Bed Time? (Ha!)

I am pretty sure it’s time that I re-evaluate our bed time routine. It’s just not giving us the desired results like it used to. Here’s a synopsis if our current regime:

5:30 pm: We tidy up the house a little so Daddy doesn’t see what it really looks like all day long while he’s at work. We make it look like it’s just messy, as opposed to a nuclear test-site. Then we start getting ingredients ready to prepare dinner. I usually open the back door so the kids can play on the patio where I can still see them, but they’re not underfoot. That lasts about 15 minutes and then they come back inside to be entertained so whatever I have not accomplished for dinner has to wait until Rick gets home. When he finally arrives home from work (generally a half-hour later than when he says he will) the kids pounce on him and I sneak away to finish what I have left in the kitchen.

7 pm: When dinner is ready we all sit at the table and we listen to Sarah say the blessing. Her version of the blessing goes something like: “Gah buoy food…eat…loyve ou. Dant ou moych. Amen.” I think it’s supposed to mean: “God bless our food, we love you, thank you very much. Amen.” I don’t care if it’s not “correct”, the point is that she is learning to say grace and that we eat together as a family. Jesus knows what she’s trying to say (um, I hope he does anyway haha) and that’s all I care about. We tried having Rick say the blessing since he’s the man of the house, but that wasn’t working out because Sarah would look so sweet with her petite hands clasped reverently in front of her and her delicate eyelids fluttered closed. Then I would open my eyes to peek at her halfway through, and she’d be sneaking mouthfuls of food off of her plate as if she were a contestant at a pie-eating contest with her hands still clasped reverently. So when she’s the one who says the prayer she doesn’t “cheat”. By the time I am able to take a few bites of warm food the kids are finished eating so I have to find a way to keep them involved so Rick and I can finish eating. Well, so Rick can finish eating. I usually wind up eating cold scraps with my fingers while I’m clearing the dishes. Ah, motherhood.

8 pm: After I clean up the mess (how they can make such a monstrous mess and so little food is ingested I’ll never understand), I strip the kids and lay out jammies and, well, for the complete “Preparing for Bathtime Routine” read the third paragraph of this. Rick relaxes on the couch and the kids and I cram into our shower. The bath time pattern that we’ve developed really needs tweaking. It used to be the most efficient way to get all of us clean and ready for bed at the same time. If I give them a bath in the tub I wind up soaked anyway so why not just get in there with them and have it done with? I am just growing tired of having a Matchbox car (no, no-it can’t be a normal-sized car, it has to be the humongous tow truck one) fall on my toes-which is surprisingly painful-while I am washing my face so I get soap in my eyes and I’m trying to figure out which hurts more-my eyes or my toes-all while one of the kids is trying to sneak out of the shower.

8:30 pm: All of the energy they spend tormenting me in the shower must tire them out because after we get out I slap some lotion on them and squish their bodies in to their jammies, and we kiss Daddy goodnight. Then Sarah lies next to me in my bed (she’s never slept in her own bed, but Rick looks very cute in the pink Princess sheets) and I nurse Patrick to sleep. Patrick is usually asleep within 15 minutes, and I can guarantee that as soon as I put him in his crib Sarah will start asking me for cereal. I always give in because even if it is a stall tactic I am scared that if I refuse it will be the one time she really is hungry, and I couldn’t live with myself if I made her go to bed with an empty tummy. So she eats her cereal and we crawl back into bed. I pretend like I’m sleeping so she’ll get bored and decide she won’t be missing anything if she goes to sleep, too. It does work-her eyes will start to close, and-it never fails-Rick will trudge into the room looking for something ridiculous, like a car title or a book. Why would you need the title to a car all of a sudden at 9:30 pm? And in the more than 7 years that I have known Rick I have yet to see him pick up a book and read it. Needless to say, I get highly irritated when he pulls this night after night, and have taken to locking him out of the room.

10 pm: Sarah will finally give in to sleep around now, which is perfect because this also happens to be the exact time that Patrick wakes up for the first time. I rock him and within a few minutes he falls back to sleep, but I stay in there a little longer than I really have to just so I can smell his wonderful baby scent. Even though I complain about being tired there is something just plain irresistible about that baby smell.

10:30 pm: Ahhh, yes!! Finally the kids are sleeping soundly; maybe I can get some rest now, too…of course, this is about the time when Rick starts making wiggly eyes at me. My job is never done!

