mothermayi

Shhhhh

I have been awake since 3:15 AM.  Lucy got up with a bad dream, the cat needed to snuggle, and I was scheduled for an airport run at 4:15 AM anyway, so I just stayed up.  I am done with the driving part of the morning, and now I am up, up, up.  It is quiet here.  I get to enjoy the toy free floor that I make every night.  Usually, before I have a chance to gaze upon it's glory in the morning there are mismatched kid socks strewn here and there along with the odd stuffed animal and on the bad days, food.  Look at her there, so shiny, so floory.  Oh so sock free!

I know a few mothers of older, and fully grown kids that still wake up at the crack of dawn to enjoy a quiet morning.  I always thought they were nuts, but this is nice.  If I put on my shoes and some warm things, I could get in some exercise before anyone noticed....   

Walking Small

That is me, there, walking along the sidewalk alone.  One kid fifty feet ahead of me, stomping her foot and glaring at me with dagger eyes meant to make me go faster.  Behind is Mr. Amble Von Slowalker.  Lagging by fifty feet, singing, stepping in mud puddles, chatting up squirrels and birds. 

Until recently, I always held both children's hands when we walked together.  Tennessee just didn't seem big enough to be on his own, and if I let Lucy go at her own pace, she would be around the world and back again before we made it up the front walkway to the house.  I would do my best to make my "calm" face while one child yanked my arm in an attempt to make me go faster, the other just too short to allow for upright walking.  Mother gorillas have it so easy. 

I try to urge Tennessee along gently, I don't want to discourage his rose smelling tendencies.  I try to make Lucy feel like we are rushing as fast as we can.  I don't want to discourage her love of efficiency and speed.  I usually end up frustrating everyone.  For Mother's Day, I want Tennessee to learn to enjoy a slow trot, and for Lucy to take up walking on her hands.  Then we would be the happiest little gang on the sidewalk.

Contrary

Tennessee can't stop disagreeing with all of us.  When I first typed all of us, I thought I should specify that I am talking about our family.  The trouble is, I am not just talking about the Pogson/Allen gang.  That little guy disagrees with everyone ever.  He spent the morning yelling orders and repeating demands.  At one point I got a flashback of working as a desk clerk at a hotel.  He is like a wee fussy tourist, wherein nothing was quite right. 

He demanded toast, "just like Lucy!"  I made toast.  It was the wrong kind of toast of course.  I had no idea that there are two kinds of bread in every bag, the good kind that Lucy received for breaky, and the gross kind that makes small boys yell.  He yelled at me for changing his diaper.  He yelled again when I put a blue shirt on him, than again for offering to re-apply a different colored shirt.  He yelled at Lucy because he couldn't draw a dragonfly just like hers.  He yelled at his dad for sitting down.  Then again for standing up.  He is full of yelling and frustration and I spend much of the day really wanting to pinch him. 

I have read the literature on turdy behavior in small children.  I know that he is just working out his place in the world.  I know all of the calm (and sometimes not so calm at all) voiced explanations and time outs will get him where he wants to be.  Someday.  I hope it happens before my secret pinching desires bubble up to the surface.

The Room

I should be upstairs right now tossing Lucy's room like a pack of FBI agents.  But I just can't make myself do it yet.  At first glance, it looks alright up there.  Fairly tidy by 5 year old housekeeping standards.  Upon closer look, an observer will notice that contained in those pink and green IKEA bins is a heinous debacle frightening enough to get FEMA's ineffective butt into gear.  Barbie is mixed in with the pieces to a puzzle of the USA.  Barley able to catch her little plastic breathe with California weighing on her so.  There are doll clothes mixed in with half finished glue jobs and pipe cleaners.  I opened one bin to discover it filled to the brim with toilet tissue.  Apparently there was a terrible accident involving the Mommy doll from Lucy's doll house and that bin is acting as Mommy dolls hospital bed.  I am fairly sure there are enough little pink plastic hair brushes up there to keep all the dolls in all the word perfectly coiffed until the end times. 

I have my work cut out for me.  I am on a time line too, if I don't get everyone back in there proper bins before she gets home, she will start asking questions.  "Where did that half of a puzzle of a baby tiger go?  The good one, that I was saving?"  Then I will have to lie.  But, if I get it all sorted and culled and back in the bins before school is out, I am golden.  She will delight in mixing it all back up again, never noticing that the tiny pink hair brush collection has been cut in half, the rejects sent out into the wilds of the Salvation Army van.  Alright, enough procrastinating. 

Off I go. 

Wish me luck. 

Okay, I am really going. 

Now. 

In just a minute. 

Day Off

Lucy had five days off from school, Tennessee got a break from preschool for Presidents Day too, Mama got five days 24/7 with the kiddos.  I love the children, I really do, but I was very excited to have a little time alone on Tuesday.  As you might have read, our family was struck down by a evil stomach emptying virus.  No alone time and much much laundry.  Today, today was a day housewife dreams are made of. 

The sun was shining, the birds where chirping, little bunnies gathered around my skirt...it was like I was freakin' Snow White.  (Okay, for the sake of honesty, I don't wear long skirts as they don't flatter  my figure and there are no wild rabbits in the Portland Metro area.  If there were I would avoid them like the plague, as bunnies are second only to snakes on my Icky and Scary Things list.)  I did not get, or make, or wash, or debate anyone for seven glorious hours.  I wrote.  I walked in the sun with my pal and her cute dog.  I ate food that I didn't cook.  I bought groceries alone and without a cereal debate.  (That Lucy is quit the little Perry Mason.)  But the thing that stood out, the thing that made the day a real A++, is that no one threw up on or around me.  Not even once. 

