undone

I stumbled into the living room this morning, still bleary eyed, and plopped down with Ethan on the couch. James paused at the computer (he was preparing something for church) long enough to greet me and introduce to me a young man with a green mustache and matching belly. He bore a striking resemblance to my dear young lad, Jonathan, and held in his hand a green Sharpie. I remember smiling, and thinking to myself, "Wow, I have finally gotten to the point where that is just funny." I wasn't thinking about how he got a Sharpie in the first place, nor how I would keep him from doing it again. I wasn't thinking about how hard it would be to scrub green ink off a squirmy toddler. I was just enjoying the moment.
A little while later, I was getting the diaper bag packed for church. I was feeling very clever as I packed Jonathan a bottle of plain water (he is starting to lose interest in bottles when they have nothing exciting inside) and a sippy cup of chocolate milk. I am still not ready to face a tired monkey without a bottle, but this is a step.
So there we are in church; we are sitting next to some friends and Jonathan is playing happily with his little buddy Kassy. I look over just in time to see a little foot bump into a little sippy cup (dial it back a few hours, I picked the sippy that doesn't screw in, it just clasps together, yeah, good job, mom) and the whole thing goes tumbling to the floor in slow motion. My mind flashes back to a similar moment when Jonathan had thrown the sippy down the stairs (he does that, every time he goes down the stairs, like it's the only way to make sure his things are there when he gets down). I stop breathing. About 14 milliseconds later the missionaries, who happen to be sitting in front of us, are covered in chocolate milk, along with half of the pew itself. I am completely mortified. "Umm, ugh, hold on, I'll get some wipes..." Thanks to the Target incident, I now know never to leave the house without them.
We somehow get through the rest of the meeting, even though my little Jonathan is bent on giving me some kind of psychotic break. At one point, during the closing prayer, he decides to break away while I am feeding Ethan. My one free hand alternately grasps every one of his appendages as I struggle to contain him. As the rest of the congregation was saying, "Amen," my dear Jonathan screamed at the top of his lungs. Some days, my truest joy comes from thinking about future grandchildren. Not for me, but for my son.

cleaning the house

Step 1: Go in Monkey's room, collect 5-10 bottles randomly stashed around the room. Carefully decide which ones to keep and which ones to throw immediately into the garbage.
Step 2: Take random potholder/ oven mitt collection out of Monkey's room and go to the kitchen to put it back in the drawer.
Step 3: Notice that Monkey has put arm covers from the recliner in where the potholders belong.
Step 4: Bring the arm covers back into the living room and find play doh bits all over the rug.
Step 5: Pick up most of the play doh, vacuum the rest.
Step 6: While vacuuming, find an earring (you stepped on it's match earlier today) that was previously kept in the bathroom. Wonder why Monkey got into your earrings??
Step 7: Put the earring back in the bathroom, notice that your toothbrush is missing.
Step 8: Floss and mouthwash will have to do for tonight, until the toothbrush can be located in the laundry tomorrow morning.
Step 9: Fold the laundry in the morning, looking at all the little grass-stains/ lipstick stains/ juice stains, and laugh at how funny your little boys are.

Yeah, some day, when my kids are grown and my house stays clean, I really am gonna miss this.

creative laundry

My 2 year old has a funny habit where he takes sippy cups and shakes them upside down until they drip into puddles. "Spill proof," maybe, but "toddler mess proof," not so much. He also has a few sippy cups he can actually get apart, which speeds up the process. So, this morning, we were getting in the car for church when I realized he had sat in this morning's applejuice and had a very suspicious looking wet mark on his little bottom. I knew what it was, of course, but as for everyone else at church, well, it definitely looked bad. I quickly inventoried in my mind all of the clean outfits he had left upstairs to change into. I thought of several highwaters (the waist fits so well, as they are size 12 months), and a few longer pants where the waist is almost wide enough to fit his baby brother in too. I sighed and did what any self-respecting young mother would do- took his pants off, and held them out the window the entire way to church to air dry. Yes, if you were driving on 81 South today, that crazy woman driver was me. I can't imagine what people must have thought, but i certainly felt cool managing the wheel, directionals, and everything else with my right hand and my knee. I kinda felt like a 10 minute mini Adam Piner. It was awesome.

