After having 3 kids that are 5 and under, I finally did the math and realized that I've spent 1,825 days of my life repeating the following scenarios. After more calculations, I've also come to realize that I have 6,570 more days of it left... and that's if they move out on the day of their 18th birthdays. Okay. You can stop laughing now.
Oh, and I want to make one more note before we begin. Although the following information below holds true for a lot of people, I do realize that there are also several fathers and husbands out there who DO chip in and help out on a regular basis. I can say for certain that I am happily married to a man who fits that bill most of the time. Of course, that doesn't mean he never has moments where I want to kill him. =)
Morning Routine
Mom: Wake up from a night riddled with at least 3 baby feedings and five lost pacifier episodes, take a 3 minute shower (making sure to shave legs and armpits because after all, you ARE a lady most days aren't you?), brush teeth, get dressed, comb hair, apply some semblance of make-up, greet the munchkins as they wake, change multiple diapers, swap out pjs for play clothes, and somehow manage to get all kids at kitchen table and/or in highchair.
Man: Wake up from restful night's sleep, sit on toilet for 20 minutes while leisurely reading magazine, take long hot shower, get dressed.
Breakfast Time
Mom: Make coffee, make bottles, make pancakes... then cereal when noses are turned up at pancakes, make juice or chocolate milk sippy cups, fight to put on bibs, keep food on table and NOT on floor, squeeze in at least half a cup of coffee... which has sat in cup and is now cold... to make day start off on right foot, eat half a bagel while cleaning up dishes, wiping faces and hands and loading dishwasher and washing pans and other misc. utensils from previous night.
Man: Drink coffee, eat, put empty bowl and spoon on counter by sink.
Work
Mom: Finish dishes, turn on movie to entertain while doing dishes, put baby in exersaucer for 5 minutes, baby screams, put baby in swing, baby screams, breastfeed baby until she falls asleep, carefully put her in bed and pray that she stays asleep for at least 30 minutes, refill sippy cups, respond to multiple snack requests because breakfast was only half eaten, get down crayons and paper, fill up water table out back, get kids shoes on, release them out the door, respond to multiple requests to "Come here!" and "Look at this!" and "I need...", apply sunscreen when sun starts to blare, refill sippy cups again, sweep floor, clean-up scattered toys throughout entire house, clear off debris from office desk and kitchen table and sort out junk mail, make doctors appointments, set up schedules for camps, set up sitters for upcoming events, check e-mail, vacuum living room, clean-up playroom, wipe down highchair and tables covered in breakfast crumbs, straighten up bathroom and clean off pee on toilet seat and floor..and tub??...from 5 year old, change 2 year olds diaper for the second time because she is stinking up the house, scrub tub from previous days mud excursion, pull all laundry together, start washing and drying, fold dry clothes, start another load, and another load... and another. Baby wakes up, feed baby again. Hold her for a few minutes and play, put her in Bumbo seat so she can watch you fold clothes. Kids want to come inside. Get towels to dry them off, clothes are gross so they must be changed. Kids covered in mud so they need to be bathed completely before setting one foot on couch. Put kids in tub, soap them down and rinse. Sit for 10 minutes while they "swim" and then yank them out to be dried again. Chase toddler through house and fight to put diaper and clothes on. Big brother puts clothes on inside out and backwards so you must threaten him to take off and fix as he screams in protest. 5 year old wants another snack. So does 2 year old. Stand in pantry for 3 solid minutes. Nobody wants anything in there. Stand in front of fridge for 3 solid minutes. Nobody wants anything in there. Back to pantry. Kids ask for candy. Offer up graham crackers and raisins instead. Some fussing but kids agree. Put them at snack table to eat, they drop raisins everywhere. You clean up, empty trash, pull out something frozen from freezer to thaw for dinner time. Make warm cup of milk, find pacifier, get 2 year old in bed for nap. Clean up toys AGAIN all while carrying baby around on your hip. Do puzzle with 5 year old. Set him up on computer for a few games on pre-school website. Feed kids lunch. Baby is fussy, feed her again and put to sleep. Drop in crib. Finish up laundry and put away in closets and drawers. Make list for grocery store and prepare another snack. Finally make the chocolate milk that has been requested 15 times in 2 minutes. Not a spec of grown-up conversation is to be had or seen anywhere in the last 9 hours.
Man: Go to office, do some work, pal around with co-workers, eat lunch in peace, put in 8 hours and get back in the car to come home.
