My sweet boys came into my bedroom the other morning as they always do, ready to snuggle with Mommy. I love our morning cuddle time. However, this particular morning, I was not expecting the little 'surprise' that awaited me. Don't worry, it has nothing to do with poopies.
The boys come in as normal. But instead of jumping up onto the bed as usual, they both stand there looking at me. Gavin has both of his hands behind his back. That's not so unusual. They are prone to come in dressed as Batman, Dick or SuperGavin - so, I'm accustomed to wierd in the morning. When all of the sudden, out of nowhere, I hear my own voice talking back at me and Gavin is grinning ear to ear.
Gavin then proceeds to inform me of his new "invention". It is called the 'Translator'. It's intent is to gather information from the 'bad guys' while they are talking and then it 'translates' it into our language. It is one of the many tools Batman needs in his crime fighting adventures. Gavin's 'Translator' is a cheap little tape recorder we got him this past Christmas that has never seen much action - that is, until now. It has found its purpose in life and is being used with a passion.
He carries that thing with him everywhere. He hides in a room, waiting for me to say some smart remark and then plays it back at me. Or he'll come to me, with hands behind his back, and ask me some huge, important, life question - of which, I'll have no clue what the answer is and sound ever so smart on his little 'translator'.
If this is for the bad guys, why is it being used on me?
Ahhh, my sweet Bennett boy. He seems to be an accident waiting to happen. Every day. This past week he repetitively bumped his bottom, front, two teeth. No doubt, Daddy and Gavin are partially to blame due to their wild wrestling forrays. Whenever I do the dutiful mom thing and ask them to "wrestle gently" I know in the depths of my soul that that can never happen, yet I still feel compelled to say it. It is one of the biggest oximorons I know.
So, because of the mutiple injuries to the same area of the mouth, Bennett ended up with two very loose teeth. We were scheduled to see the pedodontist first thing this morning. The dentist concurred that both baby teeth were indeed damaged and needed to be extracted immediately.
Bennett was SOOO brave. They asked him, "do you mind if we brush your teeth first?" and he replied, "yes, I do mind. I just brushed them at home." Oh, to have the honesty of a three year old. :) Anyways, he didn't shed one tear. He really astounded me by handling such a nervous situation with such calmness. I'm so proud of my Bennett Boy!
The only issue I have with the whole thing is that my 3 year old has lost his first (two) tooth(s) before my 6 year old. I hope this is not the first of many "firsts" that he will accomplish before his brother.
Remember the last time I took Chloe shopping? It was lovely, the apple display at the grocery store ended up all over the floor. So, why would I think it would be any different this time? What in the world could possibly go wrong this time? I guess I wasn't thinking clearly today. I don't know, maybe it had something to do with the only 3 hours of sleep I got last night.
So, here come Chloe and I, entering our local grocery store. Everybody runs for cover. We're well known around here by now. Normally, I also bring Gavin and Bennett each pushing their own pint-sized shopping cart, carrying their own little lists and repeatedly ramming into the backs of my heals over and over and over again - that's a whole other blog, I could write for days and days on that one. ....as I was saying...we breazed through the produce section without much fan fair.
On to the isles now. As I was bent over looking at the tremendous selection of prepackaged applesauces, Chloe reaches out and tries to grab whatever happens to be within reach. Unfortunately, it was a large can of cherries for pie filling. Fortunately for me, it didn't land on my head, rather, inches from my left foot. That was a close call.
We are now 5 minutes from check out. I am delighted with our successful little outing. It is well known that 'pride comes before a fall'. I started gloating a little too soon, obviously. How was I to know that Chloe would turn around like she was made out of rubber, grab whatever was in reach in the cart behind her and throw it to the ground like she was in the olympic shot put competition?
I had no clue what hit me, but I knew something did since I was on the floor writhing in pain. As I survey the damage, I notice a can of something (with hard, metal, round edges)that I just put in my cart on the floor next to my ankle bone that is now the size of Rhode Island and getting bigger by the second. My toes start to tingle. I begin to wonder if they will have to carry me out of here on a stretcher because my one year old threw food at her Mommy. I am shocked as I look up and see my sweet, angelic daughter looking down at me like I'm crazy.
I suddenly remember that I'm in a public place and crying or a loud scream would not be an appropriate response. I try to look behind me, but can't seem to muster the energy. The pain is throbbing. If she was trying to hit the bulls eye of the nerve endings servicing my right foot, she couldn't have been more on target. I hear people behind me talking but they are not racing toward me in aid, so I must be handling the pain in a 'civilized' enough manner.
I slowly ascend to the vertical standing position trying to look like all the other shoppers around me - on one foot only. I am now permanently impaired. I feel like I have a ball and chain attached to my right foot and have to drag it behind me. How can such a little person wreak such havoc unintentionally and within milliseconds?
