the fourth

I think it was my fourth trip from the truck to the house...well...maybe it was my fifth. Who knows! I had made quite a few trips. Smarty pants me, I had scratched the idea of loading the car in heels and had resigned to a pair of Crocks until I reached the office. Shuffling in and out of the house, with each trip she told me to "be careful mommy. Watch out mommy. Good job mommy." I would always reply with "thank you, thank you." Of course muttering under my breath something about the days when I had quiet mornings with one trip to the car...those were the days. On the fifth trip (or what ever it was) "Okay, it's your turn. Let's get in the car."  Dead silence, she dropped her sippy cup and said "no." Oh my. It isn't even 7:30am and this is how it starts. I am often amazed that we (as a society) continue to breed. I took a deep breath.

This morning was not unlike any other morning. Up early, a cup of coffee before the little ones start fussing. A shower, make-up and hair, a tad bit of laundry, more coffee and then up-se-daisy. Rise and shine little ones. I could tell it was going to be a rough one when before she opened her eyes, her first word was "no." Now, not all mornings are difficult. There are certainly those where I get to work and realize that I might actually be able to make it through the day without feeling like screaming. I guess those are the days that I think of having more kids....idiotic. Yes. Completely. Please commit me.

We always make it into the car and there is usually that final trip to grab my coffee/water of life or what ever you want to call it. There are days when I drive away and have to drive back only to realize that I did not forget what I thought I forgot. We always make it to daycare into the arms of our wonderful provider. Who seems to welcome the craziness of my three kids - we are often half of her daily inventory. Good thing she is not sick of us. As I close the door behind me, leaving my kids crying or smiling, laughing or screaming, I realize how glad I am to go to work. But at the end of the day, no matter what kind of day it has been, it is a pleasure to see their faces. Well....maybe that is a lie....it is a pleasure to see their faces as long as they are smiling. If there are frowns....oh well. I guess it's too late now.


the third

She put me on a time out. She said "that's it! time out!" She repeated it over and over. Really drilling the point.

She pulled a full carton of eggs off the counter and quietly took eggs out of the carton and put them on the floor. Tick, tick. I heard it in the background but had no idea what that noise was. She put me on a time out?

She found a permanent pen, drew on my french table cloth and on the side of the drawer. We now call her the graffiti artist. And she put me on a time out.....

She had been sneaking them for days (we later discovered). A white powder on her lips. A little suspicious, but who has time to investigate? Teething tablets....took them out of the diaper bag, out of the ziplock, took the top off and helped herself. Put the top back on, back in the ziplock and back in the diaper bag.....we call her the druggie. And she put me on a time out!

She lies. Lies all the time. Through her teeth. No shame. Did you go potty in your pants? "no." The nerve of her to smile as she responds. Did you go potty? "No!" The sing-song in her voice actually is cute. But the smell that just came out of her you-know-what, not so cute. She lies. So we call her the pathological liar. And she put me on a %$#@*&% time out!?!?!?

She sat on one of them. Sat on him like he was a ride at the fair while she yelled out a version of "yee-hah." She sat on him and looked shocked when I was upset. She put me on a time out (really).

She stole the pacifier. She took it out of his mouth and ran. Forest Gump, full on Hussein Bolt Olympic time trial ran. Along the way she "disposed" of the pacifier in a secret location (still unknown). Like a drug deal gone bad, she stole the goods and in an instant it was gone. Where...who knows. Because she is a liar and won't tell where it really is. Probably with the lost socks from the laundry...I knew there was a culprit! We call her a kleptomaniac.....and she put me on a time out :)

She is two and already draws all over my stuff, sneaks things that taste good, lies (or doesn't truly know the difference between yes and no), and she steals. She put me on a time out and I laughed out loud at her.

Thank god she is only two.

the second

The camera clicked away as my mind played ping-pong.
Bouncing from one memory to the next. The beginning - the horror we felt. Two babies...really? The current - wow, this really is our life. Forever. The recent past - tears of joy, tears of frustration, tears of pure and utter exhaustion. There are so many happy memories, which is more than I can say for some (so I should not complain). Yet, it is so sad sometimes took look back and realize that it all occurs in just the blink of an eye. It seemed like just last week that they were so small, so pliable...still so very sleepy. They sit now (literally) in a bucket full of towels and roll around on a blanket blabbering and drooling. She plays in the background. Trying to find some kind of trouble, just enough to get a little (or a lot) of attention. She too was once so small. All that you gain as they grow, you lose too. The innocence, the smell, the softness, the almost lifeless sleep.

So now as the only noise in the house is the flicker of the fan, the breaths of babies in the other room, and my fingers tap-tap-pause-tap-tap-tapping, I sit back and my mind continues to ping-pong from one memory to the next. Smile.


the first

While Friday's are my favorite day of the week, I often find that they are the hardest. Friday nights I find myself in a scramble to organize the two days that follow. How am I going to juggle all that needs to be done (groceries, cleaning, diapering, napping...well probably not, but I always have it on my list...and then writing. Which also always seems to be at the bottom). What needs to be done and what actually gets done are two totally different things.

So does one hoof it to the grocery store first thing Saturday morning. Beating the crowds and the people who shop for pleasure.(..you know what I mean? The people that roam the isles with nothing but time.) Getting to the store just in time when there are only three checkers and they are still stocking shelves. Or do I pass on the early riser shopping and sit in bed with my kids and my husband and enjoy a cup of coffee...which is usually cold by the time I actually get to drink it - between the "mom, mom" and the diapers and the bottles and warm sippy-cup milk. There are no wild Saturday nights, well maybe they are wild. Sometimes I stay up till 11pm. Barely stay up. I usually fall asleep with the TV on. Watch out, mad crazy party woman I am!

Then we come to Sundays, which are just plain depressing. Monday is looming in the horizon, but you try to squeeze out every last drop of the day. By Sunday evening I am gathering up, preparing for the week ahead. It kinda feels like working in a restaurant. Preparing for the next day's morning breakfast rush.

When the alarm goes off at 5am on that Monday morning, hatred for that alarm has never been stronger. But as I stroll into the kids room (with a warm cup of coffee...that is a weekday gift) and touch their warm cheeks I realize that I'd take another Saturday and Sunday in an instant.