Exercise:
Mom: PRAY that you have at least 30 minutes of uninterrupted time to get in some cardio. Jump on exercise bike, put one ear bud from MP3 player in ear and start pedaling. Other ear free in case baby wakes up. Four minutes later 5 year old wants a drink. Jump off, take ear bud out of ear and drape over bike. Get drink. Back on bike, put ear bud back in ear. A moment later 5 year old needs help with computer games, he's stuck and slamming mouse down on desk. Jump off. Forget about ear bud as it yanks you back to the bike where the MP3 player is attached. Cuss silently. Get him on the right track and back to game he was playing. Jump back on bike. Screw MP3 player, you haven't gotten past the first song anyway and toss it on the floor. Start pedaling and just start to sweat. Phone rings. Doctors office calling to confirm appointment next week. Jump off and then back on bike. 6 minutes later 5 year old is having computer issues again. Tell him to get off and watch Spongebob until I'm done. Turn on t.v. and search for Spongebob. Not on. Settle on something else after MUCH protesting. Jump back on bike. 1 minute later, 5 year old wants snack. Tell him to get it himself. He tries. He wants fruit snacks but they are too high to reach. Jump BACK OFF bike... grumbling loudly now... and go get fruitsnacks. Jump back on bike. Two complete circles of the pedals and baby cries over monitor. Swear at bike. Go get baby and feed her. Hope to jump back on and at least get to 30 minutes but realize that 5 year old already jumped on as soon as you stood up and reset your time... which you never looked at before you got up and so now you have no idea how much you've already done. Screw it.
Man: Go to gym. Get in full 30 minute workout completely uninterrupted, catch up with friend in the weight room and then head home for nice long shower.
Dinner Time
Mom: Remember to thaw something in morning so it's ready for afternoon cooking. Plan out something that at least resembles healthy and covers food groups, isn't too expensive, hope the kids will eat, and will stretch far enough to use for lunch again tomorrow or maybe even dinner. Prep and cook and cook and cook all while kids play beside you and you constantly watch them to make sure they aren't touching the stove, getting under your foot so you trip over them while draining hot pasta, and avoiding land mines of matchbox cars and baby dolls. Set table, argue with kids when they peek at what you are making and scream "I HATE THAT!". Try to keep dinner warm because husband is stuck in traffic. Kids are in meltdown because they are hungry. Pull out food for them, cut into tiny pieces on plastic plates making sure no food touches another and "contaminates" it. Get sippy cups filled. Put toddler in highchair as she tries to climb out. 5 year old sits at table and uses fork to repeatedly stab placemat. Yell at him to stop. Toddler yells at him too. They each eat 4 bites and say they are done just as I sit at table and begin feeding baby. Can't get up while baby attached to boob to get toddler out of highchair. Toddler screaming and red-faced now. I stand up and single handedly feed baby while using other arm to lift up 29 pound 2 year old and put her on floor. Pull back muscle in the process. Kids run off to play. Finish feeding baby, put her back in Bumbo seat with several chewy toys, break-up fight between toddler and 5 year old, grab plate and eat half of now freezing cold dinner before baby screams. Pick her up and rock her. Eat rest of dinner that is now so cold it's stuck to the plate.
Man: Walk in front door from work and kick off shoes in middle of hallway. Say hi to kids as he grabs plate and loads it with steaming food. Sit at table, eat.
Leaving the House
Mom: Find diaper bag because you have no idea where you left it when you got home yesterday. Find it in 2 year olds room, contents completely strewn across floor with wipes pulled out of container and stuffed through slats of crib. Clean up mess and begin assembling basics. Diapers for baby. Diapers for 2 year old. Throw wipes in a ziploc now that original container is destroyed. Search for diaper cream, throw that in too. Add an extra outfit in the bag for each child. 3 bibs, 1 burp cloth, baby food, spoon, sippy cups, formula, bottle, water, pacifiers, my wallet, cell phone, chapstick, baby toys, tissues, snacks, plastic bags for dirty diapers, sunscreen (cause you just never know!), 4 matchbox cars, and a blanket. Try to organize as best you can and throw up over your shoulder. Stagger under the weight of it and drop with a loud THUD to the floor by the front door. Make sure all kids have brushed teeth, eaten, have clean clothes on, socks on, shoes on, necessary items like blankies and armfuls of toys they just HAVE to bring, and usher toward front door. Take each child one by one to car and load into car seats while 2 year old escapes through screen door and goes running for the street... or the cat next door... or a squirrel running up a tree. Save her life for the 3rd time in one day and carry her to car to be strapped in. Get in car and begin backing out of driveway. 5 year old has to pee.
Man: Once dressed, grab wallet and keys and walk out door.
