As a mother sits on the bar stool next to child number one, having finished her dinner, she thinks to herself... is this really my life? coaxing my three-year old to please finish his chicken and rice and he keeps attempting to link arms and exclaim, "best friends, mom!" retrieving child number two from the high chair after a wild frenzy that somehow wiped the tray clean and left much more food on the floor than was actually consumed and stepping over child number three who refused to take a nap and is now smearing what appears to be his own drool all over the kitchen floor. "mom, I want shrimp, please." what? we don't have any shrimp, but thanks for saying please. number two, don't give him the lysol cleaner. number three, don't suck on the lysol cleaner. but sure, swiffer the floor while you're down there. number two then focuses her attention on moving the discarded dinner from the tile to the carpet in true one-year-old fashion and then heads for the recycling bin. sure, the empty milk carton is fair game, have at it.
this mother thinks to herself... I'm grateful that the three-year-old is eating his chicken and I'm grateful that as he swivels around in his chair singing that he wants to be my best friend. I'm grateful that number two is not significantly undernourished and can afford to miss a meal because it is currently unedible. I'm grateful that number three is no longer wailing in his bed, that he likes us enough to want to be with us and that the combination of saliva and tupperware seems to keep him entertained. I'm grateful that my dinner was delicious and that I had two minutes to eat it. oh man, there's the lid to the milk jug.. where on earth is the jug? dripping dripping in some unknown place. good grief, the milk carton is too big to lose, where IS IT? "I'll help you find it mom! let's go on a treasure hunt!" please, let's hunt for sour milk. ah, there it is, thankfully upright. number three, there have got to be better things to suck on around here than the electric cord, really. no, not that. you'll gag on that.
"mom, my jammies are un-side-out!" ok, as they land on my head from the stairs above. please get underwear on. "I will!" great. number two, stop hanging on the fridge door, I'll help you get some milk in a minute. number three, you're going to keep hitting your head if you don't move away from the chair. relocated and armed with age-appropriate toys. oh man, three-year-old, PLEASE get underwear on! here's your milk, lady. she hoists herself up on the couch and assumes position on her pillow. new diaper and jammies for the little man, placed next to number two with a bottle of his own. ok, seriously, underwear, now. good. now for that mess on the floor.
milk consumed, pick up number three and suddenly my shorts are wet. and orange. lovely. regurgitated sweet potatoes make me feel so pretty. number two, up we go- time to brush your teeth. she opens wide and waddles swiftly to the stairs. she loves brushing her teeth. "I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll BLOW your house down." can you turn your volume down, please, the babies are headed to bed. "sure." and he flips the imaginary switch down located on the side of his head. "I'm softer now, but i'm still going to huff and puff and blow your house down!" just make sure I have a place to sleep tonight please. number two folding chubby arms and mumbling along as we say a little prayer, snuggled into bed. check. back downstairs to retrieve number three, upstairs to his own bed. check. to the three-year-old: I'll race you to see who can pick up the most stuff on the floor. "it's not a race, mom." ok, but it's got to be cleaned up. "I've had a hard day, I don't think I can." really? let's go get in bed then. "No! I'll help!" I thought so. as we pick up, "mom, we had a fun day, didnt' we?" yes, child. it was fun. dad: you're absolutely welcome to walk in anytime. just an evening in the life...