11:30 pm: (or so) YAY! I am getting into a comfortable spot in my bed with Sarah clobbering me with a stray arm and I have always suffered horrible insomnia so it takes me a long time to actually fall asleep. It’s so cruel—I am pretty sure I might die from exhaustion and yet sleep eludes me. *sigh*

4:45-5 am: My alarm clock (uh-that would be Patrick) goes off promptly without fail, and the process begins again. I must be doing something wrong. I need to be more efficient! I need a better strategy!! How do other moms do this?

Why Do I Miss Them??

Today was one of Patrick's "early" days. Yep, much to my chagrin he sometimes wakes up earlier than 6 am. The pattern seems to be every other day. It's weird how he has an internal alarm clock--to the minute. So at 5 am I dragged my weary butt out of bed and made coffee, brushed my teeth, and went into Patrick's room to face him. About 8 o'clock I heard Sarah get up, which is my signal that is is safe to allow Patrick to roam free around the house since I no longer fear him waking her up. To my passive-aggressive glee they both stormed in and forced Rick out of bed. I made him some coffee, fed everyone breakfast, cleaned up their messes, and dressed the kids. By this time I was very proud of myself because the kitchen and living rooms were spotlessly clean despite the kids' best efforts to stop me. Their "best efforts" include:

• waiting until I walk out of the room to put a stack of laundry away to throw the rest of the folded laundry onto the floor and stomp it into a wrinkled mess,
• throwing the remote control in the nasty garbage which takes 20 minutes of searching on my part to find, and the only reason I found it was thanks to them...
• dumping the garbage can on it's side and scrambling to shove handfuls of filth into their mouths (I know, they're disgusting kids),
• flushing an entire roll of toilet paper down the toilet (thankfully they didn't unravel it first so all I had to do was scoop it out in a mushy clump-ugh), and last but certainly not least,
• going poop at the exact same time.

We bought another car two days ago-new to us, but not NEW new. We laughed at ourselves because we wound up with a vehicle identical to the one I already drive-haha-how cute "His and Hers" Yukons! ::eye roll:: Same make, model, year, even the same color...

So Rick needed to tie up some loose ends with the car this morning before he goes to work this afternoon and he asked if I wanted to go with him. I jokingly said, "Well if you wanted to take one of the kids I wouldn't say no..." To my shock he agreed, "Alright...which one?" I decided to really get crazy and test the limits and ventured, "Both??" GUESS WHAT!? He said okay!!!

So I got their little shoes on, fixed them some drinks in the sippy cups, buckled them in their carseats, and kissed their sticky faces goodbye. We have a ritual where we (me & the kids) stand at our living room window and wave goodbye and blow kisses to Rick as he drives off to work. So I went to the window and waved byebye to my little babies. And I started crying. ???

I surprised myself. I have always daydreamed of what I could do with an hour of uninterrupted "me" time. Take a shower, complete with shaving both legs. Read a book (okay, part of a book). Maybe even take a nap? So here's my chance-the house is mine, ALL MINE!!!!!, and huh-I cry?? This can't be a normal reaction? Maybe people are right-the kids need some time away from me, and I need some time away from them? I really don't know. I was stunned that waving to my kids as their father-you know, the other parent-drove off with them would reduce me to tears, but I just missed them so much. What if Patrick did something really cute like say "meow" or growl and I wasn't there to see it? Sure, I've seen him do those things a hundred time, but each and every time I have laughed and had my heart warmed up. What if Sarah did something nice for Patrick, HAHAHA okay I know that's far fetched, so fine-what if she said a new word and I wasn't there to hear it? This is why my kids aren't in daycare-not because of them, but ME. I can't stand the thought of them not being with me; but isn't it kinda weird that I would cry even with my spouse-their DADDY-taking them somewhere? I feel like it is...do I have attachment issues? *sigh* Oh well, I am going to try to relax and enjoy my "me" time. :)

