Goodbye, maternity wear. I will not miss you.

I’m always looking for new and easy ways to entertain my children. My friend Lila mentioned several months ago that her kids like to take the cushions off the couches and make forts with them. At the time, I remember thinking that there is no way in hell that would work in my house. I’d never tried it, but I just knew. Kind of like how I know that if I buy Asher his own little potty to pee and poop in, it would be a gigantic,  pee-filled, mistake. I don’t have concrete reasons to back this up. I just have a gut-wrenching reaction of “NO!!!!!!!” when I think about it. 

In a moment of weakness last week, I blurted out to the boys that no, they could not cover each other’s heads with blankets and put each other in sleeper holds … but they could remove the couch cushions and play on them.

This is what happened. And what continues to happen, every damn night.

Someone is going to get hurt. And it’s all Lila’s fault.

A little glass in the ass doesn’t slow this kid down. 

Here is a picture of what I pulled out of him on Friday. It was in the garbage can, but then my Aunt Nancy said I should save it for the baby book. I don’t have a baby book, because I am a subpar mother, but I did wrap it up and store it so I can show him one day.

To review: no baby books here … but we do have bloody pieces of glass in ziplock bags. And a whole lot of pictures that look like this:

Waiting on stitches.

Yes, life is hard right now. It may continue to be hard for awhile.

BUT … my magical baby slept for 12 hours last night, and I’m ready to do it all again. And here is an example of what keeps me going.

I hate dinner time. 

And now you’re probably thinking, “Wow — that’s kind of dramatic. She must be on some kind of hormonal rollercoaster, because who hates dinner?!” 

I DO. ME. I hate it. Away from my house, it’s fine. But here, where I have to cook and clean … no. And if you don’t believe me, then by all means, come over and see for yourself.

Maverick started kindergarten this week and I finally feel like I’m getting some control over my life. I decided that I am maybe at the point now where I can start planning meals again and kind of cooking, although every night at dinner time, I swear to myself that I will never cook another meal for these ungrateful, horrible children. Then I have to remind myself that the oldest one isn’t even 5 yet so maybe I just need to alter my expectations a bit. And I do try, to alter them I mean, as I crawl around on my hands and knees picking up tiny bits of pasta off the floor. Did you know that pasta, if left to its own devices, glues itself with a mighty force to surfaces? Quinoa or rice, on the other hand, can be left overnight and then swept up like sand.

At dinner, Asher never ever eats anything at all. It doesn’t matter what I made, he finds a way to throw it on the floor. I’ve tried different tactics and basically I’m out of ideas, but after tonight I’m not sure I can handle cleaning spaghetti off the kitchen floor again because MOMMY LOST HER SCHIZZ. That is also exactly what I said out loud when Asher threw his plate like a frisbee. So if you hear one of my kids saying “schizz” you now know where it came from, and I’m sorry, but I can only pick food up off the floor so many times before I. Lose. It.

Maverick ate all of his food and used his manners so I told him he could have a cookie after dinner. Asher did not get a cookie because he threw his food on the floor and did not eat his vegetables … and … cue tantrum. 

Apparently Maverick felt really bad for his little brother because the next thing I know, he says “I’m done! May I be excused?” I nodded yes, and he jumped up and yellispered “Asher! I have to show you something!” as they ran down the hall. And that, dear friends, is when I discovered that Maverick was digging chunks of chocolate chip cookie out of his underwear and dumping them on the floor for his brother to eat.

I guess the bright side is that my sons are looking out for each other, which has been my goal all along. So even though I fell short in a bunch of other areas today, I can go to bed knowing that my children love each other enough to smuggle baked goods in their underpants. 

Nothing says love like a homemade cookie … right?

In 15 years I’ll be getting this exact look from this exact person, who will be lounging in this exact position.

I made it.

Kindergarten starts on Monday, Mother’s Day Out begins the following week, and I joined a ladies-only gym that offers two hours of childcare per day. I’ve reached the end of a two-week-long tunnel and the light is so, so bright.

When I quit my job to become a stay-at-home mom I did not understand what I was choosing to do. I mean, yeah, I wanted to be the one taking care of my kids. I wanted to be there for it all — the wonderful and the horrible. As I began this journey fresh off the working woman boat, those were just abstract ideas. And now, I’m in the thick of it. The wonderful and the horrible. And let me tell you … it’s terrifying.

Today, the usual chaos was whirling around me: baby crying as I tried to feed her, shouting over her head for Maverick to SHUT THE DOOR BEFORE YOUR BROTHER ESCAPES! as water was poured all over the floor and hot pink handprints, the product of ground-up sidewalk chalk mixed with water and made into a paste, were plastered all over our walls. I set the baby down and locked my oldest outside until I could help him get cleaned up, much to his displeasure. My middle child threw a tantrum in the middle of the kitchen, banging his head in frustration against the linoleum floor.

All three of them were crying, and I felt tears begin to prick at my own eyes as I thought, “I can’t do this. I don’t WANT to do this.” 

But as the chaos slowly, gradually petered out and I gathered my wits, I was able to settle each of them down while mulling over two thoughts. First, I think parenting solo would be much easier if I was numb. Like, heavily medicated. Or very drunk. Second, I realized that just like I to wake up every day and make the conscious choice to love my husband and honor him, I also have a choice to make when it comes to my children. I could go back to work if I wanted to, but is that truly what I want? The grass always seems greener on the other side when you’re locked in a pasture with small, loud, tyrants. Truthfully, I love taking care of my tyrants and I wouldn’t want anyone else to have to deal with their wonderful, horrible ways because they might not yell at them as lovingly as I do.

Nothing about this life is glamorous or easy. The grass here is so beaten down and strewn with toys that I couldn’t tell you if it’s green or not. But when it’s quiet, and I lie down in it, it sure feels cozy.

Now that Husband and I have found ourselves in this place, the place of having three little kids, one income, and not enough time or money, we are just trying to carry on. He carries on, I carry on, and the children … well … they persist. Day by day, hour by hour, we inch forward. I brush their teeth and load them into grocery carts and make sure no one is sitting in poop by nothing but sheer will.  

Thank God for maternal determination, guardian angels, coffee, and the world wide web.

The orange-and-white pajamas I bought to wear “after the baby is born” finally fit! It’s a good day.