I think after reading this you’ll understand why I’ve been MIA for so long.
My wake-up call this morning came in the form of a baby crying and a toddler banging on the back of the bathroom door calling, “Ma! Ma!” Once I figured out which closed door was being beat on and located said toddler, I discovered he had a gooey, vanilla scented substance smeared on his hands and wanted me to help him wash it off. I later discovered it was lip balm and other pieces from my makeup drawer were hidden around the bathroom – including the trash can. Once I got that taken care of, I went to get the baby (after securing the bathroom door of course) and started the morning routine of diaper changes, sippy cups of milk and formula, breakfast and cartoons. At 10:00 I finally got to take a shower, but not before scrubbing colored pencil markings off the living room wall and pulling the toddler off the kitchen counter multiple times.
On a side note, right before I went to take a shower, I asked The Boy, “Do you think I can take a shower without you getting into anything else?” Of course his reply was an honest, “No.” By some miracle my 7 minute shower went by without incident though (for once.) The next hour passed in a blur of toddler fits, diaper changes, laundry, and mid-morning snacks. There was also the sweet moment of The Boy piling toys in front of Brother when he began crying for some unknown reason. Then it was time to start preparing lunch!
By 1:30 I had eaten, Brother had eaten, and The Boy…well he had taken about 2 bites and spent the rest of the time throwing fits over everything from not getting fruit snacks (because he refused to touch his lunch) to me refusing to turn the tv on. I finally discovered that if I gave him a plain piece of wheat bread he would also eat part of his lunch. Toddler logic is very strange. After lunch, both boys decided screaming was preferable to actually taking a nap, so wasting no time, I loaded them into the car and made the 4 mile drive to Sonic. They were both asleep before we got off our gravel road. That silence was short lived though. As soon as we arrived home Brother was awake, and The Boy woke up crying as soon as I put him in his bed. And so went the rest of the afternoon, alternating between feeding, diaper changes, and the boys taking turns crying, or just going at it at the same time. Oh, add in a few brotherly screaming/snatching/pushing matches over toys and books. They did agree on one thing though – naptime was not on the agenda. By 4:30, I was counting down the hours to bedtime and praying I would survive. I was able to raise the moral a bit though, with a few rounds of Patty Cake and Old MacDonald, complete with animal signs.
Then, a little before 7, things changed. The Boy decided to not be so grumpy, then Brother decided he needed to go to bed a bit early, and I decided to go with leftovers for supper. I was not in the mood to cook. Nor was I even in the mood to bother setting the table. The Boy wanted leftover pizza, and there was only enough for him, so I opted for a hot dog. I was sitting at the table, munching on my hot dog when my eldest son laid down in the kitchen floor with his pizza. My first instinct was the typical, motherly, “get out of the floor” comment. I didn’t say it though. Instead, I got up from my chair and joined him. That’s where we ate our supper – lying in the kitchen floor with our heads touching, laughing at the cat stepping on us, and talking about the “fly,” the dead bug trapped in the light overhead. He loves bugs lately…and frogs and dinosaurs or “fwah” and “dye” as he calls them.
We made a game of him trying to pull me up out of the floor. He’d “help” me up and then push me to lie back down, so he could do it again. We moved to the living room, and I settled on the couch while he plopped down in the floor, putting his head on the cat’s tail. He was still hanging onto that slice of pizza with one hand, and petting the cat with the other. He climbed up on the couch to share his last couple of bites of pizza with me. It was a bit slobbery at that point. 🙂
When it was time for bed, Brother woke up just in time for the Bible story. He sat up with his pacifier in his little mouth, peering through the slats of his crib at me, while I sat on Lincoln’s bed reading. When The Boy finally settled down enough to pray, I started in on our nightly prayer for our little family, but was quickly interrupted by a fidgety little boy. Then I realized he wasn’t just fidgeting and talking to prolong bedtime. He was saying his own prayer, “Buh-buh, DaDa, MaMa…”
One day I’m gonna miss this. The wall artwork, pulling sharp objects out of the hand of a laughing toddler (I’m not sure why he’s so obsessed with scissors and knives.), those fleeting moments when the toddler decides it’s ok to share his toys with his baby brother, the laughing baby who thinks it is hilarious to grab the contents of his diaper before you can stop him, the toddler dancing to commercial jingles and movie soundtracks, and those sweet bedtime prayers. I love my crazy boys.
And a couple of pictures from our day…