“Mom, baby POOPED!”
That’s what I woke to this morning, not “Amazing Grace.” After fumbling contact lens-free through the
necessary ritual, barking half-conscious orders to the two who were walking to
school, I grimly observed all the hallmarks of a lonnng day. The house (since the hurricane) looking as
though Sandy had paid us an indoor visit.
Signs everywhere of costumes, softening jack-o’-lanterns, and candy
wrappers being snuck from secret stashes.
My own exhaustion, having “overslept” after having gotten up hours
before the kids, but just not when they woke up for the day. And out the window, a cold, gray rain.
Ugh.
I tried to turn things around. I mumbled a prayer. I
made hot coffee. I did a quick
clean-up. I assessed the lack of paper
towels ANYWHERE in the house, and dressed up myself and the babies to go on an
“outing” to remedy that lack at the nearest drug store. Then I tried to put the little one down for
a much-needed early nap.
Lying beside her, I tried to think of something useful while
nursing her to sleep. Like dinner
plans. Nothing came to me as I wavered
between aching and unconsciousness.
Finally her breathing smoothed out, her chubby arms relaxed, and I
unlatched her and admired her angel baby face for two seconds before I heard
the sounds of doom.
“Mom-my! Mom-my!” sang my three year old from the other
room. Dora was failing her job at
holding my kid’s attention. Baby still
not asleep enough to make a quick getaway, I tried to slowly ease her off my
arm, listening helplessly to the inevitable.
Thud thud thud thud…BAM!
Door burst open. “MOM! I HERE!”
greets my preschooler in her one and only volume. Baby startled violently and struggled to sit up, eyes still half
closed.
“Honey, baby was asleep.
Could you go watch your show?”
“Oh. I sowwy
Mommy. I go watch my show now.” Door slams.
I sighed and resigned myself to several more minutes of
chomping; she’s teething and nursing has not been perfectly painfree for some
time. Finally she zonked… for a whole
half hour.
But hey, I’m still here!
Lunch was a moderate success… I ate broccoli and candy. Figured that was balanced enough, don’t tell
anyone. J And now I’m “blogging”… as I have finally
found the secret to how mothers get time to engage in such quasi-intellectual
pursuits: you simply steal the moments otherwise spent eating, sleeping, or
showering to write. That appears to be
the secret thus far...
Soon I’ll be getting ready to get all the kids to a doctor’s
appointment immediately followed by an All Saint’s Party (yes, on All Soul’s
Day). Which, unfortunately, I have no
costumes for yet. I do have a handful
of robes from the dress-up box that could easily be St. Fill-in-the-Blank but I
was hoping to get something more individually selected for each child…
I ended up going to the late Mass at the local Catholic
college with my two oldest last night; I wistfully thought of my own college
days when I saw the golden-lit wooden chapel packed with young people… kids who
could spend their days in quiet study and their nights in sound sleep if they wanted…
Now that I am (really just barely) past youth, I can finally understand that
once incomprehensible expression, “Youth is wasted on the young.” But I digress... The sermon was on the meaning of the feast day, how we celebrate
all those in heaven that we don’t have names for, who aren’t officially
canonized, our grandparents and ancestors and so many, many others thronging the
blissful streets of Paradise. How we
use the month of November to reflect how we want to be among them someday. How on All Soul’s we remember those gone
before us whose desire for God yet burns and is still unsatisfied.
Okay, my moment of reflection is over for now; my three year
old is hauling on my arm: “Mommy, can we make Popsicles? Pweeease?
[pause] Pweeease?”
(Popsicles? Kid, it’s
freezing! Brrr… Plus, she still doesn’t
get the “wait for it overnight” part.
Like at all, so it’s a guaranteed tantrum either way, grr.) Coffee is mercifully hitting me though. More candy?
One more party, this one for the saints, the real deal? Games with some rather grim Catholic humor
like “St. Lucy’s Eyeballs” (ping pong balls shot through a ring) and maybe
burgers from St. Lawrence’s Grill? I’m
sure I’ll resurrect to the occasion.
I think I’ll have the kids dress as themselves, future
citizens of the New Jerusalem.
Right? Easy but profound,
no? Hmm. Just in case they don’t buy it, anyone want to help me haul the
dress-up box to the car? Aw, I know you
would if you could; thank for the thought! J-TLC
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