Isn't it funny how the day can go from calm and peaceful to chaotic and out of control in mere moments? Yeah we had one of those tonight. Rick was outside with the kids on the patio and they had been in the hot tub while I was finishing dinner. I saw that they were starting to get out so I went to get dry towels. When I reached the door I looked out just in time to see Sarah's "trouble" grin...the one that never means good news...the one that I dread. She held her cat Nunie perilously over the water, and like a chump he just hung there not trying to get away. Sarah made eye contact with me and let me get out the words, "SARAH--N..." Too late-the cat was officially in the jacuzzi, scrambling to get out. He clawed his way up the side of the tub and made a bee-line to the back door which leads outside. The door was closed so he had no escape route but continued straight toward it and slammed into it. I guess with all the water in his eyes he couldn't see that it was closed or else he just didn't care and would rather be knocked unconscious than deal with Sarah (I can't blame him-I have felt that way, too). Few sights are more pitiful than a wet cat. There he was, wide-eyed and ricocheting off of everything on the patio. Sarah was on his heels (also wide-eyed) and laughing maniacally. She caught him and mercifulessly threw him in again. I know you're wondering why we didn't do anything to stop this cruelty. Honestly, the girl moves so darn fast it happened before we could react. Plus it was kinda funny.

So I opened the door to rescue the stupid cat (all of our cats are unusually patient and good with kids-they have never bitten or scratched the kids which is why they get repeatedly tortured) and he RAN-no, BOLTED-no, FLEW in without touching his feet to the ground and of course brought tons of water in with him. I quickly re-thought my strategy and tried to chase him back out through the front door, but slipped and fell on my butt from the water that the cat left on the floor (it was A LOT). So I was cussing like a sailor a little annoyed that I fell and got up, finally got the cat out, and looked over in time to see Patrick standing in his own little puddle. Several towels later we are all inside, and dinner was served. Ahhh, peace. HA! Yeah right! Sarah decided to help herself to the plate of chicken and wound up dumping it all on the floor. Well, I had just mopped the floor (yes, in my house the way I mop the floor is dump water on it and skate across it with towels) and whatever germs were on it would just build our immunity. So we ate chicken that was on our floor.

My Little Co-Conspirators

Yesterday I woke up to the usual sound of Patrick wailing to be let out of his cage crib around 6:30. My rule is he has to stay in his room until 7 because I am just plain sick and TIRED of getting up so early. If he had it his way we would be up hanging out together at 5 am. It took me almost 2 months to get him to the point that he is now--waking at 6:30 and staying in his crib until 7. It wasn't until after his first birthday that he stopped waking up every 2 hours at night. I'm not exaggerating: EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT. FOR OVER A YEAR. So you can see why I don't want to mess up this new schedule.

I heard him crying but decided to get up, brush my teeth, and make some coffee before getting him so that it would be closer to 7 before I went in his room. When I was satisfied that I could stall no more, I crept up to his door because I couldn't hear him whining anymore and I thought maybe, just maybe, he had fallen asleep again. HA! Yeah, like that would ever happen. I saw him standing up, playing with his music box that straps to the railing of the crib (those new and improved mobile things), and talking to the little birdies inside of it. Awww, how cute.

I slowly pushed the door open, hoping to sneak up on him so I could continue watching my little sweetness in the precious moments of babyhood. Whoa! I know that smell! I yanked open the closet door to shed light on the situation and was horrified to see poop smeared on every surface that my eyes scanned. I looked at Patrick and he was naked from the waist down, gleefully grinning up at me and chanting, "Poo-poo!" Grrrrr. He did this on purpose because I wouldn't come in here and get him out!

So I (carefully) lifted him out and held him at arm's length down the hallway to the kitchen where I plopped him in the sink for a bath. He was screaming, which woke up Sarah. So at 7 am I started a load of laundry including every single stuffed animal, sheet, blanket, and pillow. Then I had to disinfect the railings and all of the nooks and cranies of the crib. All this before coffee. Finally (hours later) I was ready to make the crib again so I dressed the kids (it was pretty cold outside), got their shoes on, and put them in the backyard so they could play together while I finished the bed. I looked out the window every 3 seconds to check on them and I noticed Patrick was hobbling a little. One of his shoes was gone. I went outside and searched the entire yard to no avail.

"Sarah! Where's Patrick's shoe?"

Blank stare.

"Did you see where his shoe fell off?"

Starts spinning around and singing.

"Sarah, if you find Patrick's shoe I'll give you a piece of candy."

ZOOM!!! Like a flash of lightning the child flew around, closing in on the missing shoe. She triumphantly held the shoe up in the air, and declared, "Candy!!!"