rub a dub dub, smack my head on the tub

Bath time is one of those things that never gets old. Monkey always keeps it interesting. Usually, it's a great way to wrap up the day before the boys go to bed. Of course, Ethan can't go in every night, his little baby skin would get dry (oh no!), but Monkey goes in every meal if not more frequently. It's fun to watch him splash, and fill his little cup with water, and pour water all over his little belly, and play all manner of squirting games.
When it came time to put him in the tub tonight (spaghetti night, it had to happen), Ethan was in the process of gnawing off his hand, so I opted to feed him in the other room while catching up on the phone with my father-in-law. All of a sudden, I heard a new kind of splashing noise in the bathroom, and wandered in to find Jonathan pouring entire cups of water on the floor. Since I am past the point where I think it's possible for my house to *ever* be in order, I just mildly scolded him and continued feeding Ethan-- this time perched on the toilet to ensure there was no more naughtiness from the Monk. About fourteen seconds into this new arrangement, I heard this loud pounding on our door. My first thought was to get a knife to protect us from whatever crazy person was trying to bang our door down. Then, after a second more of thought, I realized it had to be the lady downstairs. We love her to death, but everything is a crisis to this woman. "Who is it?" I ask, even though I know full-well who it is. As soon as the door is open, she proceeds to gush about how my toilet must be over-flowing and her apartment is drenched and oh-my-gosh I was falling asleep and I thought it was raining, and WHAT ON EARTH-- she repeats the story several times as if trying to process a near death experience.
About this time, Monkey comes running, nakie, out of the tub and over to see who came to visit. I tell him sternly to "go to bed," figuring at least there he can stay out of trouble (of course, I should know better). I finally convince our downstairs neighbor that the only way I can fix the mess is if she lets me go clean up the water. I explain that it was my son pouring water out of the tub.
Now, Jonathan is normally a very obedient little boy. By normally, I mean not usually. More of a somewhat occasionally. This time, he decides that before he goes to bed, he has to run back in the bathroom and throw a toy back in. He slips on the somewhat flooded linoleum, and is bawling his head off, so I pick him up and coddle him and yada ya until he finally calms down. When I set him down, he goes running into his room, and I find him a minute later curled into one corner of his little bed, all covered up, all sobbing and shaking. Poor guy.
I finish getting the monkey calmed down and ready for bed, figuring the crisis is over now that i have all the water cleaned up. About 5 minutes later, our buddy comes pounding on the door again. She still thinks it's the toilet. Maybe she just underestimates my toddler?

Adventures at Wegman's

There are a lot of things that change when you have kids. You are no longer allowed to dine out or sleep in, vacations require four times as much planning, and your wardrobe is limited to articles that can withstand all matter of little people fluids. You have to get used to a lot of staring and/ or funny looks in public as you attempt (and fail) to contain your small young creatures. There are times that you find yourself not knowing whether to yell at them or kiss their little faces, and you may have created something of a combination between the two. There is a piece of you that is overjoyed when someone else's kid shrieks louder than yours, and on those days that you feel all put together, there is nothing that can bring you down. Until you realize, of course, that you spent have the day wandering around with spaghetti in your hair. But even that doesn't really bother you anymore. Yes, it is a strange new world when you have kids.
One of my greatest joys has been in discovering that Wegman's is just as special to me as it ever was. No great things come without work, and Wegmansing surely includes its fair share of work. For starters, we have to get one of those crazy carts that has a little car built into the front. That way there is room for Ethan's carseat, Jonathan, AND groceries! It's a beautiful thing. Now, there is an art to just getting Jonathan strapped into the thing. If you tie the belt to loose, he wiggles right out, but if you tie it too tight he takes it as a challenge. This is all well and good, as it keeps him occupied, until you pause a second in the vegetable aisle and see your little monkey in a dead run for the candy.
There is a special art to just driving the stinkin' cart, as it's super long and weighted very strangely. There is, in addition, a special art to apologizing to people when you accidentally smack into their carts, or when you purposefully smack into their carts but want them to think it's an accident. There is an art to getting through the store with your sanity, which usually involves opening packages of snacks and drinks, which makes it interesting at the checkout. "Um, yeah, could you just scan the wrapper? Thanks." "Careful with that one, the end is only loosely twisted shut.""No, actually, I don't need a new cider-- that one's fine. I only need half a jug anyway." Which reminds me of the last challenge-- choosing just the right cashier. Preferably a grandma. They understand everything.
Well, I guess my blog-time allotment is being drawn to an abrupt close-- Monkey got himself out of the tub and drew a lipstick maze on his belly. Yes, yes, he is very funny. Here comes one of those combinations.