Confessions of a Mother

"Hi," I hear. I don't answer because I'm trying to sleep.

"Hi," said more emphatically. I scoot deeper under the covers. Maybe he'll give up.

"HI!" Nope.

"Good night, Kevin. It's time to go to sleep. Lie down." I brought him to bed with me (again) because it was easier then fighting with him. Well, at least I thought it would be easier. But after getting kicked in the stomach several times and head banged, I decide this little boy MUST sleep in his own bed tonight! I'm not up to WWF after midnight.

I pick him up w/ his "banky" and "pacy" (of which I'm trying to break him – the pacy not the blanky) and head for the rocking chair. Now, normal people can walk a few feet from point A to point B without incident. However, I had several. #1, legos don't mold to the bottom of feet the way they should be made to do. #2, Kevin started crying (in my ear, mind you) because he didn't like my I-just-stepped-on-your-lego-and-it-really-hurts-and-why-was-it-in-my-room-anyway dance. #3, just being a mother is qualification enough for middle of the night accidents & is a perfectly acceptable answer for ALL seemingly dumb questions.
After recovering from my mishaps, I ask an intelligent question: "Where's the rocking chair?" (If you think this is a dumb question, see #3 above.) If I could just open my eyes a little more, it would make my hunt much easier. Oh! There it is! My little toe finds it. More screaming in the ear. For not being a dancer, I sure do it a lot. Only this time it was the I-just-stubbed-my-toe-and-I'm-trying-not-to-be-a-wimp dance. After plopping myself in the rocking chair & getting Kevin all situated, I hear a little voice say, "Juice?" Sounds easy enough to you, doesn't it? Let me tell you why it's not. #1, it's past midnight. My brain shuts off at midnight. #2, the "juice," which is really milk – Kevin calls everything drinkable "juice," is upstairs. #3, see #3 above. #4, I either have to carry him up the stairs with me with a brain that is not capable of figuring out that there are 13 stairs and not just 12. (You'd think after missing the last stair more than 3x in one week, I'd remember how many stairs there are. See #3.) Or I have to put him down somewhere while I try to brainlessly find the juice. If I put him in his bed, he'll cry and think I'm not getting his juice. So, I opt for the rocking chair. "You sit here and wait for mom. I'll be right back."

I walk toward the stairs with my hands in front of me to protect me from the wall, or whatever else is in my way. Who put that book case there? This time it's my other toe. I walk gingerly up the stairs. At the top of my climb there is a sight that no one needs to see at 1am. The dog got creative with the trash and has strategically placed the contents in the path from the top of the stairs to the sippy cups to the fridge. *sigh* I will think of a way to kill the dog later; now I have a thirsty child waiting for me patiently in the rocking chair. I was on my hands and knees picking up the garbage when I backed into something. Thud. More cries. "Kevin? What are you doing up here? I thought mommy asked you to wait in the rocking chair?"

"Juice," he says through his tears. I pick him up and set him on the counter. Believe it or not, it's probably the safest place for him. If I leave him on ground level, he escapes too quickly. I find the milk in the fridge. I make a mental note to self: almost out of milk, pick some up tomorrow, which I promptly forget.

We head back downstairs. I count out loud. (I always count the stairs with Kevin, not because I'm trying to teach him numbers, although he can count to 7 and he's not even 2, but because if I don't, I end up in a pile on the floor. 12, 13. Phew! We make it to the bottom of the stairs safely. Squish. What the …? What is that?

"OSCAR!!!!!!" (Oscar is our grouchy little wiener dog who apparently had to go outside [probably because he was digging in the trash] but didn't bother to bark or scratch at the door to inform me.) I dance my way over to the rocking chair doing the I-just-stepped-in-something-gross dance, put Kevin in the chair and dance myself to the bathroom. Hanger on the floor bites my non-grossed foot. I hike my leg up into the sink & turn on the water. The freezing cold wakes me up quite quickly! Where's the soap? Oh, yeh. It's in the shower because it's my last bar so it's been making trips back and forth between the shower and sink. Another mental note for store list: buy soap. What else did I need to get? I know there was something else.