Sick Children
Mom: Begin day sick with worry as always... and then multiply that worry by 50 when you realize kids have fever, pink eye or are throwing up. Or any of the other multitude of illnesses they seem to be harboring. Take temperature and decide what meds to dispense. Get child comfortable on couch and engrossed in movie. Continue doing this for days if culprit is a virus, or call doctor if it seems like a professional opinion needed. 3 days later, no improvement. Call doctor, make appointment. Take child(ren) to doctor's office, wait in waiting room for FOREVER all while calming fussy child(ren), fill out a stack of forms, finally see doctor and constantly reassure child that "blood pressure" does NOT mean he is getting a shot and measuring his weight will NOT hurt. Doctor gives you a prescription for child(ren) after you spend more of your life savings on co-pays and you pile kids in car to rush off to pharmacy to get those meds coursing through their tiny bodies as quickly as possible. You both need the relief. Continue to administer meds for 10 days on a schedule and hope that they work. Go back to doctor's office for follow-up appointment. As you sit listening to the doctor give a clean bill of health report you feel a scratch in your throat and a slight flush of feverish warmth come over you. Yep, you know you are done for.
Man: Pats you on the back while you administer amoxicillan for the 15th time in one week which you take to mean he's happy you are playing "Nurse Mommy". He ultimately ends up catching cold from kids too and you end up being "Nurse Wifey" as well. You make chicken soup for hubby while he lays in bed and self-professes that he must be "dying" and you sigh, wipe your own nose, and walk toward the kitchen to clean up... again.
All this brings me to one question: What on Earth would we EVER do without our Mother's? =)
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
Dirt & Water... a Tomboy's dream
Summer is soon upon us and what would that be without a little outdoor time? Well, apparently my kids have caught on to this idea and are embracing it tenfold. Let me preface by saying my backyard is awesome. And by awesome I mean it ROCKS. It is completely fenced in with mostly grass and one corner of good ol' fashioned dirt. And rocks. Lots of rocks. Although my hubby hates the rocks. It's a lawnmower thing, you get the picture. So anyway, back to the dirt. This dirt, at least to me, seemed to be the driest most stuck to the ground and packed down dirt I've ever seen. My children, on the other hand, were clever enough to not only loosen the dirt but to also wet it down with several buckets of water... from the blow-up kiddie pool. The pool no longer serves as a functional vat of water to cool down in on those 95 degree days. No sir-ee. It is for scooping up buckets of fresh cold water and then used as a hand washing station (or entire body washing station) before coming back inside when the mosquitos start to bite. Hey, I can't complain. Better there than in my kitchen where most of the dirt and mud seems to end up. It's like a human conveyor belt of tiny tots being hosed down, stripped of nasty muddy clothing, wrapped in a towel and carried off (newborn style) to the awaiting tub. Well... almost. Things have gotten so out of hand these days that I can't even fill the tub with water until the kiddos have been placed in it and almost drowned with cup after cup of water and at least 6 shampoo-ings to the head. This always ends with about a quarter inch of grime surrounding their little feet which I must rinse down and THEN fill it up with soapy water.
Just last week I was tickled pink to see that dear hubby had put Olivia in her new dress (sneakers and knee high white socks and all... I can't expect perfection I suppose) and a nice white bow in her hair. When her hair is pulled back with those curls bouncing all around she literally looks like an angel. God I just love her sweet little face! So dress in tow, for no particular reason might I add, she is bouncing around the house like a princess. I know this will not last long so I enjoy it. She walks up to every person in sight and sort of holds her dress pleats out to her sides and does a cute little blinky thing with her eyes. This is her way of saying "Look at me, aren't I cute?". Yes, yes, Livy. You are. So this goes on for a few minutes and then she sees that her big brother is making a break for the outdoors. He's slipping on his blue crocs, which are still filthy from yesterdays excursion outside, and opening the back sliding glass door. Livy goes running. "Outside, too me too!" she says which, loosely translated, means I want to go outside too! Riley releases her through the door and off they go down the hill in our backyard toward the fence. It is here where the fun begins each day. Forget the $100 playhouse I painstakingly looked for on Craigslist (for weeks!) and the $100 play equipment with tunnels, slides, etc. that I also searched for and drove over an hour to go pick up. They were pretty cool for the first few days but now they sit, untouched by human hand. You already know what little allure the blow-up pool has... so this leaves the dirt. The dollar store buckets and shovels are a hit. So there sits my darling Livy and sweet Riley playing in tandem. From the back door all I can see are the tops of their heads moving a little as they dig. I notice that they are close to each other and that makes me happy. I love sibling affection. I also love the time this buys me to go take care of the baby and get the dishes done. I turn around to the sink while the baby babbles away in her Bumbo seat on the kitchen table. I think a full 15 minutes passes. No screaming yet so I know that playtime has not gone south just yet between brother and