I got out of my shower today to find my kids in my bed. It’s not hard. We live in a studio apartment. 600 sq. ft. The bathroom door doesn’t lock. And it’s just too tempting for little boys to not practice death-defying-ish leaps from the “master bedroom” bed to the “living room” couch to “their bedroom” bunk. I step out of the bathroom and I can see my whole house.
It cracks me up when my kids play hide and seek. They had a friend over last week. They are all, “Let’s play hide-and-seek!” He was like, “How?”
I step out of the bathroom, look to my immediate right, and there they are. Well, Lo’s head sticking is out at the top of the comforter and Li’s feet are sticking out at the bottom. Lots of giggles. Because their goals in life mainly revolve around playing tricks on me, which is obviously what’s afoot.
(Can I tell you about how they like to knock on the underside of the table during dinner and tell me that John, our milk delivery guy, returned with more milk? Every night? No? Ok.)
So lots of giggles. And A has her “just you wait mom that’ll be me someday” grin on her face. I’m outnumbered. And Lo says in little-kid-deep-voice, “I’m Daddy, and those are my STINKY FEET!!” And as he says this, Li’s feet (indeed, stinky) wiggle, so that I get the full effect of what is supposed to be a full-grown man in the bed.
Lo drops character for a minute, concerned, and then resumes his paternal impression, roaring, “I’m Daddy, and I need sugar! No! Salt! I am Daddy, and I need SALT!”
“Why for?” says I.
Eye roll. “Because I’m a MAN!” He roars as he gestures to his chin and, presumably, beard area.
And while I’m not sure how he anticipated attaching his salt stubble, props to my son for problem solving.
It’s that kind of day, really. For problem solving. I keep thinking that there is something to this getting up early stuff. I go to bed and think that THIS will be the sleep that I willingly cut short. I get little boost of encouragement from Sarah who shares that rest is more than the hours of sleep in a night (and, good heavens! if she can write on this with a young toddler and TWIN newborns, then…well…just then) and someone else…I was SURE it was Mary from Atelier, but now I can’t find it? so I am either blind or dreaming, and if it sounds familiar please help a blogger out…wrote on fitting in writing during these mothering years by getting up goshawful early. And, of course, one cannot forget that pretty much all the greats tell you that gettingupbeforeyourchildren is the only way. So duly inspired…or at least ashamed…I’m pretty much resolved to try and get up early. Or at least to try again. Because my children seem to be blessed with a sense of whenever I am awake, and they awake accordingly. If they are just going to do what I am, then I am staying in bed thankyouverymuch. Anyhow, I was pretty much resolved to get up before the kids in order to get the proverbial worm. Until the eething-tay aby-bay thought that 1am-5am were acceptable awake and discuss hours. All bets off, you better believe that I stayed snuggled in this morning until I heard stirrings from across the room. (Did you need me to mention that we live in a 600 square foot studio apartment? No? Ok.) And then more stirrings. And then hungry stirrings.
And then, I heard: “Mom, can we have cereal?”
Me: Mumph. (Which obviously means “please do whatever it takes to let me sleep for 5 more minutes”)
Them: “Mom, can you open the cereal bag?”
Me: “Mumph. Scissors.”
And then something cold near my face (because I’m terribly nearsighted and they know it): “Is this half n half or milk?”
Me: “I think…not milk.”
And a pause and then more cold: “Is this milk?”
Me: “…milk…I think…”
When I’d eeked out my final moments of sleep and Ami let me know that no more sleep would be had, I saw a Chex box with raggedy edges
and a quart of half and half, slightly worse for the wear, and mostly gone.
And let me tell you…
…this is one oddly-proud, some-what-rested momma.
We will take that for today.
I wrote this post before seeing Rosie’s link-up, but I’ll link. Cuz it sorta qualifies.