Missed a Spot

Tonight over grilled cheese sandwiches, applesauce, and steamed broccoli my children began asking me what they used to do when they were 2 years old.  Tell me what I did!  They loved hearing about what they did and the trouble they caused.  My memory is so incapable.  All of them have been terrible at some point in their lives.  I have vowed to sell each of them to the lowest bidder but I can't remember 8 years later what it was that made them so terribly two in the moment.  So here is to a renewal of recording the lives of my children.

Michael = mascara.  I am pretty sure there is a similar blog post for this child not too long ago.  He has such a gift to apply it without getting it anywhere but on/near his eye.  For that I am really thankful.

How can you not love a guilt ridden face such as this?

Step into Mom's office while we try to get that darling make-up job off.

Be Still

A few nights ago Jonathan was working and I had mounted my gallant steed I call "motherhood."  I was cracking the whip, ripping down the job chart, and firing up dinner.  It was within a matter of only minutes that I felt my saddle had loosened and with each gallop I was sliding down further and further until I was grasping the underside belly of that horse and holding on for dear life.

The chicken was on the grill preparing to become dinner.
My 8 year old was practicing the piano.
The 7 year old was feeling sick so he was lounging on the couch.
The 4 year old was picking up toys.
The 2 year old was helping in the kitchen.

And then in the slightest moment the 4 year old comes out of the bathroom half naked with poop everywhere.  Huh?
The 8 year old storms mad as a hornet from the piano screaming for help because he just can't make sense of his song.  He needs my help right now!
The fevering 7 year is reduced to tears and needs mom to come here right now.
The two year old, seeing a window of opportunity, pushes a chair to the kitchen counter, climbs up and empties the soap pump to sputters all over himself and the counter.
Chicken, was there chicken cooking?  Let's redefine dry meat shall we.

In that single moment I stood in the kitchen begin bombarded by 4 little men, slick n' slimy soap, poop smeared legs and floor, tears n' chills with aches, screams and pounding white and black keys and a smoking grill.  My 38 week pregnant belly, swollen legs, and contracting uterus were so weary beyond measure all I could do was laugh and imagine one more in the mix... a wailing hungry baby needing to be fed by the only one that can do it, mom.

I think I am losing it but I found such joy in that moment.  It was a moment when I had no control.  I was simply holding on for dear life and enjoying the ride.  Clinging to motherhood, upside down, at a galloping pace.

It was real life.  It was utter delight. It was such trivial things to just marinade in.