Barf

Both kids, all night.  Barfy, barf, barf.  Luckily my husband is of the competent and thoughtful variety.  He manned the washing machine, which looks ten years older today.  Once I got the kids to sleep, I lay down and tried to convince myself I wasn't feeling barfy, until 4:30 this morning.  Then I got a turn in the no fun chair. 

The kids are bickering and crashing around.  A sure sign of health.  I ate three oyster crackers and a glass of water, so I am pretty good too.  The nice thing is that I just blogged from my cozy bed for the first time ever.  I had no idea it would be so easy.  I just need a mini fridge in here, and a hot plate....

Notes from the Underground

The kids have been home from school for five days now.  With Presidents day, and parent/teacher conference week, there has been not near enough school for my taste.  I look like a cartoon character of a harried house wife.  There is glitter in my hair, despite the fact that I vacuumed thrice yesterday (more evidence that glitter is the work of an evil woman hating god).  My sofa is being used as a marine rescue vessel.  The fruit basket is thoroughly ravaged, but I don't have the fortitude to pack up the kids and go to the store.  I haven't slept more than four hours at a stretch in over a week.  It is not looking good around here, not good at all. 

As that spunky red headed orphan put it, the sun'll come out t'morrow.  There will be kindergarten, there will be preschool, there will be silence in the living room, if only for a few precious hours.  I will shower without having to mediate and shave my legs at the same time. I will sit and write for an hour, maybe two with out pausing to cut up an apple and yell "The cat is not a shark, STOP THROWING LEGO AT HER!  NOW!"  Why did it go out of fashion for doctors to prescribe valium willy nilly like they are vitamins?  Why?

Ouch

When Lucy and I first began our parent/child adventures, I was new to the whole thing.  She was the most precious, pink, tiny thing I had ever made with my own body.  Every single bump and scrape was a really big deal to me.  I was pretty sure that I was going to break her every second of every day.  She picked up on my gasping and chest clutching.  After I realized that I had created a boo boo having monster, I have tried different tactics to reduce the appeal of over-reacting to stubbing ones toe on a throw pillow. 

I tried getting mad.  We all know how well that works.  I tried snuggling, then explaining.  It involves too much Whiny Precious Mother Voice for my taste.  I tried ignoring.  Lucille is not the type of person that is ignored.  She is remarkably loud for such a skinny little kid.  I would think her diet of apple slices, crumbs, and air would leave her practically mute from hunger.  I tried applying band-aids to everything.  This is fine, as the thrill of a Batman band-aid helps even me get over the most heinous of paper cuts.  In the long run though, it is just rewarding her for getting all worked up.  Band-aid/sticker, sticker/band-aid?  It is a very thin line.

Today I hit upon a plan.  Possibly my best plan ever.  All injuries (barring those that actually require medical attention) must have rest and elevation.  Here is how it works:  Lucy gets a terrible "almost blood owie".  She begins to howl.  I check for large amounts of blood or limbs hanging loose.  If all is well, I use my best Nurse Ratchet voice and offer to put her in her bed to rest and elevate the wounded limb, or finger as it were.  She has to choose between continuing to play, and going to bed.  HA!  I am expecting my Genius of the Year award in the mail any day now. 

Back Under Water

Yesterday it was sunny.  There are crocus coming up, and, I may have been making it up to suit my own denial of February's true personality, but I swear little birdies were chirping in the trees.  Today, not so much.  It never actually got light today, just brighter grey. 

The kids have decided to get sick again too, in honor of pretend spring being over.  This is just about the time of year I start wondering why I live in this muddy valley.  I need soup.  I need wine.  I need to move to Arizona. 

More Potty Talk

After a night of bed peeing and coughing (the kids not Kenneth) I needed a little extra time in bed this morning.  Kenneth got up and wrangled the monkeys into breakfast and school clothes while I drooled on my pillow for another hour.  I gained an hour of precious rest, but I lost my fifteen minutes of peace in the morning before I get Tennessee out of bed and begin taking orders.  That bit of the day is when I usually, ahem, go to the bathroom.  If you know what I mean. 

I woke up just as Tennessee was asking for breakfast number three.  I told him that I would fry up an egg and toast some bread, right after a trip to the bathroom.  He followed me down the hall yelling, then busted through the bathroom door.  I was in a compromising position, so I was defenseless against his tirade.  He paced back in forth in front of the towel rack shaking his fists and demanding that I "go in that kitchen right now!" 

At first I was too dazed to respond.  Then, it occurred to me that he was being totally obnoxious.  Not only was he yelling at me, but he and I have been discussing privacy lately.  Privacy being his new favorite thing to yell about, as in "I need privacy from Lucy!"  Followed by some door slamming and toddler cursing in the form of "Lucy is stinky" or "Lucy is a meany head face". Tennessee was not respecting my privacy at all.  Man was I angry.  I am getting angry all over again just typing this.  When I am angry, I don't always make the best decisions, so I did my least favorite thing.  I lectured...and lectured, and stomped around, and lectured some more. 

Lecturing a little kid is the opposite of effective.  I whenever I do it, I can hear the respect they have for me squeeeeeking out of their little bodies like a balloon being squeezed.  Lecturing barely works on adults, let alone someone under the age of five who is in an honest to God lather over his lack of eggy breaky.  But, I was mad, and thanks to the yelling, constipated.  Not a good morning.  Maybe the worst morning of 2010.  From this day forward, I will either wake up at 6:00 AM, or lock the damn door.