Tag Archives: exhaustion

My Fault…

Standard

I thought I could go back to bed and lie there for a bit without incident. So, technically, I suppose it was my fault. But I heard everyone helping each other get breakfast. It sounded peaceable.

So, forty glorious minutes later I walk out. The weather’s perfect. It’s sunny. Even the introvert in me is charmed.

“Let’s go to the park,” I say, “Shoes on.”

At this moment in the hallway the little guy passes me holding a spoonful of milky cereal in front of his belly and marching into his bedroom. Curious, I follow him. Then I watch as he stops, calculates, throws said cereal onto the carpet, touches one foot on top of it delicately as if to evaluate his success and turns, I’m assuming, in order to get more.

Well, I stop that nonsense and on the way to the kitchen with the spoon I notice several other arrangements of cereal on the floor and realize this is an installation piece, probably entitled “Scourge of My Mother”. There is also one very wet towel lying in a square on the floor.

“Hey guys? What’s with the wet towel? Did he have an accident?”

“No, Mom, he spilled a cup of milk,” said the eldest.

“He did it on purpose. And it was my milk,” said the girl.

Mixed media.

(There are many moments like this when I’m glad I don’t have a nice place. I can’t stand how my kids treat my two-bedroom rental. What on earth would I do if they treated my dream-house this way?!)

I proceed into the kitchen. And the baby has tried to make a smoothie.

Here is a picture of that baby:

IMG_2564

I sigh and scrap my plans for the park. I place the baby in the tub (the only place he will remain contained) and wipe counters, do dishes, unload dishwasher so I can load dishes, start laundry from last night’s pee debacle(another long story), scrub and baking soda a square of carpet, sweep the kitchen, vacuum and four hours later it’s nap time and I’m sucking down coffee and eating some Go Diego Go cereal. For some subliminal reason I wanted some.

The first baby, that’s not anyone’s fault. You’re naive; you’ve never had a baby. You don’t know. The second one, well, that’s not technically your fault either. You and your husband have seven siblings between you. Let’s blame family culture. But three, well- the third one’s on you. You asked for three. This is on you.

Missing…

Standard

So, for those of you who don’t know my dear little twenty-month-old baby number three, let me tell you he’s my “active child”. For those of you who don’t know dear little babies one and two, well, let me tell you, that’s saying something.

He likes to explore. He is not scared of strangers. And he’s fast.

And … AND … Mom and Dad have two other kids and six years of parenting experience lulling them into a false sense of security.

He once made a friend at the playground and tried to go home with him. He was very upset when the strangers wouldn’t let him into their car.

A few weeks ago he walked into the middle of a pickup basketball game at the park and took the ball. These big tatted dudes spent the next three minutes tossing the ball with him.

A couple of months ago he was playing happily in the donut room after church with the other kids. When we looked up he was gone. After a five-minute search we found him up in the balcony drinking the little cups of leftover communion wine.

And today, YES!, today he disappeared after Mom’s group. My younger two stepped out of the nursery behind me in a group of other kids. I turned for his shoes and when I turned back he was gone. I searched the gym. I searched both locker rooms. I went up the stairs. He was nowhere.

I began to freak out and enlisted my mom friends to help me. I went to the guys unloading equipment out a side door and asked them to please look out for a little boy in a yellow sweatshirt. I went to the balcony and alerted the quilting ladies to please hold onto him if they found him.

It may have been as long as ten minutes. It felt like forever.

And then someone decided to use the elevator. And there’s my boy, with the emergency panel open conversing with the first responder on the other end.

Of course, you feel better instantly as you do in these situations. As Ma would say to Pa, “Well, all’s well that ends well.” And they almost died frequently out on the prairie. Being stuck in an elevator for ten minutes would have hardly been worthy of the proverb.

I hugged and kissed my little bolter. My friend apologized to the first responder. Maybe it was my emotion, maybe it was being stuck in an elevator for ten minutes and unable to reach the “1”, whatever it was my boy was rather subdued on the way home.

I am not in high hopes that he has learned any lesson, but I certainly hope his Mommy has. I thought this post was going to end up being funny. But reliving it has just made me exhausted all over again. Goodnight!