Slow

Looking for the CHILD DESTRUCTION / FLOODING pictures? Click here. 

(I was challenged by a fellow blogger to photograph a “day-in-my-life” just for fun. This day was from a few weeks ago while most of the kids were still off track. )

It’s 7:30 am and Ashy’s crying to be let out of her crib.

  The smell hits me before I even make it across the hall. 

This is not a good sign. 

Let’s just say that the next few minutes involve a cranky 19 month old taking off her diaper and, well … you can fill in the blanks.

Ben grabs Ash and heads for the shower while I gather up the carnage and haul it down to the laundry room.  Within two minutes I’m back up stairs, clearing away the cereal mess in the kitchen and wiping up a half gallon of spilled milk off the floor.  

I’m already wishing there was caffeine in the house and that Ben didn’t have to leave for work.

As Ben scoots out the door and Dylan jumps on the bus, I send the boys downstairs to grab clothes for the day.  Savannah comes out dressed for the day, too.  “See Mom?” she asks. “I got dressed and did my hair all by myself!”

Uh huh.

Clipping a freakishly large clip into a rats nest of day-old pig tails shouldn’t count as ‘doing hair’, but today I let it fly.  At least no one will see it.

Ashy’s out of the tub and dressed--and with a pretty good fever. 

Her eyes are puffy and the nose  is starting to run like a champ.  It’s not even 9:00 am and I’m a quarter of the way through one of these.  Not a good sign.

I look over my To-Do List and am already adjusting.

 Grocery shopping? 

Doubtful.

Organize coupons? 

Maybe.

Review zoning reports?

Get back to ya.

Finally finish a wreath for the closet door? 

Um… looking iffy.

Coupons seems the most do-able and will save me from picking up strewn newspaper off the floor for the next week.  The only problem is that my organizing-crafting-couponing-do-any thing-and-everything table also happens to be a race track-train station-air hockey-block assembly station as well. 

After a few close calls between my chocolate coupons and Cam’s Mr. Sideswipe Transformer toy, I’m rethinking the coupon thing.  Cam is good for a few minutes and then spins Sideswipe across the table with some serious flare and speed. 

“Do it again and Sideswipe dies a slow death in the Davis County landfill,” I mutter without looking up. 

Remarkably, Cameron suddenly has the urge to drive his car down stairs.

A second later I hear and feel something underneath the coffee table.  Seanry pops his head up and says, “Cheese!” 

Within seconds he’s climbing up on the coffee table, shmearing coupons everywhere and leaping onto the couch with out-stretched toddler wings hands.  Ka-pow!  He lands squarely on my coupon binder.

Coupons are a bust. 

The whole stack gets dumped back on the organ until I can get to them without interruption.  Midnight is looking good at this point.  I’m already looking forward to my “me time” during afternoon naps to get my craft on and unwind from a slow, but oddly tiring morning.  Zoning reports will probably have to wait.

I’m thinking over wreath ideas while bread and PB & J come out for lunch.  When I call the kids in to eat, Savannah bounds into the room with a dramatic leap.

“Look Mom! Don’t I look like a beautiful dancing princess girl?”

 Yes, Savannah, you do. 

And truthfully, you kind of look like a clown, too. 

Savannah smiles and races out of the room.  A minute later she returns.

“No, mom,” Savannah giggles.  “Now I look like a clown.”

I stand corrected.

Ash wakes up from her morning nap during lunch and the lint from her blanket combined with a runny nose make for a dirty, crusted over face.  I try to remove it with wet wipes, but Ash cries and thrashes each time I touch her face.  Her fever is still high and it’s not worth the fight. 

Ben calls on his lunch break to see how Ash and the kids are doing.  Ash hears his voice and reaches for the phone.  “Dah-dee,” she quietly coos through the phone.  She takes it from her ear and slobber kisses the numbers.  “Dah-dee” she coos again,  laying back against me.  I hate that she feels lousy, but love that she’ll let me hold her, even when she misses her daddy.

At 1:25 Savannah asks if she and Cam can go outside and play.  I tell her that’s fine as long as she gets bundled up first.

 

And so she does.  Next time I’ll be more specific.