sister. Another 5 minutes and I walk back to the door to check on things. I still see heads, only this time Livy's hair appears a lot darker than usual. I chalk it up to the sun playing tricks with my eyes and go back to my chores. There is a knock at the sliding glass door. I see Riley mouthing something to me through the glass with a crazy look on his face. No Livy. I look down the hill. I still see her head... and I'm almost positive now that her hair really IS darker. Riley is standing with a bucket full of mud in his hand and staring at his sister. He's a little dirty and somehow always manages to wipe a good smear across his upper lip each and every time he goes down there. We call it his dirt mustache and it's truly pretty gross when he's sneezing and wiping a runny nose. I open the door a crack - certainly don't want to let him in the house like that - and he says Livy is covering herself with mud. I say that's okay, she's done it before. He shakes his head no very emphatically and says "Mom, I'm telling you it's NOT good!". Riley might be a tattle tale sometimes but I tell you this, I am really starting to love that about him. I never fear that something bad will happen and it will go unnoticed. Nope. Riley will be the first one in line to tell you in detail what happened, how it happened and most importantly WHO DID IT. "You HAVE to come see this, Mom!" he shouts. He is smiling which means it's bad, but he's loving every minute of it. Probably because he thinks someone is about to get in trouble. He was even kind enough to translate Livy's toddler back-talk to me the other day when I asked her if she needed a whack to the bum for her temper tantrum. He said he knew exactly what she said back to me: "No, Mom. I do not want my ass whooped." As if I whoop ass on a daily basis. I don't think I've ever whooped one ass... although I've definitely had moments where I wanted to. And besides, where the hell did he learn about asses being whooped in the first place?!? So anyway, I run out into the yard in my barefeet, images of my poor two year old blind from dirt in her eyes or sick from eating handfuls of it, and sprint down the hill. It's not a big hill, it just sucks when you step on the tree roots or rocks. Best to go as quickly and as light-footed as possible. I see the kids do it all the time with no trouble at all. I guess I do weigh about 100 more pounds than they do though... certainly makes for a different journey. I stumble upon Livy who I honestly wouldn't have recognized if she passed me in the street. She is no longer my pale white child. She is speckled. Almost like she were covered in black spray paint, but someone stood back just far enough that she was not completely covered. I see two shiny brown eyes popping out from all of this... this... mess. Her hair is slicked down around her face and neck, no longer bouncy and curly as it was half an hour ago. Glistening in the sun with those gorgeous highlights. Nope, it looks like something took a crap on her head and rubbed it in. Profusely. Her pretty dress is now just an apron of mud and the only thing untouched, which I still can't quite figure out, are her shoes. My guess is that perhaps when she was leaning down her dress created some sort of halo shield around them and her legs and protected them from harm. A big smile crosses her face and she holds up a handful of mashed grass and something else that I can't quite place. "Wook!" she says. This means "Look!". and she starts to trudge up the hill toward me. I do the only thing that my body can instinctively do in those few short seconds before she reaches me. I squeal and run. Riley has managed to find extreme humor in all of this and is now hysterically laughing at this spectacle. I'm pretty sure there are tears running down his face. Here is my two year old daughter chasing me down in the backyard and all I can do is scream louder every time she is within arms length of me. Finally I have to stop the shenanigans I've gotten myself into because I know it will only get worse... and all that running will deem me too tired to clean her up. Thankfully I had filled the pool earlier in the day and so the water, although cool, was not freezing at this point. I pull her dress up over her head as I threaten her. "DO. NOT. TOUCH. MOMMY" I say. She nods her head in agreement. I'm a little worried about the amount of dirt in her hair and am wondering if her skull and brain are getting oxygen at this point because the mud has seemingly clogged up everything. I know, I know, your brain doesn't need oxygen through your skin, but it seemed like a logical and quite panicked idea at the time. I try to rinse Livy off as best as I can with the pool water, but she'll only let me get so far before she's screaming "Cold! Cold!". I pick her up underneath of her arms and drag her as fast as I can, shoes and all, to the bathroom. As I undo her diaper I realize that there are pounds of dirt in there too. Her butt looks like that of a dalmation. Spotty. Water running, I strip her down as best as I can without completely destroying the bathroom and sit her down on the bare tub floor. She tries to put the drain stopper in but I stop her mid reach. This might be the usual routine but this ain't no usual body I'm washing here people. And yes, I said ain't. I wash her hair once. Followed by washing her face and the dirt out of her eyes. Follwed by washing her hair again. Followed by another hair washing. And another. And another. Yes, 5 washings later I am starting to see creamy skin poking through. There are still large chunks of matter in all directions, but I take comfort in knowing that it will come out. Eventually. After the 5th rinse Livy has had enough and wants to play. I scrub her down and then let her swim around for a bit, lining up plastic