Don't Stop

My morning started out with me still being half deaf. (For real. I still cannot hear out of my right ear right now from being sick. That sucker will not clear out.) All of the kids crawled into bed with me and stuck their cold feet onto my bare skin at different points. Then, Willis, from the kids' bathroom, said, "Well, Jenny, I hope you didn't like your makeup."

When I asked him to, kindly (or maybe not), further explain, he said something like, "Everett just wanted his lizard to have a desert."

I popped out of bed to find a pretty epic mess (involving a toy lizard and my powdered makeup) that took probably 35 minutes to clean up. Also, Everett used my green concealer stick to make a faux hawk on his own head. He was particularly proud of that, and I guess he should have been. It was well done. It took about four washes with soap in the bath tub before I just gave up on getting it out of his hair.

It's mornings like this that I wish I could see the hilarity of it at the moment that it is happening, but I'm just not that cool. I usually calm down while we wait for the bus in the car at the bus stop, but we were running so late (and the kids were so absolutely insane), that the calm just didn't come.

After the boys and I got back to the house, and after Henry wore me down about how much he is STARVING (we seriously just had breakfast that involved scrambled eggs, people), I ended up giving him a Pop Tart. While I was transferring said Pop Tart from the toaster to the table, I heard Henry singing the beginning of this song (he's like a happy, chirping bird when he knows he's about to eat again).


And, that's about when the calm came. And, I finally laughed.

So . . . let's do this day. I've got stuff to do.

Also, I have to go buy some more cheap makeup. (BTW, this is why I don't buy expensive makeup or shampoo or, well, anything.)

Mommy Guilt

Now that I have had minute to sit down and rehash the day, I am thinking back on my waking moments this morning. Nora crawled into bed with me before I was even remotely ready to wake up (and before dawn). She immediately started talking at full volume, nonstop.

I'm still not a morning person, even though I haven't seen the back side of 8 a.m. in I don't know how long. So, I didn't really welcome it warmly. In retrospect, I feel a little bad about that.

Here's why: about ten minutes after Nora came in, Willis came into our room to turn on the light (my signal to get up—his ability to make sure he's wearing matching socks, etc.). Everett came running in with him. Everett hopped up on the bed with a huge grin on his face, and said, "Hi, Mama."

I smiled and said, "Hi, buddy."

Nora said, "Oh. You don't smile at me like that, Mom."

Dang it.

I did mention that she came in to greet me in the dark. So, I suggested that maybe she couldn't see it. (Even though I know that she knows I wasn't smiling.)

Poor kid. I wish I could show her that I totally used to smile at her like that when she was two . . .

And, I still wish I was a morning person.

She loves me so much she even drew this for me so that I can remember she loves me when she's at school. And I can't even light up for her when she comes to snuggle in the morning. Darn it.

Here's another sad thought. Henry was in the room, too, when all this was happening (he came in a little before Willis and Everett in the dark, still). He probably watched all of this happen, and didn't voice any of his feelings on the topic. I'll bet he has some. Poor guy.

Also, I won't go into great detail about the fact that after Everett climbed up on the bed, I realized that he was covered in poo. (His own.) So, that abruptly ended snuggle time and began laundry and disinfecting time . . .