I like to think that since I've had children that maybe I've mellowed a bit, become a tad bit less selfish, maybe even a little bit more mature. Nothing tested this therory like last night.
We went to bed around 11pm and woke up at 2 something to Chloe's demanding cry. She NEVER cries herself to sleep, rather, she cries herself into a frenzy. Waking in the middle of the night is a rarity for her. Typically, a small bottle will calm her back down and she goes back to sleep peacefully. We've even nick-named her "Sleeping Beauty" because she sleeps so soundly and doesn't stir until around 9:30 or 10 in the morning. Obviously, tonight she had other plans.
After attempting the bottle-and-back-to-sleep routine twice, Chuck & I were at a loss of what to do next. For the sake of sleep, we decided to try letting her sleep with us. Wrong choice. This appeared to stimulate her even further. Time to implement Plan C. We weren't sure what it was, but we were desperate to get back to sleep. In steps 'tough love'. We reasoned (with whatever minute ability we had at that wee hour in the morning) that she was going to have to learn to put herself back to sleep eventually; no better time to start learning that than the present. 45 minutes later, after non-stop crying and still no sleep on our part, we caved and brought miss wiggle worm back in bed with us.
The complexity of this test now jumps to the next level. I now realize that I have a horrific headache. Chuck kindly got up and got me two migraine pills which only succeeded in keeping me awake due to the high level of caffine in them. As my head is throbbing, Plan D starts to formulate. Come 4am, I decided it was time to cut our losses, at least one of us was going to have to get some sleep. I told Chuck that I would take Chloe upstairs and sleep with her on the guest bed so he could get some shut eye for at least an hour. How was I to know that the other two children in our family were laying wide awake upstairs in their bedroom. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that it was like 85 degrees upstairs.
As I try to settle Chloe down in a new stimulating environment, I hear faint whispers outside of the door and then little pitter patters up and down the stairs. Chuck does not pitter patter, so it must be the boys, I reason. Yet, I lay there clueless and still awake for another 45 minutes. Almost three hours later and we have achieved succes! Chloe has finally drifted off to sleep. I tip-toe out after surrounding her with pillows, since she's still on the big bed and I go check on the boys who of course are dying of thirst, that is why they are laying there wide awake at 4:45 in the morning. I relent and tell them I'll run down and get them some water, because I too, am sweating up in the sauna we call upstairs. Plus, my head is still pounding and I decide to get some more medicine before I scream and wake Chloe up again.
Once I get down stairs, Chuck comes to greet me, saying he's just going to go to work. Going back to sleep is just a pipe dream at this point. I agree and kiss him goodbye. I head back upstairs with water in hand. Yet again, another plan is popping into my head. Obviously, the wee hours of the morning are very productive for my brain. Plan E is about to take effect.
I ask the boys if they would like to cuddle with me and Chloe on Chloe's bed. The clincher was that they would have to be VERY still and VERY quiet. I'm given ample promises and we all head over to Chloe's room. I begin to question my sanity. I whisper the order of the sleeping arrangement to each child and we disperse to our assigned places with stealth precision. So far, my plan is a success. Gavin, Chloe and I are all parallel while Bennet is laying perpendicular to us at our feet. This was a tricky plan for me being that geometry was involved - I was never very good at geometry.
I believe the boys fell asleep somewhere around 5:30. I lay there listening to the unique sounds each chid makes while sleeping. Their breathing patterns are all heavy and rhythmic, yet they don't lull me to sleep. I find it just a tad bit ironic, that today, of all days, we have to leave the house around 8am, meaning I will most likely have to wake everyone up. And I have to do it with only 3 1/2 hours of sleep under my belt. Making rational decisions might be a little challenging for me today. Thankfully, God's grace is not dependent on how much sleep I procured the night before. :)
You may as well stamp "unlearnable" on my forehead. I just can't seem to learn my lessons. Either that or the phenomenon of children pooping in the tub is just all too common. You might remember a similar entry on this subject, not once, but two times already. Dare I write about this same topic over and over again? Actually, I would prefer never to mention the word "poopy" again, but since it is so prevalent in my everyday world, I must stoop to new levels when discussing my day with the rest of humanity.
I wanted to be efficient tonite. The boys wanted to take a shower, so I decided that I may as well bathe Chloe in my tub at the same time so we could all be in the same room. Things were going rather smoothly for five minutes. The boys were standing on the shower seat sucking water from the shower head and spitting at the shower glass and each other. A beautiful and typical scene. I pick my battles. This was one I decided not to fight. I know the typical mother does not normally allow wet children to stand on a slippery surface in a shower spitting water at everything in sight but tonite, for whatever reason, I just let it slide. Plus, they said Daddy let them do it last time - how can I fight that argument? Anyways, I digress...
