Happy Happy Joy Joy! Happy Happy Joy Joy! (Wasn't that a line from Ren and Stimpy?) I had 18 whole hours of bliss when I caught up on my work at about midnight on Monday night. I felt lighter than I've felt since about thirteen years ago when I boasted a size 4 on my 5'9" frame. Then my Tuesday work marathon began, and I am now no longer caught up. At least now I'm just back in the routine groove that goes along with this field of work. As a colleague once said, "You can never get caught up! Especially when you are a Medicaid provider!" The paperwork is sheer madness. But I can now breathe and function again at a level that is growing closer to the normalcy I enjoyed back in the day. Did I say normalcy? Boy am I deluded!
All I have to occupy my time now beside the routine of my career are two wee ones, a couple pieces of furniture I got the bright idea to purchase at Wood You in order to save some money by finishing them ourselves (Husband's reply was "Oh good! More projects!"), making window curtains and valances, and the list of--oh about three dozen things on the "Honey Do" list that I feel the compulsive need to oversee. Husband loves being "supervised" even more than he loves the list itself. So the way I see it, that makes us a good match for each other. HA!
As for news in the world of motherhood, after lunch today, Dear Son brought an ache to my heart at nap time. We've really gotten off the routine we were in before the disruption of this move. Now I have no idea when exactly Son will be ready to eat or sleep or poop. Yes, back in the day Son even had a poop routine. Apparently he tuned in to the fact that I like to run a tight ship! At any rate, I really wasn't picking up on his cues today. I was cleaning up the kitchen after our lunch of spaghetti, applesauce, and cherries. Son insisted on having a cherry whole, which he kept calling, "ball!" He held it up by its stem and grinned at it for a couple minutes. I watched him like a hawk, sure that he would try to eat it whole and choke on it. I left the table for a millisecond to get a paper tower to clean up the spaghetti splatters that somehow made it a good 15 feet across the room. In that amount of time, Son had bitten into the cherry and smeared cherry juice all over himself and his highchair and was fishing in his bib for something. I simultaneously noticed the pit missing from his cherry, snatched it from his bib pocket and managed to distract him with the idea of an ice cream cone before he could scream about the fact that I had just stolen his most prized possession. Meanwhile, I considered hooking up the garden hose at the kitchen faucet and just hosing the whole place down.
Since I ultimately decided against the garden hose idea, it took a good amount of time to clean the kitchen up after the bright idea of serving spaghetti yet again to a 19-month-old monkey. Ya'd think I'd learn after going through this a time or two. Actually, I have learned. I'm fully aware of what I'm getting myself into when I serve spaghetti. It's just that Son LOVES him some spaghetti, and because I am a deluded and doting mommy, I continue to give it to him. By the time things were partly cleaned up in the kitchen, I had to abandon the task to deal with both kids doing the dueling poop thing again. I swear they plan these things just to plot against me. Daughter is getting good at managing her bathroom needs pretty independently, but she HATES to be alone and frequently requires an audience. If she doesn't get one, she insists on saving her trophy by not flushing and insisting that I take a look at it before we send it to septic heaven. I just knew I wasn't going to get Son's pants changed while Daughter did her business without a big meltdown. Once poop chores were completed, I decided to push ahead with Son's nap time routine of stories, but he started fussing and pointing to his crib and crying for "Lam-Lam" (his favorite stuffed animal, which is a lamb, of course). I got him "Lam-Lam" from his crib and tried to coerce him into stories. He kept pointing to his crib. I scooped him up and he put his chubby little palm to his lips and kissed it (his way of blowing kisses), which his routine these days at nap time and bed time. I felt sad because I wanted to snuggle him. Especially after his simply ADORABLE gesture of blowing kisses, which gets me every time!
I left his bedroom amazed at how easy he can sometimes be and reminiscing at how Daughter has never been easy a day of her life and would never have gone down for a nap like this. I would have to hold her until she was sound asleep or she would scream every time I tried I to put her down. If I put her down anyway, she would scream forever. Forty-five minutes into this routine, I would go into a room by myself and scream for awhile too. Many were the times I expected the neighbors to call Children's Protective Services on me and I imagined losing both my child and my license to practice therapy. You would think I would feel pure and simple relief at Son's nap time behavior, wouldn't you? While I was satisfied at the easiness of it, I felt that familiar old bittersweet ache in my heart. It felt like a preview to the day when he reaches an age that he won't want me hugging and kissing on him at all. I know that day will arrive way too quickly. I returned to the kitchen to finish cleaning up the mess with a little less indignation in my heart as I reminded myself sadly that this too shall pass one day.