floating.

“The days are long and the years are short.”

I read that quote and thought it was very fitting to parenthood.  at least motherhood.  most days I ache for bedtime.  but I also spend a good portion of my days taking mental snapshots.  memories.  trying to squeeze permanence from every laugh, every smile, every moment.  it’s odd living and desiring two opposite things:  for them to just GO TO BED.  and for them to NEVER GO AWAY.  maybe that’s why mothers are so scattered. our brains and hearts are constantly at odds.

summer is here.  hopefully to stay.  we got a BIG plastic swimming pool, big enough for Matt to stretch out in.  I plan on spending our down time in swimsuits and doing a lot of nothing.  nothing but memory making.  We are going to soak up the sun, the summer, the hours, the days, each other.  The years are short.  Lincoln will be four in the fall, and Stella three.   Preschool will soon morph into Kindergarten, Kindergarten into college.  This might very well be our last summer of no plans, no activities, no obligations but to just float.  Float and giggle.

We are gardening, eating fresh raw veggies in abundance.  We are in love with wheatgrass and kale smoothies.  Life is very simple right now.  I feel like we are in the calm  amid the storm.  Baby bootcamp is over.  Life of school chaos has yet to hit us.  we are floating in that sweet spot of childhood.  Lord let it last.

I know it will be Christmas in the blink of an eye.  but, until the leaves turn and fall, we will be floating.  all five of us, in a store bought plastic swimming pool.

 

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dinosaur eggs.

today Lincoln asked me 47 times if we have a ‘chim-dee’ (chimney).  he then asked 57 times if everyone else in California does.

Jack decided to nap for 20 min.  that’s it.  while I was attempting to rock him back to sleep for the 3rd time, Stella came into the nursery.  She mumbled something about her ‘wost’ cup and needing some ‘moik’ (milk).  I told her as nicely as I could to go wait for me in the living room.  She smiled and shouted, “ok! fanks! here ya go!” and proceeded to shut the door and lock it.  (our landlords reversed the knob in that bedroom, so the push button to lock is on the outside.  probably so their teenage girl couldn’t lock them out, or they could lock her in?!)  I was sitting there with a No-Longer-Sleeping Jack grinning at me, grunting as he tried to wiggle out of my death grip and thinking, “shit.  she just locked me in here.”

this isn’t the first time this has happened.  Matt once got locked in with both Lincoln and Stella.  it was an interesting afternoon is all he will say.  After that I started keeping a supply of q-tips by the changing table so that we had ammo to get out, easy to pick those knob locks with a q-tip.  but alas…..you put q-tips by a changing table and guess what, they get used.  so, stuck I was……part of me considered curling up in lincoln’s little toddler bed, turning on the the white noise and going to sleep.  but I knew they’d sniff me out after awhile looking for wost cups and moik.  so I pounded on the door and shouted until Lincoln came to investigate.

“why are you being so loud?  you might wake Jack up.”  really?  thanks for the tip.

We rushed up to the store since naptime was tossed out the window.  Jack appeared starving, so I gave him is favorite, greek yoghurt.  he ate the entire thing, I picked him up and he vomited all over me.  greek yoghurt chunks running all down my shirt, into my belly button.  I reeked.  nothing like greek yoghurt baby vomit to really enhance the no-shower-for-three-days look I had going.

we attempted to dye easter eggs.  what a disaster.  I hate dying eggs.  the dye freaks me out.  they spill everything.  I gave them straws (I know.  Not smart.  It was all I had.  it was that or paring knife) to ‘stir’ the eggs in the paper cups, told Lincoln 47 times to NOT DRINK THE LIQUID.  it was NOT JUICE.  I look over and he’s slurping it down.  seriously?!  after asking, “WHY?  why?!”  he goes, “I was trying to make bubbles and it went the other direction.”  sadly, that answer makes sense.  the eggs turned out ok.  the colors were a little off because I used beet juice and a combo of cake decorator food coloring.  This was really a last minute activity.  Lincoln seemed unimpressed and asked if we could try again with Daddy.  He’s only three and already knows that Daddy tends to follow directions better than Mommy.   Stella was in love.  she kept cuddling the eggs.  whispering, “oh so prwertty.  you so coot!  so coot.”  Later I watched her jam her finger into one crushing it.  she exclaimed in disappointment, “ah! whered de dinosaur?! dere no dinosaur in there!”  she seemed slightly heartbroken.  I guess, what would you expect to pop out of a pink egg?

The lack of sleep is getting to us.  Making all of us punchy.  We packed it up, I gathered up my vomit covered self, grabbed chunky Jack, my purse, the other two crazies, and we left.  Read books out loud during dinner, a communal shower, and all off to bed.  Tomorrow is Friday.  our last day at work.  my last day in the 20s.  I promised Lincoln a Starbucks breakfast.  It has been a hard week.  in the words of the great Dr. Suess, “Today was good.  Today was fun.  Tomorrow is another one.”

I wish we all lived in a world where dinosaurs hatched from pink Easter eggs.

Wednesday.

life is loud.   like, impossible to concentrate loud.  they are so loud.  talking, laughing, fighting, wrestling.  it’s all loud.  constant attention.  if one isn’t pulling on my leg, than another one is shouting for me to ‘look!’ “look!”  or asking for something to drink.  or eat.  they are constantly eating.  how can one person eat so many crackers?! (“oh yed I’d wike some mawr cwrackers.”)

it’s getting challenging at the store.  babies were cute, and easily forgiven.  toddlers/preschoolers are stepped over.  literally.  at least our store will never be accused of being empty and quiet.

I’ve come to realize one thing.  kids are a lot of work.  seriously.  you can’t really cut corners.  and even if you try, it’s still hard (because cutting corners with kids backfires).  they are a lot of work physically.   mentally.  emotionally.  I am beat at the end of the day.  just beat.  I had a friend recently tell me I wouldn’t enjoy being a baker because it was a physically demanding job.  I was sitting there holding 25lb Jack and 34lb Stella was using me as a jungle gym.  I thought I was gonna die laughing.  my life is a physically demanding job.  for me, sitting down is a physically demanding job.  standing up and moving is damn near an olympic event.  bedtime?  Lance Armstrong probably couldn’t pull it off.

they have been hard lately.  and not naughty, acting out hard.  just plain old, truly exhausting hard work.  jack’s been wanting to comfort nurse all the time.  like basically any time he sees me.  which is often.  like every 20 min.  or less.  lincoln and stella FIGHT all the time. squabble.  bicker.  they don’t share.  then they make up and run and scream and laugh until my eardrums want to pop.  and then they fight again.  LOUD.  this life is loud.  (I’m the kind of person that really truly loves silence.  I rarely listen to music.  I only watch TV if there’s a program on.)

my life is 80 miles an hr.  from sun up to sun down.  with the volume cranked ALLLLLLL the way up.  I can’t remember anything because I’m constantly being badgered with requests for milk and attention.  I don’t accomplish much.   They are alive.  clean.  fed.  Stella thinks she’s a princess.  Lincoln is learning respect.  Jack is learning that security is there.  always. every 20 min.  or less.

I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining.  I’m not.  I’m just digressing.  Unloading.  Releasing.  someday I won’t remember exactly what a Wednesday felt like.  I want to be able to remember.  To say, “ah….yes…..it was loud.  but what a noise….”