fish and Riley's superheroes along the tub ledge. When the water starts to chill she stands up and says "Mommy out!" which is my cue to grab a towel. I pull her up and then place her firmly on the bathroom rug to dry a little. As I reach down to pull the plug and let the water out I see a nice film of darkness pooling around the bubbles. It doesn't give me much hope that Olivia is squeaky clean at this point, but she's a definite improvement. The last surge of water goes down the drain and I look into the tub. Oh Lord in Heaven. It's as if we brought the backyard in. Too tired from cleaning up bare butts and backs I do what any other Mother in my situation would do. I yank hard on the shower curtain and pull it completely closed. Cleaning like that is best left to another day... and if a stranger needs to use the potty, they'll never even realize what transpired here tonight. A bit of lotion and a pair of flowered pj's later, I walk into the kitchen. Triumphant that I won the battle. A quick "tap tap tap" at the back door and I look in front of me with horror. I forgot about Riley. Crap. I slip my flip-flops on and go back out the door to tackle number two, the second culprit in the Battle of the Mud games. If I were a smart, uncaring Mother, I would dunk him in the pool. He is bigger now and it doesn't seem like a bright idea. Besides, this would most likely mean that I would also be soaked in the process. Round 2: Bath time... begin! My friends, I will have victory. Oh, and one very dirty tub.
Just last week I was tickled pink to see that dear hubby had put Olivia in her new dress (sneakers and knee high white socks and all... I can't expect perfection I suppose) and a nice white bow in her hair. When her hair is pulled back with those curls bouncing all around she literally looks like an angel. God I just love her sweet little face! So dress in tow, for no particular reason might I add, she is bouncing around the house like a princess. I know this will not last long so I enjoy it. She walks up to every person in sight and sort of holds her dress pleats out to her sides and does a cute little blinky thing with her eyes. This is her way of saying "Look at me, aren't I cute?". Yes, yes, Livy. You are. So this goes on for a few minutes and then she sees that her big brother is making a break for the outdoors. He's slipping on his blue crocs, which are still filthy from yesterdays excursion outside, and opening the back sliding glass door. Livy goes running. "Outside, too me too!" she says which, loosely translated, means I want to go outside too! Riley releases her through the door and off they go down the hill in our backyard toward the fence. It is here where the fun begins each day. Forget the $100 playhouse I painstakingly looked for on Craigslist (for weeks!) and the $100 play equipment with tunnels, slides, etc. that I also searched for and drove over an hour to go pick up. They were pretty cool for the first few days but now they sit, untouched by human hand. You already know what little allure the blow-up pool has... so this leaves the dirt. The dollar store buckets and shovels are a hit. So there sits my darling Livy and sweet Riley playing in tandem. From the back door all I can see are the tops of their heads moving a little as they dig. I notice that they are close to each other and that makes me happy. I love sibling affection. I also love the time this buys me to go take care of the baby and get the dishes done. I turn around to the sink while the baby babbles away in her Bumbo seat on the kitchen table. I think a full 15 minutes passes. No screaming yet so I know that playtime has not gone south just yet between brother and sister. Another 5 minutes and I walk back to the door to check on things. I still see heads, only this time Livy's hair appears a lot darker than usual. I chalk it up to the sun playing tricks with my eyes and go back to my chores. There is a knock at the sliding glass door. I see Riley mouthing something to me through the glass with a crazy look on his face. No Livy. I look down the hill. I still see her head... and I'm almost positive now that her hair really IS darker. Riley is standing with a bucket full of mud in his hand and staring at his sister. He's a little dirty and somehow always manages to wipe a good smear across his upper lip each and every time he goes down there. We call it his dirt mustache and it's truly pretty gross when he's sneezing and wiping a runny nose. I open the door a crack - certainly don't want to let him in the house like that - and he says Livy is covering herself with mud. I say that's okay, she's done it before. He shakes his head no very emphatically and says "Mom, I'm telling you it's NOT good!". Riley might be a tattle tale sometimes but I tell you this, I am really starting to love that about him. I never fear that something bad will happen and it will go unnoticed. Nope. Riley will be the first one in line to tell you in detail what happened, how it happened and most importantly WHO DID IT. "You HAVE to come see this, Mom!" he shouts. He is smiling which means it's bad, but he's loving every minute of it. Probably because he thinks someone is about to get in trouble. He was even kind enough to translate Livy's toddler back-talk to me the other day when I asked her if she needed a whack to the bum for her temper tantrum. He said he knew exactly what she said back to me: "No, Mom. I do not want my ass whooped." As if I whoop ass on a daily basis. I don't think I've ever whooped one ass... although I've definitely had moments where I wanted to. And besides, where the hell did he learn about asses being whooped in the first place?!? So anyway, I run out into the yard in my barefeet, images of my poor two year old blind from dirt in her eyes or sick from