Dear Sisee -
Me: “What is it honey?” Alec: “Meeeeeewwwoooooo…?” That means pick me up. He knows how to say pick me up please in regular human talk, he just doesn’t want to. Also, he doesn’t know why he wants me to pick him up – I know this already. I just asked What is it, Honey? as a formality, and to buy time. What he wants is my attention, because his big brother is at pre-school and he is bored. And he is bored because we walked in from dropping off big brother 10 minutes ago, and he doesn’t feel like playing with the bucket of play-doh “toys” – aka: a million, tiny plastic pieces (that’s more or less how I classify toys: a million tiny plastic pieces and NOT a million tiny plastic pieces) – which he dumped out earlier. He dumped them out initially, not because he needed a particular mold/tool, or even that he wanted to play with play doh, but because he likes the act of dumping a million plastic pieces on a hardwood floor. It’s fun. It makes a loud sound, and everything scatters.
It’s 9:00 AM and I just now ate breakfast. I woke up at 5:45AM thanks to one Alec P. Of course by “ate breakfast”, I mean that while I stood at the kitchen counter, I attempted to shove half a banana smeared in almond butter and honey down my throat as quickly as possible (bananas, almond butter, honey: because I’m trying to eat in a more healthy manner… BOO! That’s not the point – FOCUS!) before a two year-old decided he urgently needed me. I also tried to drink an entire cup of coffee without it getting cold (HAHAHAHAHAHA!! I can hear you laughing! You’re also applauding my dedication to a dream though, right?)
Halfway through my meal, a little kitty cat appeared. A little kitty that looks like a beautiful two year old boy with a mop of curly hair and big brown eyes, who makes teensy high-pitched squealing sounds, while he tries to wedge himself in between me and the cabinet base, wrapping his arms around my legs. Me: “What is it honey?” Alec: “Meeeeeewwwoooooo…?” That means pick me up. He knows how to say pick me up please in regular human talk, he just doesn’t want to. Also, he doesn’t know why he wants me to pick him up – I know this already. I just asked What is it, Honey? as a formality, and to buy time. What he wants is my attention, because his big brother is at pre-school and he is bored. And he is bored because we walked in from dropping off big brother 10 minutes ago, and he doesn’t feel like playing with the bucket of play-doh “toys” – aka: a million, tiny plastic pieces (that’s more or less how I classify toys: a million tiny plastic pieces and NOT a million tiny plastic pieces) – which he dumped out earlier. He dumped them out initially, not because he needed a particular mold/tool, or even that he wanted to play with play doh, but because he likes the act of dumping a million plastic pieces on a hardwood floor. It’s fun. It makes a loud sound, and everything scatters.
It will take a small act of God to get him to pick these up, and since I feel bad wasting God’s time trying to summon “The Miracle of Picked Up Toys” and also because I’m tired and don’t have it in me to Love-and-Logic-style seize the opportunity to teach some valuable lesson or other, I will just pick them up myself later. Later, that is, after I have pierced the heel of my right foot in that same exact spot that always lands on the sharp corner of something tiny and plastic. This is how I roll. It’s tradition at this point, and who doesn’t love tradition?
[BTW – thanks DADDY for impulse buying that super awesome millions-of-plastic-pieces play doh set, the one time I didn’t go to Target with you guys. Cleaning up all the tiny pieces AND constantly vacuuming dried play-doh crumbs is exactly the piece of the stay-at-home-Mommy fulfillment puzzle that had been missing. Who says only Moms buy uneccessary things at Target? Sarcasm? Yes. Truth? Also, yes.]
This was the account of one fraction, of one morning, of one day, of one week, of one month, of the last 4 years. I didn’t even transcribe this morning’s pre-school “Dance of the Crazy Mom” trying not to be late again. (Suffice it to say that while I was upstairs for no more than 10 minutes, the kitchen faucet had been on at some point and not all the water remained in the sink. Also, some dry erase markers were involved. Do they know better? Yeah. But do they just really love messes and chaos? Oh yeah.)
It’s funny, on “days like this” I inevitably end up in some hurried conversation with a female who is thinking about having kids, or more kids, or lots of kids, and I catch myself saying something like “DON’T DO IT! It’s hard!” Then less than one second later, I say: “Wait, actually, do it. It’s hard, but it’s fulfilling in the most weird way, that I can kind of explain on most days, just not today.” Then I try to lighten up the awkwardness I just created with something funny like “Actually, do you like to sit down when you eat? Or do you even like to eat, at all? You should enjoy those things now.” (It’s funny, you see, because it’s TRUE.)
My point in all this is that it’s not easy, but there are more good days than bad days. I love my boys so freaking much it hurts, and honestly, 90% of the time, I feel truly privileged that I can stay home with them before they start school forever. At night, I sneak into their rooms, and I pray over them while running my hands over their sweaty little heads, and bend down and kiss them however many times I like, because they won’t push me away. But, do I have to pretend that every day is Mommy bliss? No I don’t. And I won’t.
Can we all just acknowledge that sometimes, it’s not easy and that’s OK? It’s normal. That there are mornings where you are tired, and listening to the tiny people's relentless and loud noise isn't what you were looking forward to? Let’s sympathize with each other and let one another off the hook. You ever meet one of those moms who pretend they love every second of it? You test the waters of Friendship Material by saying something like “It was total chaos this morning – Evan dumped out four puzzle boxes in the same spot, then mixed all the pieces up like soup. WHY would he do this?!” And she gives you that closed-mouth smile, like she has no idea what you’re talking about but is just being polite. Then you give her that sideways smirk, because you both know she’s pretending stuff like that doesn’t happen to her or at least phase her and you BOTH know she’s a liar. (You know who you are – stop it right now, and join forces with the rest of us!) Then one of your kids sneezes and green snot comes out – not because he has a bad cold, but because the tip of a green marker had been up his nose earlier. (All true stories, btw.)
Anyway, it is 10:52. It took, 1 hr 50 min to write this. In order to make it happen, I allowed Alec to open a deck of cards, and scatter them about, while bending and tearing some of them. I also had the tv on. Some other messes were made, which are so routine I don’t have it in me to explain. For a while, he played in my car, in the garage. Also, some of the paragraph starting with “It’s funny” was written with him laying sideways on my lap. Like a cat. I gave him kisses, and squeezed him. Because I love him a freaking ton.Can we all just acknowledge that sometimes, it’s not easy and that’s OK? It’s normal. That there are mornings where you are tired, and listening to the tiny people's relentless and loud noise isn't what you were looking forward to? Let’s sympathize with each other and let one another off the hook. You ever meet one of those moms who pretend they love every second of it? You test the waters of Friendship Material by saying something like “It was total chaos this morning – Evan dumped out four puzzle boxes in the same spot, then mixed all the pieces up like soup. WHY would he do this?!” And she gives you that closed-mouth smile, like she has no idea what you’re talking about but is just being polite. Then you give her that sideways smirk, because you both know she’s pretending stuff like that doesn’t happen to her or at least phase her and you BOTH know she’s a liar. (You know who you are – stop it right now, and join forces with the rest of us!) Then one of your kids sneezes and green snot comes out – not because he has a bad cold, but because the tip of a green marker had been up his nose earlier. (All true stories, btw.)
Love you a ton too, Sisee!
Miss you – COME HOME!
Miss you – COME HOME!
Ava
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