The kids don’t last long outside in the biting cold and are soon back inside, bundled up in their G’ma Lovett blankets watching Sleeping Beauty while I clean up the lingering lunch mess.  Cam has really gotten into this movie and thinks Prince Phillip is a great warrior.  For the last few days I’ve seen him wielding the Sword of Truth (Batman Pez dispenser) and Shield of Righteousness (dollar store shield) as he battles the fiercest imaginary dragons ever.

“Look, mom,” he says.  “Being a good guy makes me happy.”

And a minute later …. “Being the ‘Mistress of All Evil’ like Maleficent looks lousy like this.”

 Noted.

Ashy just wants to be held and I’m thinking this would be a good time to settle in with my sick little girl.  My wreath project will just have to wait for another day when kids are feeling well and taking naps a bit more on schedule.  I park in front of the computer with my baby, her tuggie and begin sifting through changes to the city signing ordinances.  I realize this kind of reading is mind-numbing for normal people with lives, but my inner nerd loves it.

The next few hours are a quiet mix of kids coming and going from my room needing help with block towers, coloring pictures and toy disputes, all while Ashy sleeps deeply in my lap.  

Kaden proudly brings me his latest drawing from his “Kids I Like” series.  Today’s edition is My Friend James, a broken crayon rendering on folded notebook paper.  I tell him it’s his best work so far.  He beams.

While Kade gets to work on another masterpiece, Cam sifts through the junk mail and is crazy excited when I let him have the Disney Movie Club mailer.  A minute later I look over to see him pondering this month’s offerings.

 

He can’t figure out why I would possibly throw away something so “cool.”  I tell him that it’s just something that happens to grown-ups: we get all crazy and practical and lose the joy we once had for gazillions of glossy, worthless ads and annoying stickers that end up on every . single . forehead wall.  Cam shakes his head in true disappointment and says in all seriousness, “Wow.  That’s really too bad mom.”

Kade’s done with crayons and has found the Mr. Tickle toys. Ashy’s sort of awake and he tries to make her laugh by being silly.  I love that he’s trying to help her feel better. 

Ashy is still warm, but not quite as much.  She’s still content to sip Powerade and sit in my lap while I finish reading my reports. 

Savannah asks if she can get the puzzles and games out.  Apparently this requires yet another outfit change. 

I’m sure the other clothes from the day are strategically dumped on her floor, waiting for me to “help” her put away, but I ignore that fact. 

Kade wanders back in with his Mr. Tickle toys.  I wonder sometimes if—wait a minute. 

Kaden … what happened to your shirt?  And where are Mom’s scissors?

Kaden suddenly has to go to the bathroom and takes off, leaving the Mr. Tickle stethoscope behind.  The scissors are no where to be found.

A groggy, sweaty Ash jumps on the opportunity.  She scrambles off my lap, hurries to the door and claims the Mr. Tickle Stethoscope all for herself.  She proudly climbs back up on my lab with her prize as if to say, I Claim This Toy For Spain. I hope her burst of energy means she past the worst of her cruds.

I throw her jammies on and let her walk around for a bit while dinner cooks.  She quickly finds her musical Care Bear and settles in on the 72 hr. kit in the kitchen as she sings along.  A, B, C, D, E, F, G … next time won’t you sing with me.

Hurray.  Maybe I can get dinner ready without having to hold her.  I’m so glad that she’s feeling good …

… good enough to mess up the coupons and grocery ads that I still haven’t finished sorting.

For now the pile will have to be set aside—again--until I have the emotional will time to sort them all over again.  Besides, dinner isn’t finished and if I’m out of the kitchen too long the kids have a tendency to do this:

and this with food.

Strangely no one wants celery and peanut butter for dinner after all. 

Creepy manages to get enough peanut butter on him that I don’t even mess with wet wipes: this requires a tub.  Then downstairs for clean jammies and favorite toys and favorite books and a few more cans from the storeroom to go with dinner.

I supposed that why I never heard the timer for these go off. 

Thankfully the smell tipped me off a good ten minutes after the fact.  That’s twice today that smells have been the harbinger of bad news.

I make one more quick run downstairs to the storeroom—this time for cereal.  The kids think it’s the greatest dinner. ever. 

After dinner it’s reading and homework time, bath time and then scripture and prayer time.  It’s 7:30 and I know Peterson has a late night and church meetings and won’t be home until after 10:00.  At this point, I’m just not up for a full night routine without him.  Baths for the other five kids can wait till the morning. 