So I gave her a Hershey Kiss, and another to share with her brother. Patrick has learned about candy. He definitely knows what it is and he calls it "na-na" and demands it on a regular basis (no, I do not give it to him on a regular basis). After that I went back into the house and resumed what I was doing. I have a bad habit of not actually accomplishing anything when the kids are playing outside because I will stand where they can't see me and spy on them. I have waited a long time to see them interact together, and I just can't help but to watch them. And it's so much more fun when they think I'm not around.

So there I was, not being productive and spying on the little ones when I observed Sarah approach PatPat. Now admittedly I expected the worst: I was totally prepared to hear Patrick yelp for help and watch as he was brutally pushed to the ground, kicked, or had a toy snatched away from him. But no! That's not what I saw at all. Sarah said something to PatPat, and I could tell he was actively listening. He sat down, as if on command (I'm assuming that's what Sarah was telling him to do), and let Sarah take his shoe off. I was too busy watching their sibling bond in action to think ahead. So she took off the shoe and threw it away from them. Then she pulled Patrick up and they both ran up to the back door. Now I was slowly getting it. Sarah said, "Mommy! PatPat shoe!" and I played along, "Oh no! PatPat's shoe is gone again?"

I followed them outside and Sarah ran right up to the shoe in question and brought it back to me. "Candy???" Patrick was right there beside her asking for "na-na" as well.

I don't care if I'm setting myself up for a lifetime of being manipulated! I don't care if they think I'm stupid and they think they can get away with anything! I don't even care if they get a cavity! I don't care about anything except that my kids worked together to accomplish a goal! They discussed it, came up with a plan, most importantly, they WORKED together to help each other. Awwwwwwww, my heart melted right there, and yep, I gave them the candy. :)



(*Yes, by the way, I do realize that I will probably not find this behavior so cute in a few years, but for right now I do.*)

It's Cold Outside!

Wow! Is Christmas Day already over? January is knocking at the door? Wow.

Our Christmas was just as we wanted it--Rick was home and we had a big breakfast, watched the kids open presents...we ate a really yummy dinner early in the afternoon and then we all fell asleep on our couch. We slept through Mass! On Christmas!! Of all days!!! Besides feeling incredible guilt and disappointment for missing out on the celebration of our Lord's birth the day was fantastic.

On Christmas Eve I was trying to explain the significance of Christmas to a three year old. Sounds easy? It's not. The conversation went something like this:
Me: "Sarah, tomorrow is C H R I S T M A S. Do you know what
C H R I S T M A S is?
Sarah: blank stare.
Me: "It's a special day that we celebrate Jesus. It's his Birthday.
Sarah: "Ooohh...CAKE!!!!!!!!!!"
Me: "Um, sure. You want to make a cake? We can make a cake for Jesus on his birthday."
Sarah: singing her version of the "Happy Birthday" song.
Me: "Right. It's his birthday, and we'll make him a cake so he knows we thought of him. And do you want to hear the story about how he was born?"
Sarah: "Cake!!!"
Me: "Yes, we'll make a cake. So listen to the story about Jesus and his mommy on the day he wa--"
Sarah: "Make cake now?"

You see the pattern? So I tried to tell her the Nativity story while we made Jesus His cake, but she really was not interested at all except for the part about the animals. I was not discouraged, though...there will be more opportunities. :) I was still very warmed up on the inside from her desire to bake in honor of baby Jesus.

Today I got up extra early (4:30 am) to go to Wal-Mart to grab up all of the marked down decorations. Yup. I'm one of those people. I am so proud of myself--I got lotsa good stuff! My inner dork is thrilled because I absolutely LOVE Christmas decorations!! Next year, the house will be even more decked out!!! Hopefully I will get a chance to put some pics up here soon--I have some cute ones from all the fun stuff we've been doing, despite the chilly weather.

Grrrrr...

Our Thanksgiving was awesome-I truly have so much to be thankful for. The Lord has blessed me beyond words. My mom came with my brothers and we all had a blast-we even busted out the Christmas decorations on Friday and after they went home Sunday morning I finished the entire house. The house looks great and I now have a greater appreciation for all the hard work that Rick puts into getting those lights untangled and strung every year...it really isn't easy.