I drag my now cold, dripping wet grossed foot from the sink and hop my way to the shower to grab the soap which slips from my hand and makes me find it in the bottom of the tub in the dark. Back to the sink. Hmmm … I thought I just shaved my legs? I think to myself. Check other leg. I did. I just did ½ off special – just finished one leg. (See # 3 above.) Mental note: shave right leg in the morning. (Oh, and I should have been wearing my pedometer! I probably got in a good ½ mile!)
With 2 clean feet now on the ground, I head back towards the rocking chair. Thud. Not again! That's the second time I knocked this poor child over. Back to the rocking chair. Where's the milk? I must have left it on the sink in the bathroom. Nope. Back upstairs, being sure to avoid the gift my soon-to-die-dog left for me. Not on the counter. Not in the fridge. Where on earth. Back downstairs. No!!! Not again! I dance my way back to the sink, then back to the rocking chair where Kevin is surprisingly still sitting & drinking his milk. Hmmm … I'm confused. But that's fine. He has his milk. As I pick him up and put him on my lap, he chucks his milk on the floor. I scold him and tell him to pick it up. "Juice!!!!" He wails. "Kevin, I just got you some milk. Pick it up and drink it!" He gets the sippy cup, but won't drink it. "Fine. Then you can go lie down now." I walk to the crib and place him in it. We pray for the 3rd time, and I kiss him good night. He keeps crying for "juice."

Back to the rocking chair I go to get the milk he wouldn't finish after I had some purple-heart worthy experiences in getting! Back to the bathroom to dump it down the sink. But wait! There's another sippy cup on the sink. Oh. And it's cold. (Now why didn't I notice that the one thrown wasn't cold? Oh, yeh, see #3.) I open the "thrown" sippy cup. Gross! I don't know where Mr. Sippy Cup Thrower found it, but it was nasty! Now I'm feeling guilty. Kevin is crying for juice and I was trying to make him drink the nasty one he found who knows where. *Being a mother is a humbling experience, by the way.
I go get sobbing-Kevin from his crib and head back to the rocking chair with his new cup of milk. When I offer it to him, he pushes it away. "Great," I think. "My son will probably never drink milk again!"

Finally I get him calmed down & put back into his bed. After prayer #4, I head back upstairs to put the milk in the fridge. Honey, golden retriever/chow mix wants to go outside. It was probably about 1:30am by this time. I let her out and wait. She's barking like crazy out there. What on earth? I'm alone, with windows all around me in my not-so-flattering pj's & the only thing I can think of is someone is outside! Honey doesn't usually bark for no reason; that's Oscar's job. I open the window to yell at her, but my breath is taken from my by a distinct smell! I quickly shut the window. If she tangled with a skunk, she is NOT coming in this house. Now what do I do? I wait about 5 minutes then open the door ½way and call her. She comes bounding to the door & proudly looks at me as if to say, Guess what I found?!?! Surprisingly, she doesn't smell like the little black & white striped creature so I let her in the house. Downstairs I go to clean up the mess at the bottom of the stairs.

At 2:07am, I drag myself back to bed. Kevin is quiet, the dogs are quiet … I'm going to sleep and don't care if I ever wake up again!

3:23am – "Juice!" Like a good mother, I ignore his cries for "juice" and go back to sleep.

4:15am – A cold, wet pink nose nudges me. Yuck! I hate that! "Honey, lie down!" 4:16am – a sharp, needs-to-be-clipped paw runs down my arm onto my side! At this point I decide I'd rather take the cold, wet pink nose. "What, Honey??? You can't possibly want to go back out again. You've made enough friends for one night. Now lie down!"

5:36am – See 4:15am & 4:16am again.

6:02am – "Momma! Momma! Poo poo!" Ahhh! The joyous sound of morning! I hear the pitter-patter of roughly 8 feet upstairs. Oscar & Honey are fighting already. I moan, but drag my feet out of bed anyway, only to find that I should have just stayed in bed (probably for the rest of my life – it would be safer). Honey must have really needed to out at 4:15, 4:16, & 5:36am. Man! At least it was just the wet stuff.

The phone rings. I am NOT running up the stairs to get it. That's what answering machines are for, right? To answer the phone when you're so tired that if you were driving you'd probably get pulled over for driving under the influence! Whatever it is, it can wait, I think.

6:20am. Kevin is changed, he has his cereal and milk, and the dogs are outside barking at the world. Things are starting to look up. No incidents in the past 18 minutes. Time to check the answering machine. It's the neighbor. The neighbor never calls. Uh-oh. "Natalie, could you move your car? The snow plow wants to clear the road." Rats. I forgot about leaving my car parked at the end of the driveway in the road yesterday. So, in my lovely pj's, I rush out to my car and move it in the driveway, only to find that the snow plow is done w/ our road and won't be coming back. *sigh*

Oh, gotta go. Someone is saying "Juice." Here we go again!