The morning starts at 6:30 am with one of my children getting up to go to the bathroom, which wakes up at least one other child. I scramble out of bed hoping to reach the two awake ones to shuffle them somewhere else before they wake the third child. After the two awake ones are confined to a room and playing nicely, I climb back into bed...not to sleep...but to lay there and be a listening referee for the next door children. Inevitably, I have to get up within 15 minutes to shut down whatever fighting or misbehavior is going on. By now the third child is awake, so the time between bed and referring is now down to 2-3 minutes. Bed is now completely pointless. Hope is abandoned.
So now we start in on the fighting round. We fight over getting dressed, outfits, the brushing of teeth, breakfast choices, and shoes. It is now 8:30 and at least one child has gone to time out and at least one other child has professed their extreme dislike of me. I ship one to school and begin the chores lightning round. I gather laundry from all corners of the house. I have 3 kids and two hampers, but I always have to look at least 20 different places to thoroughly gather all the laundry...especially all the socks. So after that is all done comes the lunch dance and the nap time round. In bed, out of bed, in bed, out of bed, in bed, out of bed....etc. After a brief nap (the children, not me) it's time to get the third from school and start the evening round. Homework homework, and start dinner. During this period at least 2 will go to time out for throwing a total of 2 times. The third will draw on something inappropriate....or draw something inappropriate on something appropriate. Either way, dinner will be a hot mess of distractions. Dinner will commence, but dinner conversation will be impossible because of the yelling, laughing, giggling, squirming, and spilling. Baths. Stories. Fighting. Bed. Out of bed. Water. Bed again. Jumping. Threatening. Bed. And finally, Sleep.
Now comes the fun part. I kick my feet up and relax for 2 hours and somehow the entire days slips away. I get up to resign to sleep and do one last child check before bed. They're beautiful. They're so beautiful it makes me want to snuggle up to each one, hold them, listen to their hearts beating and lungs breathing, and cry. They're fuzzy and warm. They smell of shampoo and Johnson's pink baby lotion. They have cute jammies on in their cute beds in their cute rooms. Their eye's are closed and muscles relaxed. And as I close the door to their bedrooms, I think to myself, "I really think I want another baby." WHAT IS THAT!?
That's the sign of a fabulous mother, that's what that is! You've got lucky children, m'dear. They did well in the Momma Lottery.
ReplyDeleteOkay, so I'm folding my laundry and I click "older post" while i am grabbing another shirt to fold, and this post - "Sabotage" - is what pops up as I notice that it's my Beastie Boys shirt that I am now folding. Even though not scientifically sound in any way, I have come to interpret little coincidences like that to mean that I am doing what I need to be doing with my life. Or something. Although it's not rocket science to figure out that I need to be folding the laundry that's been sitting in the living room for 2 days now. Regardless and carrying on...
ReplyDeleteSometimes I marvel at the fact that someday my children will be ADULTS. For real grownups. At the rate Lex is growing, he will probably be taller than Ryan, and at the rate that Carmen is reading, she should be smarter than me by 5th grade at the latest. They will be a man and a woman. Not children. It makes me feel sort of panicky to think about, although I am not sure why. I mean, if they survive to adulthood, haven't I done my job? So then yes, this idea about always having a small, soft, warm person around, who likes holding my hand and talking to me under the covers about using tape to fix chopped down trees (don't ask) starts to sound very appealing. But then one of these same little soft people will have a complete meltdown 2 minutes later when I tell him that he needs to eat something else besides Gogurt today. Or the other one will roll her eyes at me when I tell her that she needs to wear a skirt or shorts or something over her tights; I mean, you can't just wear tights, no matter what color they are. We can all still see your underwear. And then I am cured very quickly of this reproductive desire. That is, until the next bizarre, under-the-covers conversation....