetch the patient Cookie Monster out of the babies' room and I was met with smiles and filthy faces. It took me a moment to register what I was seeing:
Brady and Tsega both had chocolate all around their mouths, down the front of their matching sleep sacks, and there, on the floor behind one of the cribs, poorly hidden by children not quite smart enough* to know how to be really sneaky, was a pile of at least ten candy wrappers.
I tossed the rest of the Halloween candy, and laughed. It was totally worth it for the extra sleep.
*The Eldest is smart enough to know she could argue I didn't tell her how to make the babies happy, only to make them happy. She was technically being obedient.
WITH FANGS
Believe it or not, I used to be a little funny. And fun. I was way fun when I was a babysitter. My kids would never believe this and I am sure most of the people that know me today who didn't know me before* would list a hundred adjectives before getting to "person who makes me laugh."
*Before what? I don't know. There was no Big Bang. I think there has been a gradual sloughing off of the funniness.
Every once in awhile I can come up with one liners. Like when a friend mentioned on FB that her kid wanted to know why anyone would want to watch a stupid Twilight movie I responded
they want to watch the stupid movie because their husband is in Dubai and they want to watch hot teenagers make out. duh.
Chuckle chuckle. No truth to that whatsoever. I was just trying to be funny.
(Read: I watched the first one that night from 11pm-2am while sewing and was both impressed and disturbed by how appealing the overarching Damsel in Distress and Teenage Passion themes were for me. There was a time when I might have wanted to be a strong, independent kick-A girl. But really, if I am honest, I would love someone breathing into my neck all day saying they cannot live without me and they are violently protective of me and whatnot. I could get into that. He should stay near the neck region though, my legs basically haven't seen a razor in weeks*.)
BAD EXPOSURE
Yesterday we had little Ethiopian Adoption Culture party/fundraiser in Boston, after which I had to jet very quickly to church. When I arrived home I peeled off my jeans, put on a longish skirt and after a brief pause of shame, proceeded to *shave exactly six inches of ankle, the part exposed by the skirt.
Just enough to not get kicked out of church. I am hanging on to my pride for dear life here, people.
NOW IS THE WINTER OF MY DISCONTENT
A few months ago I feel like I totally had my act together. My kids were in a groove with helping with chores, not too much TV, sleeping was decent among the little people. I was making home made bread every week, home made peanut butter. I read a few books. I started a business, did a few photo shoots. I made homemade jam and designed
puppy cupcakes, tried new recipes of cinnamon rolls. All of that breezy sanity is totally gone. All of it. Aren't things supposed to get easier as children grow???
Are the kids screamier? More dangerous, more violent than they were three months ago? Several times this week dinner time approached and I realized there would be no way to feed them because if I tried to cook* something bad would happen. It's so cliche I don't even want to bore you, but the moment I attempt to do anything but hold the two babies, there is screaming. There is fighting. There is crying, there is pulling on my legs, tearing apart shelves, couch cushions, toilet paper rolls crammed into toilets, falls down stairs, eating of crayons, etc etc etc ad crazium. The punishment for cutting apple slices for them is a box of DVDs dumped out. The consequence for turning on the oven and getting out some ingredients is a music stand used as a battering ram on someone's head. It is constant. It is loud. It is aggressive, and I hate using television but frankly, that's not even enough sometimes.
*Cook is a strong word for what I've been doing lately for dinner, by the way. Even basic meal assembling like getting out cheese slices and bread still takes time. Sure, I could get Sissy to help me speed up prep, but then who is going to stand in the fray and try to stop the madness?
Brady is faster and getting trickier but has no sense whatsoever. Today he climbed up a full flight of stairs without my knowledge. I did not know he could do this. I literally couldn't find my little Polly Pocket eating vacuum as he was upstairs trying to find his brothers (who had the door closed and were tearing all the bedding off the two bunk beds and taking turns jumping off the top bunk into the pile.)
It makes me nauseated to think about my baby in slippery pants on our slippery wooden stairs dragging along a flashlight in one of his chubby fists no less... He just smiled when I freaked out on him like
You knew this day was coming lady.
The good news is that all three boys fight over being carried in the Ergo carrier. They are voicing their need to be babied, loved and close to me.
The bad news is I cannot get anything done, and I am going to bed at 1, 2, 5am sometimes in the name of some time alone to think, to get work done, to breathe without people screaming at me. I am living two lives right now. There is Mommy Madness Me, and Peaceful Semi-Productive Me*.
*Sometimes the staying up is bad. Like when I watch Hoarders and then I start thinking I am a hoarder and I have to get up and go throw a few things away.
I should stick to Twilight and sewing. And praying this phase will end, because no matter how I try to describe it kids ages five, three, two and one is way harder for me than it sounds. They are nuts, and working very hard to make me so as well.
Final thought: I have no interest in celebrating Christmas in 32 days. None. If we could push it back to January like the Ethiopians that would be really helpful. I might be ready by then. I am seriously gonna work on that with Hubs.