A little patience

I spent a lot of time yesterday debating.  Debating whether to lock my kids out of the house, to put them up for adoption, to give them the beating of their lives, or to just sit and cry.  You’ll be happy to know that while considering all my options, I decided to enforce a mandatory nap instead.  (In sing-song) I am so smart, s-m-r-t.

Wowza.  Some days are just unlike any other.

The day started about 6 am – pretty early for us.  I decided to busy myself by mopping the kitchen floor.  I moved the table and chairs into the front room, filled up my bucket, grabbed my mop and got started.  What else was I going to do?  Give birth?  I wish.

The kids did pretty well the whole time I was mopping.  I’d already enforced a ban on tv for the morning, so I set the kids up at the kitchen table stationed in the front room (way cooler that way) and gave them pages to color, markers and crayons.  Don’t worry, there were no catastrophes here – it just amazes me how much my kids are NOT into crafty stuff right now – the exception being cutting up paper.  Their time was mostly occupied making light sabers out of the markers and fighting each other with them.  That was perfectly fine with me.

I don’t mind telling you I tuckered myself out with the mopping.  I was so tired.  The boys played fairly well the rest of the morning together.  After lunch, I told them they could pick out something to watch on tv – either a movie or tv show.  I sat down on my luscious new chair (pictures coming soon).  They chose the movie Wall-e.  I got way too comfortable and closed my eyes.  The boys saw their window of opportunity.  They completely ignored the movie and went to play in/around our bedrooms (they are across the hall from each other).

Maybe five to ten minutes had lapsed when I heard, “Let’s put this on the pile!”  Ah, cripes.  I sprang from my mommy-light sleep and about lost my balance and passed out from getting up so fast.  I turned the corner to see a pile, indeed.  All of the cushions and pillows from the front-room couch, and clothing – lots of clothing – from where, I wasn’t really sure at that point.

As I got closer, I could see Jude peeking up at me from underneath the rubble.  He yelled, “RUN, JETT!!”  I was so not amused.  I thought about taking a picture, but I was so mad I didn’t want to give them an inkling that it was funny or that this kind of thing was going to be tolerated.  I examined the pile: shoes, all of our pillows, sheets and blankets from our bed, dirty clothes from the laundry basket in our room, the clean clothes taken from our hospital bag, clothes from two separate sacks of maternity clothes that I’ve been borrowing from friends that were in my closet, and a nice mix of dirty and clean clothes from their room, as well.  Oh yeah, and Jett was completely pants-less and diaper-less at this point.

I got my wooden spoon, originally for cleaning-up re-enforcement, but it quickly became apparent it was going to serve it’s purpose (oddly enough not for stirring).  The kids ignored me when I told them what to start picking up.  Jude yelled that he hated me.  Really?  We’re going to start that now?  Already?  Mama’s not having it.  I spanked that boy and shut him in his room while Jett was made to do the clean-up under my strict supervision.  The trouble was that Jett thought the whole thing was hilarious.  Me talking sternly in their faces, Jude yelling at me, Jude getting spanked, Jude being put in time out.  Jett was reveling in it all, jumping around the pile, wrapping himself up in the blankets and clothes while tossing anything else he could get his hands on up into the air.  He got spanked, too.  Only, he didn’t let that stop his merriment.  He continued doing just what he’d been doing.  Laughing, prancing, having a grand ol’ time, completely ignoring my directions for picking up this and that.  The bare bottom was suddenly very convenient for me.

I took Jett down a notch or two until he was dutifully handing me each pile item one at a time.  I analyzed each piece of clothing and separated it accordingly.  I get so peeved when clean clothes get mixed with dirty ones.  So, there I am, sniffing the crotches of various undies and pants trying to determine if they’d been worn or not.  C’mon, I know you’ve done it, too!  I tried to remember if I’d worn a shirt, if it was creased from having been folded and in the overnight bag or if it had been in the laundry basket.  And the maternity clothes had come from two different people, so I was trying to remember whose went where.  I eventually got it all squared away, I think. 

Amazingly, I didn’t find any signs of urine or feces!  I’m grateful for that now, but in the moment it didn’t seem like much of a consolation.  Jett had just taken off his soaked training pants (he’d asked to wear them earlier) and hadn’t put anything else on his bottom – and that’s why he was bare down there.

Next, I told Jude he could come out of his room.  He continued to be mouthy, so he got another time out.  I decided that they needed to expend some energy by playing outside awhile, hot or not, I didn’t care, I just needed them out of my house.  I did the obligatory mommy thing and watched them, protected them from danger, all that crap.  They constantly fought and broke down into tears about not finding their sunglasses, falling off the scooter (6 inches off the ground).  Everything was so dramatic!  It was suddenly obvious that they needed naps.  I made them go back inside.  I told Jude to lay down in his bed, that he didn’t have to sleep very long, that as soon as he woke up he could play again.  He fell asleep instantly.  Jett was a little more of a firecracker.  He kept yelling, storming around the living room, “BUT I SLEPT LAST NIGHT!  IT’S MORNING DAY!”  Then he flung the pillow and blanket that I’d taken from his bed into the kitchen for effect.  I completely ignored him and he eventually fell sound asleep on the new chair.

When they were being so difficult, I couldn’t help but think, “If my water would just break now, I wouldn’t have to deal with them.  If I could just start having contractions now, I could give them to someone else for awhile, and I’d be ok.”  Is it a problem that I welcome the pains of childbirth OVER dealing with my children?  It’s just a question.  I’m just asking.

We’re in for it, friends.  The baby isn’t even here yet, and we’re totally in for it.