eating handfuls of it, and sprint down the hill. It's not a big hill, it just sucks when you step on the tree roots or rocks. Best to go as quickly and as light-footed as possible. I see the kids do it all the time with no trouble at all. I guess I do weigh about 100 more pounds than they do though... certainly makes for a different journey. I stumble upon Livy who I honestly wouldn't have recognized if she passed me in the street. She is no longer my pale white child. She is speckled. Almost like she were covered in black spray paint, but someone stood back just far enough that she was not completely covered. I see two shiny brown eyes popping out from all of this... this... mess. Her hair is slicked down around her face and neck, no longer bouncy and curly as it was half an hour ago. Glistening in the sun with those gorgeous highlights. Nope, it looks like something took a crap on her head and rubbed it in. Profusely. Her pretty dress is now just an apron of mud and the only thing untouched, which I still can't quite figure out, are her shoes. My guess is that perhaps when she was leaning down her dress created some sort of halo shield around them and her legs and protected them from harm. A big smile crosses her face and she holds up a handful of mashed grass and something else that I can't quite place. "Wook!" she says. This means "Look!". and she starts to trudge up the hill toward me. I do the only thing that my body can instinctively do in those few short seconds before she reaches me. I squeal and run. Riley has managed to find extreme humor in all of this and is now hysterically laughing at this spectacle. I'm pretty sure there are tears running down his face. Here is my two year old daughter chasing me down in the backyard and all I can do is scream louder every time she is within arms length of me. Finally I have to stop the shenanigans I've gotten myself into because I know it will only get worse... and all that running will deem me too tired to clean her up. Thankfully I had filled the pool earlier in the day and so the water, although cool, was not freezing at this point. I pull her dress up over her head as I threaten her. "DO. NOT. TOUCH. MOMMY" I say. She nods her head in agreement. I'm a little worried about the amount of dirt in her hair and am wondering if her skull and brain are getting oxygen at this point because the mud has seemingly clogged up everything. I know, I know, your brain doesn't need oxygen through your skin, but it seemed like a logical and quite panicked idea at the time. I try to rinse Livy off as best as I can with the pool water, but she'll only let me get so far before she's screaming "Cold! Cold!". I pick her up underneath of her arms and drag her as fast as I can, shoes and all, to the bathroom. As I undo her diaper I realize that there are pounds of dirt in there too. Her butt looks like that of a dalmation. Spotty. Water running, I strip her down as best as I can without completely destroying the bathroom and sit her down on the bare tub floor. She tries to put the drain stopper in but I stop her mid reach. This might be the usual routine but this ain't no usual body I'm washing here people. And yes, I said ain't. I wash her hair once. Followed by washing her face and the dirt out of her eyes. Follwed by washing her hair again. Followed by another hair washing. And another. And another. Yes, 5 washings later I am starting to see creamy skin poking through. There are still large chunks of matter in all directions, but I take comfort in knowing that it will come out. Eventually. After the 5th rinse Livy has had enough and wants to play. I scrub her down and then let her swim around for a bit, lining up plastic fish and Riley's superheroes along the tub ledge. When the water starts to chill she stands up and says "Mommy out!" which is my cue to grab a towel. I pull her up and then place her firmly on the bathroom rug to dry a little. As I reach down to pull the plug and let the water out I see a nice film of darkness pooling around the bubbles. It doesn't give me much hope that Olivia is squeaky clean at this point, but she's a definite improvement. The last surge of water goes down the drain and I look into the tub. Oh Lord in Heaven. It's as if we brought the backyard in. Too tired from cleaning up bare butts and backs I do what any other Mother in my situation would do. I yank hard on the shower curtain and pull it completely closed. Cleaning like that is best left to another day... and if a stranger needs to use the potty, they'll never even realize what transpired here tonight. A bit of lotion and a pair of flowered pj's later, I walk into the kitchen. Triumphant that I won the battle. A quick "tap tap tap" at the back door and I look in front of me with horror. I forgot about Riley. Crap. I slip my flip-flops on and go back out the door to tackle number two, the second culprit in the Battle of the Mud games. If I were a smart, uncaring Mother, I would dunk him in the pool. He is bigger now and it doesn't seem like a bright idea. Besides, this would most likely mean that I would also be soaked in the process. Round 2: Bath time... begin! My friends, I will have victory. Oh, and one very dirty tub.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
The Runaway
I want to tell you a little story about a cute, sweet, curly haired litle girl named Olivia. Once upon a time this little darling Olivia decided she knew how to run. And run she did. She ran everywhere. She ran to her room for more toys. She ran to the kitchen for a snack. She ran in the backyard chasing baseballs that her older brother Riley tossed to her. She even ran to the laundry room when her Mommy was washing clothes to lend an extra hand. She was the best runner in the whole wide world. Oh, and the worst listener. EVER.
