Gussied

July 13 2010 · comment 10 Comments
Posted in: Me Myself · Tags: ,

I’m usually last to get ready when we go out. Our strategy has always been that I get the kids dressed first, then J takes over. He’ll squeeze 6 successively smaller feet into socks and shoes while I’m fretting over finding something suitable to wear without holes or stains. When his task is completed, I’m expected to be done as well. In other words, I don’t have a lot of time.

Since the window blinds in my bedroom are kept open during the day, I change in the bathroom. Before the first piece of clothing is slipped on, there’s a knock on the door. “Come on!”, Buzz calls.

I slide and button appropriate articles. Deodorant is applied hurriedly. I think about fixing the mop on top of my head. A few drawers are opened and scoured through in search of a hair clip before I catch the tiny patter of footsteps pacing down the hall.

“Are we going yet?”, I hear Jedi ask J.

“As soon as Mommy’s done”, I hear J sigh in return.

“How long until she’s done?”, he gripes impatiently.

“I’m almost done!”, I yell back.

Forget doing my hair, I just slip it back in the usual ponytail. I’ve given up on makeup. If I remember, I’ll swipe some chapstick on my lips in the car later. I barely have time to brush my teeth before Abby’s banging on the door again. “Come on, Mommy!”, Buzz repeats with more urgency. “I need to pee!”, Jedi whines. Fine, I’m done. 10 minutes, tops, from start to finish. It’s a good thing I’m not high maintenance.

Wash Your Mouth

July 12 2010 · comment 13 Comments
Posted in: The Kids · Tags: , ,

Unless it’s a holiday or we have plans, Sunday is always laundry day. Sunday came this past weekend and I was hauling clothes into the laundry area with Abby as my loyal sidekick. She was following close behind, assisting me the way she knows best by confusing my pre-sorted piles. I then lifted the lid to the washing machine and was about to reach for the detergent when it dawned on me that we were out.

“Oh, shit”, I exclaimed with Abby still underfoot.

Without a second thought, Abby makes a dart for the kitchen where J is currently located. Since I’m at the other end of the house, all I can hear are faint mumbles. It sounds a lot like she is repeating “oh, shit” over and over to him, though.

Since I had to ask J to make a run to the store now anyway, I amble in to investigate.

“Is she saying ‘oh, shit’?”, he asks me as soon as my shadow hits the floor.

“Could be”, I affirm. “I was about to do laundry and I said ‘Oh, shit’ because…”

“Don’t keep saying it!”, he told me.

“Oh, yeah, sorry”, I reply. “Can you go to the store? We need laundry detergent.”

“Oh, shit”, he declared in turn.

Clearly, I’m surprised she hasn’t picked this up earlier.

Our Swing

July 09 2010 · comment 19 Comments
Posted in: The Kids · Tags:

My parents bought us a portable swing when I was pregnant with Jedi. I didn’t know what I was doing after he was born. He and I both had a lot to learn. It took awhile, but we eventually found our way. Before then, however, he spent more time in that swing than he should have, gazing at its lights and falling asleep with the sounds. Once he grew from a small infant to a weight-exceeding baby, the swing was folded up and put in storage until next time.

During the 3rd trimester with Buzz, I lumbered my big belly to the basement in search of the swing. When Buzz was born, I felt more comfortable, more sure as a mother. Except the swing was the only place I could get him to sleep for any decent amount. I remember panicking, worried he’d use it forever. Of course, he ultimately grew tired of its confines. Soon after, the swing was folded and put in storage until next time.

Many months into my pregnancy with Abby, I brought out the familiar swing. Once born, her initial reaction to its back and forth motion was not pleasant. She wasn’t in it often, but gradually the soothing sways found her mesmerized. And then it snapped, broken and unfunctional. We tried replacing with a different chair, but it wasn’t the same. The swing that had been with us for each of my 3 babies was folded one last time and stowed in the closet.

We placed this broken swing out for the trash recently. It was my choice. I wanted to make room in the closet. It’s not as if there will be a next time, anyway. The finality as I watched the garbage collectors haul it in their truck, however, tugged at my emotions. We no longer have a swing patiently waiting it’s later use. The swing that held the scent and memories of my newborns. The swing that swayed each of them to sleep. The swing that shifted and buckled under their growing bulk. Our swing. It was a piece of the past of our family. And I threw it in the trash. My fickled heart says I wish I hadn’t.

99 Problems, But My Netbook Ain’t One

July 08 2010 · comment 9 Comments
Posted in: Me Myself · Tags: ,

My Compaq Mini netbook was sitting on the kitchen counter behind me while I poured the kids each a cup of milk. I turned around in time to see Buzz dangling it’s slim frame precariously over the edge. The next few seconds were in excruciatingly slow motion.

“NOOOOOOO!”, I lunged not quick enough. It fell with a thud to the floor.

My life flashed before my eyes as Buzz darted from the room in a panic. This netbook was my gift from J this past Christmas. Since then, we’ve been inseparable. I write on it. I read on it. It calms me down during rough afternoons and comforts me on long days. It helps me feel connected. Thanks to twitter and the comments left here, both of which I check from my netbook, I don’t feel so much like the lone adult in a child’s world. It keeps me sane. It’s my precious. I would be lost without it.

It can’t be broken. What would I do if it’s broken? Oh my God, WHAT WOULD I DO?

A thin piece on the back, which I assume was important, had come undone so I immediately pieced it back together again a la Humpty Dumpty. I sat it back on the counter and prayed. “Please turn on. Please turn on. Please turn on. I swear I’ll be good, just PLEASE TURN ON.”

I flipped it to it’s on position and waited. It wasn’t making any funny sounds, that’s a good sign I hoped. Then, I saw the beautiful blue light, the signal of life, and my heart did a happy dance. Start Windows normally?, it asked. Oh yes, please.

My precious.

It’s Not What You Wear, It’s How You Wear It

July 07 2010 · comment 11 Comments
Posted in: Daily · Tags: ,

One day last week, my brother called to say he and my nephew would be over in a half hour to give me a belated birthday card. I contemplated changing out of my comfortable clothes for something more suited for company, then decided against. It’s only my brother, I came to reason. My daughter’s shirt, however, had a grape jelly stain from lunch. I opened her drawer and suggested a few pieces. She wrinkled her nose at it all. I didn’t have time to argue with her, though, so I just left her drawer open. She was free to put on whatever she wanted.

The boys, I thought, looked fine. Sure, Buzz is only wearing shorts, but that’s his normal attire. Trying to keep a shirt on him if we’re not out somewhere is futile.

I spent the time until my brother arrived in a mad dash around the house, straightening pillows and picking up toys. Right on cue, my brother’s car pulled up the driveway. Jedi’s excitement was radiating, he likes spending time with his uncle who we don’t get to see enough. Whom we might have scared off for good.

Apparently, my Buzz, my sturdy 4 year old boy, heard me tell Abby to dress herself however she wanted and thought he’d take me up on that as well. Where I went super casual, it would seem he wanted to adorn himself in an outfit a little more formal for the occasion. My brother and nephew walked in to my son wearing his sister’s bell-sleeved white shirt, a green bucket hat, and a pair of white tights. Sized a snug 3T or less. Along with a giant smile. He was like a snow princess.

And that is how to make the rest of us look downright normal in comparison, raggedy jelly stained clothes and all.