Divine Intervention

It was that precious time of night when all the kids are tucked safely under the warmth of covers. I was able to exhale my guard away as they slept peacefully against their pillows, like apple-cheeked cherubs. Including Buzz, even though he was taking over more than half of my bed after insisting that’s where he wanted to rest.

Once they did, and the house fell silent, I gathered myself a midnight snack. A treat. Normally and preferably ice cream, but I’m trying to make healthier food choices. So I poured a bowl of Raisin Bran.

After making sure the doors were locked tight, I stumbled in to bed with a sloshing bowl of two scoops of raisin cereal in hand. Looking down at the little boy hogging more than his fair share of my bed, I pulled the covers down to slip in. Attempting a smooth, quiet transition. On tiptoes, as careful as I could be not to stir him.

But then I lost my balance.

I couldn’t catch myself. I tripped. I fell. In slow, horrified motion.

The hand holding my bowl of cereal landing square above my sleeping son’s head.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”, I whispered, raising myself to view the damage. I was expecting a puddle of milk. Bran flakes clinging to his soppy hair. A look like what the hell, mom? But Buzz only tossed very briefly, then found a comfortable position to sleep again. I patted the bed in awestruck disbelief. A bowl full of milky cereal fell on his head and there was not a drop spilled. Now I’m not a very religious person, but I’ll be damned if that’s not a miracle.

Going for Broke with the Tooth Fairy

A long time ago, when Jedi was a young man at 6 years of age, the tooth fairy flew her way into our humble abode for the first time. What she left on that initial landing was staggering, and quite frankly given with not much forethought.

Because you see, once a 5 dollar bill is gifted for one tiny tooth, there is a need felt to continue with that amount of generosity. Perish the thought that the child might believe this tooth is any less than that tooth. As such, losing teeth becomes a rather lucrative transaction. Or so it would seem.

Sometimes, however, the tooth fairy is caught off guard. A tooth comes out before she has a chance to blink and is subsequently placed under the pillow. Leaving the tooth fairy to scramble. And maybe borrow a few dollar bills from the intended recipients own money jar in an effort to come up with 5 to give. The tooth fairy also leaves IOUs. She’s a schemer, that one. This whole business is very misleading.

As is what happened when Jedi woke that morning. He reached under his pillow, to eagerly retrieve the gift the tooth fairy gave. Then counting his ones, the ones he already unknowingly had, he turned to me and said loud enough for the tooth fairy to hear, “Thank you!”. Then lowering his voice, “But she could have just given me a $5 bill”.

To which I wanted to say, “If you had a $5 bill in your money jar, I’m sure she would have.”

It would be so much easier if Jedi started out only getting a buck.

A Beeping Public Service Announcement

Beep

One eye shot open. The television in the room was still on, but everything past that was dark and hazy. I don’t remember when I fell asleep, but it couldn’t have been not too long before. Jimmy Fallon was the last I recalled and now it was on some late night poker tournament. Maybe I didn’t really hear anything. If I did it could have come from the TV. I just wanted to go back to sleep. My head turned towards the clock, sight still fuzzy and lids fighting to close, before I rested on the pillow again.

It was almost 1:30 a.m.

Beep

What the beep? I tried to will my tired eyes to cooperate as I begrudgingly pulled myself like the walking dead from the comfort and lumbered in to investigate. All the while, I was pleading under my breath for this not to wake the kids. After taking a moment to clear my head, I realized where the intermittent beeping beep was most likely coming from.

Beep

I looked around to make sure there was no immediate danger involved before I took my place under the smoke and carbon monoxide detectors. My lopsided, confused gaze passing back and forth, the longest few minutes having passed since I was initially jolted awake. Then it beeped again, and the culprit became known.

Beep

Let this be a lesson to you to be wiser than I. Change batteries as instructed in your alarms. Lest you be with a screwdriver in hand, clumsily rotating in a new set of AA’s after being rudely rustled from a lovely bit of slumber at 1:30 in the morning. That’s just motherbeeping rude, I tell you.

The Stories We Tell Over Breakfast

Just like you’re not considered a true momblog until you’ve retold a good poop tale, the same can be said in real life. Once you become a mother, the list of suitable conversation topics gets skewed. As adamant as you are beforehand that it won’t happen, you will find yourself recounting every motion of your darling’s bathroom visits in disturbing detail.

Even over breakfast.

My parents and I went out for a morning meal recently. The hostess sat us at a table next to a large family with a number of cute little kids. One of which was apparently in the throes of potty training, which of course the mother wanted to include everyone else in. While in the middle of our breakfast, I overheard their conversation shift familiar gears.

“Speaking of going number 2″, she began, “yesterday he came to me and said he needed to go poop. So he took down his underwear and starting running through the house with his pants around his ankles.” That’s when one of her other family members asked a question to clarify before continuing on, “He said he had to poop. But he never went poop…”. And on it went.

She said poop at least 10 times while telling this story.

All over a breakfast of sausage links and pancakes.

I’ve written about poop twice now just this week alone.

I wonder if that lady has a blog?

Picking Bones

I took an arm, and Jedi chose a leg.

It was a duel.

Like a clumsy dance we moved, clanking our weapons courtesy of a plastic skeleton. I practiced my rookie poses that I obtained from a very limited view of fencing while my oldest son held a firm blocking stance. Even the dearly departed replica skull got into the action, converting into a magical amulet that could defeat all.

With a bout of laughter, Buzz picked up the other leg bone, and Abby the second arm. They had teamed together with 3 against 1, an odds I’m used to. Except now, I possessed a metal pan lid for armor.

There were things I had to do, and I’ll be lying if I said I wasn’t running down the list while we were playing. The laundry needed switched, dishes washed, toys picked up. Same ol’, same ol’ that I worry myself with every day. In truth, it can all wait until tomorrow. Some days, we just need to use our imaginations and play. It’s amazing how included kids can get with a simple game of clanking bones.

“Can we do this again later?”, Jedi asked when we were done. “That was fun.”

Of course we can.

At first, I didn’t know what to do with the bag of skeleton bones that were meant as decoration for Halloween. I never would have thought of sword fighting on my own, but it was a rather brilliant idea.