I woke up this morning feeling
particularly grateful. I don’t know why I felt this way today out of all days—I
slept terribly last night, have been battling some mystery illness resulting in
massively swollen lymph nodes throughout my body for weeks now, and I’ve had
several very stressful weeks where I’ve had so much unpleasantness to do that I
didn’t have any time for the things or people I do love. Despite that, when the
baby started screeching like a perturbed pterodactyl, I couldn’t help but smile
as I lifted her adorable, stained pajama-clad butt out of her crib. Even when I
attempted to nurse her and she managed to spill my coffee, bite my shoulder,
and pinch my neck—all while blowing raspberries on my bicep like it’s her job,
I felt happy.
Maybe it’s because my 3.5 year old
can finally tolerate real milk. Maybe it’s because my 6 year old rocked her
standardized math test and finally—hopefully—realized that her sister isn’t the
only smart kid in the family. Maybe it’s because my 8 year old did four perfect
backwalkovers in a row at gymnastics last night, which I saw—and better
yet—that she SAW that I SAW (because, you know, if a kid does something cool
but the mom doesn’t see it, does it even count in the kid’s mind?). Or maybe
it’s that my 15-month old who JUST started walking pointed to her nose on
demand this morning, demonstrating that while she might be on preemie time for
the milestones, she IS getting there, slowly but surely.
My attitude changed pretty quickly,
though. Let me just say that today is Day One of our fall “break” staycation. I
question the “break” aspect of this because while my kids are not at school
during this break, the flip side of that is that MY KIDS ARE NOT AT SCHOOL. In
other words they are all four home. My husband is not. As of 9:30 today, I was
feeling amazing about this break. My kids enjoyed the freedom to play before
breakfast and then I let all four of them eat on the floor in front of the TV.
I even whistled happily while sweeping up the insane mess that made (ok,
technically it was more like a hum since I really suck at whistling). I dressed
everyone in adorable coordinating Halloween shirts and pants. My kids all
played well together while I worked out. Seriously. I did an entire Insanity
DVD while my kids all played together. No joke. Then, I showered. Alone. In hot
water. While singing a song called “I love fall break” to the tune of the ABCs.
I put on makeup and jewelry and cute new black leggings because, well, I had
time for once, since all my angels were happily playing.
Fast forward to the present. It is
2pm. We made pizzas for lunch. We did Halloween-themed crafts. I drove five
kids to a birthday party. We made cupcakes with orange frosting and homemade purple
fondant shaped like (slightly asymmetrical) bats. The ideal day, right?
So
why am I sitting here resisting the urge to add a splash of rum to my massive
diet coke and licking the frosting off a Barbie shoe?
I’ll
tell you why. Behind every Halloween craft is a Google search of “how to get
permanent marker off finished wood surface” (why oh WHY do we even own
permanent markers?!?). Behind every orange-frosted cupcake is a freaking orange
smear of crud on my cute formerly black leggings. And homemade pizza? Well, let’s
just say I don’t even own a broom that can reach as far under the fridge as the
shredded cheese flew. There are cheerios in our high-pile rug. No one is
napping. The baby got a smear of poop on her outfit and I haven’t yet taken the
dang pictures to memorialize the ONE time they all wore coordinating Halloween
shirts. There are orange stickers and orange glitter and orange frosting on
every surface of my house. Our playroom looks like a daycare center that was
evacuated in a rush. The baby took a bite of a bar of soap. The three year old
ate uncooked spaghetti she found under the trampoline. The eight year old has
pronounced the six year old “wicked,” and said six year old has informed me
that she only has two sisters from this day forward, but that she still wants
five sisters total. Since I’m currently in the corner of the room, rocking
myself in the fetal position and chanting, I don’t think I could handle an
additional two children.
People
often comment on how often I take the kids out in public to various activities.
Occasionally, they’ll even go so far as to call me a good mom because I’m so
active with the kids. But if I’m being honest, it isn’t about that. So
tomorrow, if you see me taking the kids out to lunch after a morning matinee
and before our trip to Conner Prairie and then for an indoor evening swim,
please know that I am not competing for Mom of the Year. I’m simply trying to
wear them out and keep them from killing each other or trashing the house. Now
excuse me while I brew more coffee to survive the afternoon J