So, I've already cleaned Chloe and am just about to take her out when something else (I can't remember at this point - I claim 'post-traumatic stress syndrome') diverted my attention for all of 2 seconds. When I turn back around, with towel in hand to retrieve my little angel, my eye instantly focuses on several large dark masses floating all around her. I instantly feel sorrow for my beautiful tub. I then start to gag. Then I remember I should probably get Chloe out before she reaches out to 'explore her surroundings'. Then, as is the case in most of my crisis situations, the boys are also needing me immediately! My svelte training kicks in and I whip Chloe out of the tub onto a newly cleaned towel, offending her for ending her bath so quickly. As she is 'telling' me in no uncertain terms how unhappy she is with me (since she can't speak, that means screaming at me), I turn around to attend to the ever so important 'soap-in-the-eyes' quandary. As water is streaming out of the shower onto my newly mopped floor, I hold the door open to wipe the eyes of my wailing son. He has decided he has had enough fun and cleaning for one day, so he just steps out of the shower, nearly tripping over Chloe who had crawled toward the shower trying to make her way in. Mind you, I still have brown masses floating in my tub and a very weak stomach.
Thankfully, I now have all three wet children lined up with towels close to their bodies. Gavin decides it would be easier to blow dry himself off. So, he proceeds to blow dry Bennett and himself off while I tackle the tub. Chloe is still unhappy. She is not allowed back in the tub, not allowed in the shower, not allowed to touch the blow dryer - boy, is she having a bad day. I decide I should probably drain the tub and then dispose of the evidence - but that is just way too gross for me. I wonder to myself if I could wait for Chuck to get home, but that is out of the question. He won't be home for at least another four hours. Ugh! Did you know that toilet paper is very thin? That's all I'll say in regards for the disposal of the brown mass. I thought little girls were supposed to be dainty and neat - what is all this about????
This post would be even funnier if you understood our family's type of humor. I don't know any other way to describe it other than: crazy. Our favorite comedian is www.brianregan.com and we find ourselves repeating his musings quite often around here. His type of humor depicts our life perfectly. In one of his skits he talks about how he and his 5 brothers were sent outside to do an "activity" because his mom didn't want them in the house anymore. So, they find themselves making mud pies and asking their mom "is this a good activity?" Of course the humor is all in the way he says it, but I'm sure you get the gist of it. So, that leads me to the "activity" my boys were doing yesterday....
We were on our way to the library. They were in the back of the van just giggling away and I was on the cell phone talking. When I hung up, I asked what they were doing? They responded, "We're taking turns sucking each other's earlobes". The first thought that popped into my head was "is this a good activity?". I immediately text messaged the incident to my husband who was sitting in a boring, all day meeting at work. He said he almost laughed out loud.
Not that we encourage or inspire this behavior in our children through our actions as parents. Gavin has had a fettish with earlobes ever since he was born. At any point in any given day you can find him rubbing his earlobe between his fingers like some children rub the satin of a blanket between their fingers. He does it without even thinking. I think its a nervous habit at times. Thankfully, Gavin has introduced his younger and more susceptible brother to the enjoyment of earlobe activities.
Like I said, you never know what to expect in this house. This is just one more of those crazy, memory making moments that I would forget if I didn't have this wonderful outlet to write down for all future generations to ponder. I know, we're a strange breed - but I wouldn't have it any other way!
The other day I was just hanging out with Bennett and just enjoying his sweet little personality. I looked over at him and said, "Bennett, do you know how cute you are?" And he appropriately replied, "Not many people know how cute I am." I never know how is going to respond. That keeps things very interesting around here.
I hope my credibility as a homeschool mom does not rest on the ability of my 6 year old's spelling prowess - because we have none!!! It doesn't matter how fun, interesting or creative I try to make spelling - it just doesn't sink in. Gavin can read any word on the page, yet he spells of , "uv". He can recite multiple interesting facts about Jupiter, yet he spells the planet "Jupdr". True, phonetically it is correct. I guess I can be thankful that he has a strong understanding of phonics.
Tonight Gavin was running, jumping and role-playing, as usual when out of the blue he yells, "I'm RBNHD". I asked "Who are you?" He thought he was being tricky by spelling it out for me. So he repeats, "I'm RBNHD". I just assumed it was some made up character like 'supergavin', the one he's been all day. But that assumption would be wrong. Come to find out later, he was spelling 'Robin Hood' for me. Maybe he could get a job as the person who spells out each word written out in parentheses after the real word in the dictionary.
Don't worry, you won't be seeing us at any spelling bees in the near future.