On Sunday afternoon I began to feel a pain that I have felt before and knew from experience was not a good thing. The fun of Thanksgiving was coming to a screeching halt... It was no surprise to me when I woke up in the middle of the night freezing my buns off and feeling the need to puke. I checked my temp. and it was a little over 103. In case anybody out there wanted to know WAAAAY too much personal information about me, I have been suffering from what medical professionals refer to as a "clogged milk duct". Now let me break down that medical jargon so that all the non-doctors can better understand what that means: excruciating, constant, ceaseless, stark-raving madness-inducing pain in the boob that renders the patient immobile and crying on the bathroom floor for hours until her husband comes home early from work to scoop her up and stick her in bed. It also makes one feel as if they have the flu. All kinds of fun. Rick promised he would come home at 1 o'clock so at 1:10 when the phone hadn't rung yet I called him. I already knew what he was going to say..."I'm stuck here till at least 2." So I tried my best to be a good, strong, understanding wife, but that didn't work out so I sobbed and yelled at him for lying to me and giving me false hope of a reprieve, and shamelessly begged for him to quit his job on the spot. Hey, he can always find another job! When he finally came home (1:52) he brought me my cell phone (I told you I was in bad shape) and I called the midwife to get an antibiotic.

So today I was feeling well enough to shower and put fresh clothes on (yes, it was that bad) and I went to visit the midwife. As I was explaining the severity of my close encounter with death, she stopped me mid-sentence and said, "Yes, but you are improving." Umm, because I no longer wish to die doesn't really count as improving, does it? "Yes, technically I guess I am improving, but the pain is still so bad that I can't move my arm without flinching and..." Her response: "Yes, but you no longer have the fever and you drove here so you are getting better." GGRRRRRRR. So if I had crashed my car on the way here you would take me seriously? "This amount of pain can't be normal-remember you are the one who caught both of my babies--the babies that were labored and delivered naturally-no drugs!-and the second one with PITOCIN!!!" If I'm telling you I'm in infinite amounts of pain, Lady, trust me I AM! So then she went out and got a book with lots of pictures of breasts in it (just in case I'm not familiar with that part of the female anatomy) and showed me a picture of a "healthy" breast and a picture of an "abscessed" breast (very disgusting stuff, folks!). So clearly, according to the pictures, I am fine. Just fine.

As soon as my fake, hallucinated pain goes away I am going out to buy a bunch of picture books so I can charge people insane amounts of money to tell them they are fine...and crazy. But hey, at least I'm not bitter. :)

Adventures of a Church-Going Mommy

Before I start writing about my most recent fiasco, I would like to be serious for a minute and explain how proud I am that I have the opportunity to teach youth about our Lord. This year I have Kindergarten, which is PERFECT for disorganized, procrastinating me--I can improvise if I have to. I cannot tell you what an honor it is to share God with little children; seeing joy in their faces and understanding in their hearts. Being a part of that is unlike anything else I have done, and I can only pray that God will guide and help me be an effective mentor for His precious children...because I definitely can't do it on my own!

Having said that, it is hard to conduct a CCD class with a tiny room full of 5 year olds and my 3 and 1 year old at my feet, usually fussing and crying. What normally happens is I get the class under control only to have my own kids create disorder and upheaval, which gets the class going again. It is a very noisey-and hard-cycle to overcome.

This past week was no different than any other week. Patrick was tired (he wakes up at 6:30 am so by our 10 am class time he is ready for a nap) so he cried the entire-and I do mean entire-time. Sarah was actually pretty good, except for the occasional attempt to hurt her brother. Somehow, we managed to get through the lesson on God's limitless love for all things living, and we moved to the church building for Mass. Before we went in I gave Sarah a pep-talk and felt absolutely sure that I would (like each and every week that came before) have no effect on her and would definitely be taking what I refer to as "The Walk of Shame"--you know, where you have to drag the screaming child out by one arm while clutching the other kid-who decides to get in on the act as well-upside down, and trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Fortunately for me, our Church community is full of children, fathers and mothers, grandparents, and other kind-hearted folks so instead of the dirty looks that one may fear, I usually just get knowing, sympathetic smiles, or grateful glances that it's not their kid this time.

We had to do The Walk of Shame pretty early on, even before the Opening Rites were finished so I felt that it was not a good sign for the rest of the service. When we took our seats again Patrick fell asleep after only minimal fussing, and Sarah played with her friend Maggie. Thanks Be To God! See, miracles DO happen! Guess I'll have to wait till next week to have any good stuff to write about. ;)