We push ahead with reading and homework.  

Savannah changes into her jammies—an ivory and lace dress shirt, plain white t-shirt, toddler-sized mint green sparkle tank top and hot pink jammie pants.  It’s a picture. 

The piggy tails have finally fallen out and her hair is a messy, wind-blown tangle of blonde.   The funny thing is that I think she looks beautiful here with her hair falling across her freckled cheeks and long black lashes.  She’s excitedly reading a big-kid book.  “Sam.  Sam.  I see Sam.” she reads.  She looks up at me and beams. 

Homework time is a triumph.

Then the usual battle for scriptures ensues with each kid vying for their copy to read.  Once again, several of the kids’ copies have mysteriously disappeared, driving them to desperate measures to avoid sharing:  Cam settles in with my Russian copy from college days and Savannah thumbs through El Libro de Mormon.  Both insist they can read along just fine.  Tonight, I pretend I believe them and let it go.

Dylan and I end up with the bulk of the reading, but I don’t mind.  It’s quiet and peaceful with my crew all bundled up in their blankets listening to scriptures.

I love watching Dylan read. He plows confidently through words like Zarahemla and disputations without skipping a beat. His homework necklace proudly hangs from his neck and his best friend Thomas sits quietly beside him.

He finishes his verses and smiles at me.  My son smiles at me.  What a miracle.

It’s Cameron’s night for prayer and it’s typical Cameron wonderfulness.  He thanks his Heavenly Father for our home, our state, our country, our planet, the solar system, the universe and all the ‘stuff out there in space that you made.’  While I scan the room with my Mom-Squinty-Eye-Patrol, I see this:

I wonder if it would be too sacrilegious to quickly snap a picture of him like this before Cam finishes and decide to pass.  Amazingly, Sean stays like this for several moments after prayer ends, allowing me to get my shot.

There’s the usual stalling techniques by The Littles to avoid sleep.  The hugs.  The pleas for more stories.  The bathroom trips.  The drinks of water.  While Kade’s sipping away I notice peanut butter hand prints on the kitchen blinds that probably have something to do with Sean’s PB & celery escapade from dinner.  I add it to the list of things that can wait for days tomorrow.

Then I start the Go To Bed Now speech.  And the This Is Getting Old speech.  And of course the Down Stairs Now! speech.  It’s not as eloquent as I Have A Dream, but motivational none the less.  Thirty minutes later the youngest three are in bed.

The older three have earned the right to stay up a little longer and drag out the jumble of face cards and Uno decks to play their own garbled version of Uno/Go Fish/Phase Ten.

Within an hour, the big three will be asleep on the couches and under blanket forts in the living room.  They’re still off track and it’s been a long, if slow, day.  The coupon binder that’s been waiting for me to organize it all day will be filled with the coupons from the messy pile Ashy made and the organ will be finally clear of clutter … at least for the night.  As midnight approaches, the last of the blankets drying on the stairs from Ash’s blow out will be folded neatly and stacked in her closet until the next diaper-crib fiasco. 

All that’s left are my rounds--the rounds I make through the house each night just like Mom always did.  I can’t sleep until I make sure every door and window is locked, every light –except the halls lights--are turned out, and that each kid is accounted for, breathing and bundled up.

Back in my kitchen, I survey the remnants of the day and wonder what it’s all been for.  How can I feel such an odd mix of contentment and exhaustion when I accomplished hardly anything on my to-do list?  Perhaps it’s one of those deep-down reminders that being a Mom has less to do with chores and errands and everything to do with just being there for my kids.

The kitchen sink is full of dishes … but my baby’s fever is gone and she’s resting comfortably in her scrubbed clean, freshly washed blankets with a diaper firmly in place.

The floor hasn’t been swept or mopped … but The Big Three giggled themselves to sleep under a canopy of blankets and chairs and couch cushions, hours past their bed time.

Dinner was a flop and the kids had cereal for dinner—again … but perhaps even cooking disasters can yield a little bit of buried magic … and the chance, at 12:24 in the morning, to get one more thing crossed off on my To Do List.

I wonder …

… yeah …

 … perfect.

Good night.