It doesn't matter where we go, she will run. You want to go to the grocery store, plan on running. A trip to the mall? Run. Hey, do you want to just plain ol' go running? Hell, you better plan on running further. I've used the word "run" so many times when describing her to other people that the word has lost all meaning to me. I say it like I'd say "dfljkghdvflnsdgh" because that is just about how much sense it makes to me now.
This past weekend was the big Memorial 3 day mini vacation for most everyone. We took advantage by filling our time with at least 2 events per day and a few errands or smaller trips here and there if we could muster the energy. Between the birthday parties, the regular parties, the BBQ's, going out to dinner, hanging with family and just playing outside in general, I am almost 100% positive that I said "Where is Olivia?" at LEAST 300 times. Nope, I take that back. At least 400 times. I kid you not. My child was like the frickin wind. One minute she's standing beside you holding your leg in a state of pure shyness, the next she is frolicking in the front yard of the neighbors house... 8 houses away. Perhaps it's not the running part that is so bad, but rather where she runs to. The street. Always the street. It's like a magnet for her 29 pound body. It pulls her, she gravitates. Pulls a little more, she is quickly (like almost at lightning speed) hurling her way toward that dangerous blacktop where cars are whizzing by. Forget the whole thing if you yell "Stop!" or "Danger!". She thinks that is hilarious and will, without a doubt, run faster. On Saturday of this past week I hadn't quite realized that yet. By Sunday night I was yelling "Ice cream!" or "Puppy!" and only then did I even have a 50/50 chance of her coming back. Add to that the fact that during most of these events I had the baby strapped onto me in the carrier... yeah, go ahead and laugh as you picture me sprinting down the street with her in tow. I looked like a gazelle... no wait, that would be too much of a compliment. I looked like a penguin. Holding on to the head of my precious infant to keep her from violently shaking back and forth, I was running as quickly as I could in flip-flops. Unfortunately the weight of the carrier in front of me caused me to sort of waddle back and forth and so, most times I would scream at the top of my lungs "RYAN HELP!" and scare the living daylights out of my already fear-stricken baby. Oh the trauma, I hope it's not permanent. Honest, Natalie. I was just trying to save your sister's life. So anyway, my husband found that if left to her own devices, she really will keep going. Like a bloodhound. She catches a scent and off she goes. He watched her run from the porch of my in-law's house at least 6 houses down into their cul-de-sac and not once... NOT ONCE...did she even look back. He finally ran to chase her and had to tackle her on someone's front porch. She was nothing but wild screams and flying crazy hair. Pissed that someone put a crimp in her travel plans.
The sad part is that now I find myself asking where she is even when I've just put her down for a nap, or strapped her in her highchair. It's like some mechanism has been set off in my head to periodically ask where she is to put myself at ease for the next 45 seconds before I start wondering again. Any Mother reading this will agree that there truly is no feeling like the drop of your stomach and stopping of your heart that is brought on by that split second when you don't know where your kid is. Okay, well take that feeling and multiply it by 400. That was me this past weekend. People actually started looking at me like I'd lost my mind. I couldn't enjoy myself anymore. I even had teams of people keeping an eye on her because when it was just one or two of us she'd somehow elude the situation and slip out the door. I'm not kidding! At one point she snuck out of a Little Tikes car and replaced herself with a decoy, some poor kid who'd been waiting patiently to ride in it anyway. You look down, you see a little kid in the car from the corner of your eye and you think "Good, she's still there". Look one minute later and poof! You realize it was never her all along. OH GOD. Wait for it... wait for it.... "Where is Olivia?". Some gentle souls were so used to hearing me say it that they even gave me updates on her whereabouts before I even asked. I love you guys by the way.
