Someday

It's funny because people will ask me, "why aren't you writing anymore?"  or "I haven't seen anything on your blog for a while."  I'm pretty sure those people don't know me very well.  I have a lot of questions I need to answer regrading sleep studies, tonsil surgery, potty training (don't even get me started) ... but as with everything else, there's just no time.  It's still on my list.  You know, that never-ending to do list us mothers keep in our head in hopes we will one day have just a split second to complete a task not directly related to keeping children alive.  I digress.

I realized tonight that maybe it was a time I filled you in on what I do all day - because really, I know what you're thinking.  It's summertime, I'm SO lucky because I don't have to work for 10 weeks.  It's a blessing, and a curse.

Let me explain.

I woke this morning to the sound of the baby gate in Chelsea's doorway hitting the hardwood floor - that's her way of telling us she's up, and ready to go.  Then out comes the newest member of our family, Bobo.  I can hear him jump from Logan's bed, whine at the door until Chelsea gets there to let him out.  I close my eyes and hold really still in hopes everyone will think I'm still sleeping and just leave me alone a little longer.  Of course Bobo doesn't catch on very fast and I can hear his toenails sliding through the house all the way to my bed.  It's time.

I can no longer postpone the inevitable, so I get up and head for the bathroom.  There's something wet on my bare feet.  It's still warm.  Dangit, after 7 1/2 years you'd think the boy would be house trained.  I pull out the clorox wipes and beckon the boy to come clean up his mess.  He swears he didn't do it today.  It was from Thursday.  Really? ...  Today is Monday.  Whatever, just clean it up.

I head into the kitchen to get breakfast started, but Ryan is already up and working on it.  Whew.  We do much better when we can tag team these little monsters.  We've learned, when they outnumber you, you're screwed.  He's also already given Chelsea a clean pull-up.  This morning she didn't just strip her diaper off, the jammies came off as well - she was buck naked.  That's my girl.  I can't say I blame her, her bed was soaking wet.  Which was fantastic because I'm always hoping for extra laundry!

I was so sad to see Daddy leave this morning.  He's helping a friend scrape, texture and paint his ceilings.  

I decided to attempt eating breakfast this morning, but I knew it was a mistake when I heard running water from the bathroom.  I knew it wasn't Logan, he doesn't frequent the bathroom sink without great resistance.  I trudge in to see what she could be up to.  No wonder she didn't turn the water off.  She broke the faucet off.

It was a bit tricky, but I figured out how to stop the water, then told both children to stay away from the bathroom sink today (not a problem for Logan).  Hmmm, do you think that's why mom and dad always yell at the kids when they punch the handle on the faucet to turn it off?  It's gonna break someday! 

After breakfast I attempt a few phone calls - namely trying to get Chelsea into the doctor for the mysterious limp she's had since last Wednesday.  I got an appointment an hour and a half later - plenty of time to get everyone dressed and out the door, you would think.  I decide I also have just enough time to print off and assemble an appropriate reading a-z book to print off for Logan to read today.  Of course I had to download and print double sided (saving the Earth here!) and Chelsea decided she needed to eat.

All the while Logan has the toys out from under his bed and is looking for more treasured playmates in his closet - the locked closet of which he has somehow retrieved the key we had been hiding above the door jam.  We need a new hiding place.  A few arguments over cleaning up and putting shoes on so we can leave soon and I decide it's not worth it.  I have to move on.

Change the laundry, feed the dog.

Chelsea's still hungry.  Watermelon on the back deck is a safe bet - keeps my kitchen a little cleaner.  Of course Logan has to have some too.

Okay guys, please, just eat your watermelon and stay on the deck while I go wash my face and brush my teeth.  In the bathtub.  I leave them in peace, turn on the radio and take one more peek before heading into the bathroom.  The metal chair is laid over, Chelsea's on her back crying, and Logan is eating his watermelon.  Please!!!!  It's only 10am and I'm already begging my children for mercy.  As I go to check on her, the dog sneaks out (fortunately he didn't go far b/c he knew there was food involved in this incident).  Logan denies all of Chelsea's accusations but decides he better fess up when I tell him I saw him push her chair over.  (I didn't see a thing.)  When I asked him why, I got the standard, "I don't know." 

After some threatening I decided to try washing up again.  During my three minutes of glory, Chelsea managed to come into the house, pull out all of her barbies and accessories, dumped a backpack full of play plates, glasses and silverware, and take off all of her clothes.

No sweat.  I can handle this.  This is nothing.

