Archive for the ‘of course’ Tag
October 26 2010
The boys have bunkbeds. One rarely sleeps on the top bed right now, but they do like to play there. It’s like their own, less fun version of a treehouse. Sometimes, Buzz will climb up to get away from Abby, since she’s kind of a tough little thing and yet unable to scale the ladder. Not for lack of trying.
Since they don’t sleep on the top bunk, I only have to climb up every now and then to make the bed. I can’t imagine having to do it every day when Jedi finally starts spending his nights there, because it’s the kind of thing that warrants casualty pay. My age definitely shows as I gingerly crawl about, doing my best not to fall off or have the metal frame collapse on me. There’s a weight limit posted on one of its rails, one which even the slimmest adult would exceed greatly.
The other day, after Buzz had climbed up and away from Abby, she whined, wanting to go up there, too. In a moment of feeling generous, I obliged. I stood guard the entire time, though, because I’m paranoid and my kids are, well, nuts.
Having a great time with the new experience of being so high up, she wanted me to join her. “Mommy up!” she said.
“No, Mommy’s good down here, OK?”, I told her in turn.
Shaking her head in the positive, she offered seriously in reasoning, “Mommy’s too heavy.”
“Mommy’s too heavy?”, I asked, amused at this point.
“Mommy HEAVY”, she reiterated, still shaking her head knowingly.
And that’s when I made her get down, because there’s no need to be rude about it.
October 18 2010
We don’t own a dishwasher, unfortunately, so I have to wash dishes by hand every morning. Well, not every morning, but most. Some days I let them pile up when I feel I’m entitled to a break. It’s never been a fun chore and having kids running off in a fit of desperation while my hands are immersed in soapy water doesn’t help matters.
I have to be creative, though I’m usually too tired to be too creative. I have soap, which makes bubbles. Kids like bubbles. I’ll let the kids play with the bubbles! Genius! I should be a friggin’ heart surgeon over here.
I’ll splatter a pile of bubbles on an adjacent walls, or directly in the kids’ hands. They splash around for awhile, before asking for more. Especially Abby. Buzz is interested momentarily, but his attention span is short. Jedi’s is even shorter. Abby, however, can keep herself occupied throughout the entire 30 minutes it takes to do a sink full of dishes thanks to a bottle of Dawn detergent.
As an added bonus, the soap even cleans my walls!
Except as I was doing this yesterday, I noticed that the bubbles kept disappearing at an alarming rate. Maybe she’s just overly enthusiastic today, I thought. They’re just dish soap bubbles, what harm could she possibly be doing anyway?
I soon noticed that she was eating them, like they were a breakfast treat. Full on stuffing her mouth full of suds.
I guess threatening to wash her mouth out with soap when she’s older is out of the question. There’s no point if she likes it.
September 30 2010
Just last week, I was so worried that my 4 year old son would lock me out of the house. It seems I should have been more worried about my husband.
Maybe this is my fault. I should take my keys with me. But it’s a paltry few steps up the street to the bus stop. On Tuesday, however, J had an appointment in town before he left late for work. We even waved at him as he drove past. I never even considered he would have locked me out.
Walking back to the house, though, I began to wonder. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Why would he lock the door when he knows I’m right there?
He did.
I banged so violently, even trying to kick it in, that a neighbor from a few houses down came out to let me use his phone. My neighbor next door followed suit. My husband didn’t answer, but I called and called. Our landlord wasn’t home. My fumbling attempts at breaking and entering didn’t work. My kids were impatient and whining and refused to sit on the steps like I asked them to. “Daddy, let me in!”, Buzz yelled. I’m going to be out here all day, I thought. That’s when the kind, scrawny older gentleman from next door walked around side of our house and tried to pry open a window.
“I might bust it, I’ll try not to, but at least you’ll get in”, he said an hour later when all other options failed.
Nothing says getting to know your neighbors like allowing them to break into your house. Except just then, the other neighbor from a few houses down came out to say my husband called back and was on his way. The day was saved! And so was my window.
September 21 2010
In my previous life as a domestic goddess (sarcasm intended), I was a clean freak. I received a high from an organized drawer and spotless floor. Vacuuming was like a fun sport and I played at least once a week. Sweeping, dusting, fixing, picking up and putting away. All how a good portion of my day was spent. It’s difficult to do meticulous with children, but it was as close as I could get.
This was before Abby came into our life. Because now, I’m lucky if the dishes get washed before the stuck-on food starts to mold. Meticulous is for suckers. Or paid by the hour housekeepers.
The floors that I used to vacuum every other day haven’t been touched in weeks. There are crumbs hiding in every corner and it’s not out of the question to hear a crunch when I step. Dust bunnies are taking over, reproducing at an alarming rate as bunnies are prone to do, on the prowl for total territorial domination.
So much so, that even my kids are noticing.
“Hey Abby, this is where the dust bunnies live. Look!”, Jedi says to Abby, sweeping giant fluffs of dust with the tip of his finger along the sides of the hallway floor. “Let’s sweep them around, like this”, he instructed as she followed along. They made a game out of it. Until I was afraid the hares were going to hop away or gear up for attack.
The domestic goddess part of me doesn’t know what the heck happened. Except I can’t hear that part of me, because she’s been swallowed by giant dust bunnies.
July 29 2010
“Hi!”, I eagerly called to Buzz as he strolled in from playing with his toys.
“Hi!”, he happily offered in return before bending down to rest his head in my lap.
This is lovely, I thought. It’s not very often that I can think that with him. He’s always either on the go or into something and when he does sit with me, I end up with a concussion or bruised rib. Being his parent can be a full contact sport. But here we were, gazing contentedly into each other’s eyes.
He then took his hand and tenderly stroked the side of my face. How sweet of him, I continued to think. It’s moments like this that make all my hard work as a mother worth it. I’m definitely going to have to remember this for later. I could almost eat him up right now except, what’s that smell?
I look at his hand. The hand he seconds ago caressed my cheek with. Is that…?
It couldn’t be. But there’s a lot of it.
I’m sure it’s chocolate or crayon or dirt. I’ll be glad to go with dirt.
Maybe I should smell it? There’s no other way to know for sure.
KID, YOU WIPED MY FACE WITH POOP ON YOUR HANDS?!
All my hard work as a mother goes right back to this moment, indeed.
I'm Crystal. A 30-something mom to 3 young kids living in the Midwest USA. When I'm not chasing my children, I'm a freelance writer and web designer. I like to tell stories from our days and share what we enjoy...