So the weekend was great, it truly was. I thank all of you who hosted parties and invited us. We had a great time. I can't remember much but being hysterical over where my daughter was at 90% of the time, but at least the other members of my family seemed to enjoy themselves! Me, on the other hand, I just came to the realization that I need better running shoes. Oh, and flip-flops are a major no-no.
It doesn't matter where we go, she will run. You want to go to the grocery store, plan on running. A trip to the mall? Run. Hey, do you want to just plain ol' go running? Hell, you better plan on running further. I've used the word "run" so many times when describing her to other people that the word has lost all meaning to me. I say it like I'd say "dfljkghdvflnsdgh" because that is just about how much sense it makes to me now.
This past weekend was the big Memorial 3 day mini vacation for most everyone. We took advantage by filling our time with at least 2 events per day and a few errands or smaller trips here and there if we could muster the energy. Between the birthday parties, the regular parties, the BBQ's, going out to dinner, hanging with family and just playing outside in general, I am almost 100% positive that I said "Where is Olivia?" at LEAST 300 times. Nope, I take that back. At least 400 times. I kid you not. My child was like the frickin wind. One minute she's standing beside you holding your leg in a state of pure shyness, the next she is frolicking in the front yard of the neighbors house... 8 houses away. Perhaps it's not the running part that is so bad, but rather where she runs to. The street. Always the street. It's like a magnet for her 29 pound body. It pulls her, she gravitates. Pulls a little more, she is quickly (like almost at lightning speed) hurling her way toward that dangerous blacktop where cars are whizzing by. Forget the whole thing if you yell "Stop!" or "Danger!". She thinks that is hilarious and will, without a doubt, run faster. On Saturday of this past week I hadn't quite realized that yet. By Sunday night I was yelling "Ice cream!" or "Puppy!" and only then did I even have a 50/50 chance of her coming back. Add to that the fact that during most of these events I had the baby strapped onto me in the carrier... yeah, go ahead and laugh as you picture me sprinting down the street with her in tow. I looked like a gazelle... no wait, that would be too much of a compliment. I looked like a penguin. Holding on to the head of my precious infant to keep her from violently shaking back and forth, I was running as quickly as I could in flip-flops. Unfortunately the weight of the carrier in front of me caused me to sort of waddle back and forth and so, most times I would scream at the top of my lungs "RYAN HELP!" and scare the living daylights out of my already fear-stricken baby. Oh the trauma, I hope it's not permanent. Honest, Natalie. I was just trying to save your sister's life. So anyway, my husband found that if left to her own devices, she really will keep going. Like a bloodhound. She catches a scent and off she goes. He watched her run from the porch of my in-law's house at least 6 houses down into their cul-de-sac and not once... NOT ONCE...did she even look back. He finally ran to chase her and had to tackle her on someone's front porch. She was nothing but wild screams and flying crazy hair. Pissed that someone put a crimp in her travel plans.
The sad part is that now I find myself asking where she is even when I've just put her down for a nap, or strapped her in her highchair. It's like some mechanism has been set off in my head to periodically ask where she is to put myself at ease for the next 45 seconds before I start wondering again. Any Mother reading this will agree that there truly is no feeling like the drop of your stomach and stopping of your heart that is brought on by that split second when you don't know where your kid is. Okay, well take that feeling and multiply it by 400. That was me this past weekend. People actually started looking at me like I'd lost my mind. I couldn't enjoy myself anymore. I even had teams of people keeping an eye on her because when it was just one or two of us she'd somehow elude the situation and slip out the door. I'm not kidding! At one point she snuck out of a Little Tikes car and replaced herself with a decoy, some poor kid who'd been waiting patiently to ride in it anyway. You look down, you see a little kid in the car from the corner of your eye and you think "Good, she's still there". Look one minute later and poof! You realize it was never her all along. OH GOD. Wait for it... wait for it.... "Where is Olivia?". Some gentle souls were so used to hearing me say it that they even gave me updates on her whereabouts before I even asked. I love you guys by the way.
So the weekend was great, it truly was. I thank all of you who hosted parties and invited us. We had a great time. I can't remember much but being hysterical over where my daughter was at 90% of the time, but at least the other members of my family seemed to enjoy themselves! Me, on the other hand, I just came to the realization that I need better running shoes. Oh, and flip-flops are a major no-no.
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