But she's in a mood today.  I quickly realize trying to cajole an ounce of cooperation from my four year old is a waste of time.  I'm done playing.  This is no time for her to be independent and insist on dressing herself.

Twenty minutes to get to the doctor and the dog needs to be taken out before we leave.  I'm afraid asking Logan to do it is only going to cause more chaos and take longer, so I demand they both go get their bottoms in their car seats and buckle up.  (They never do it, but I still try.)  After a quick spin around the Cottonwood tree with Bobo, I push him in the house, lock the door and prepare to wrestle somebody into their seat.

As expected, she's decided this is the perfect time to hop into the front seat, buckle the seat belt and lock the car door.  Deep breathe.  I hustle around to the driver's side and open the car w/ the keypad.  I hit the unlock button, then rush back to the passenger side where my princess is sitting, only once I get there she's in the driver's side.  This is not the day to mess with mommy.  I climb in grab the screaming and kicking child, and put her in the car seat.  With one last trick up her sleeve, she arches her back so her bottom slides out to the edge of the seat in objection.  She knows how annoying this is and begins to grin, so as not to play into her games, I forcefully push her little pelvis back in the seat and buckle her up.  Great.  Eight minutes to get to our appointment on time.  Thank goodness the clock in my car is fast, because eight really means thirteen.  I've got this.

(Insert typical sibling arguments / physical altercations between two children trapped in car seats here.)

Just before pulling into the doctors office, Logan begins apologizing for all of his antics this morning.  He didn't understand though that I wasn't mad about the pee on the floor, the broken faucet, the abuse to his sister, refusing to help clean up, or the arguing.  It's the whole thing.  It's the everyday.  Bless his heart, he's remorseful, and I was falling for it.  I'm just about to pull over, reach back and give him a great big smooch when he reminds me what all the sweetness is about, "can I still play with the DS at the doctor's office?"

Sigh.

I want so badly to say no, because he doesn't deserve it, but I'm full aware this is my only hope and I'm going to have to give in at some point.

"I'll think about it."  I warn.

It was our typical waiting room experience, Logan was standing on the chair reaching to the top of the fish tank trying to get the lid off so he could reach in and Chelsea suddenly realized she needed to go potty ... by herself.  I must admit I was extremely pleased as Chelsea went potty, wiped, flushed AND washed her hands with minimal assistance (she couldn't reach the soap or paper towels).  As soon as she was done though, she raced towards the stray sippy cup left in the waiting room and when I took that away from her she decided to throw the one book in the entire waiting area on the ground and jump on it.  That's what books are for, right?  Meanwhile Logan has found a partner in crime to help him harass the fish.  I tune in just in time to hear him ask the girl how old she was.  After she answered six, he piped up, "I'm eleven."  ???

"Chelsea."

Thank God.  Get us in a room so I can shut the door and contain these monsters.

I love those tiny little cabinets under the sinks in the patient rooms that are the perfect size for 7 and 4 year old children to hide in.  Grrrrr.  Of course once the doctor comes in, Chelsea decides she is not coming out.  Logan also has an obsession with the little foot holders that pull out from the bottom of the bed.  Out and in, climb on, put in, pull out.  If he only knew what they were for. 

Said doctor wants to x-ray Chelsea's foot, but warns us we'll likely spend a good hour at the hospital getting this done.  Not only did I still have to battle them at the hospital, but I had to figure out a way to feed them ... in public.

Fortunately, at lunch, Chelsea only ran away from me four times, and her lip stopped bleeding pretty quickly after she ran right into the chair behind her while trying to get away the second time.  Logan was also on decent behavior, he begged for pop, but I reminded him if he got pop (lemonade ;) - Chelsea would get the cookie that came with the kids meal they were splitting.  He wasn't happy, but agreed.  I did give him a fourth of her cookie after we ate, which turned out to be a mistake.  When I went to dump our trash, the eyes in the back of my head spotted Logan trying to take Chelsea's cookie right from her hands (but she wasn't giving it up without a fight).  He knew with one look he was caught red handed and moved away from the coveted cookie.  I asked him to take one last napkin to the trash.  Fortunately, he did.  Unfortunately, he came back to the table with a handful of coffee straws, which had to go in the trash as he had three or four of them up his nose before I realized what he was doing.

I left the restaurant, hand in hand with the little thief, and carrying the kicking and crying four year old.  She wanted "more cookie."

And it's only noon.  You'll have to read the end of this saga tomorrow.