Morning Monotony

Laying in my bed, my sleep was disturbed by a muffled cry in the distance. Far, far in the distance. Perhaps, I thought to myself, it would go away if I could only go back to sleep. But it was no use, I was awake, and the 'cry in the distance' was in fact only coming from the room next door. My children beckoned and another day was upon us. Groaning as I lugged my ever-increasing girth from the bed, I went to save my daughter from the melancholy of her room. Diaper changes, morning hugs, more diaper changes, a routine I know well. Selah and Caleb greeted each other in the normal fashion: squealing and laughing and occasionally screaming as the other invades their "personal boundary" of the day. And I yawned as my body defied the action I was forced to impose upon it. Ah yes, another day at the Spooners was now in full bloom...

As I prepared breakfast I tried to distract my son from the 3 minute wait that to him, seemed an eternity. Dancing, singing, and eventually pulling out the morning Flinstone Vitamin from its hiding place. Ah, there we go, a moment of silence as Caleb consumed his morning treat. And as I continue on with the drama of my day, I was interrupted once again by his insistent pull at my leg. "Yes, son" I say for what already seems like the millionth time, my patience beginning to wane. "Mama, dyo haf gut sweeeeep????" My sleep-deprived brain takes a minute to log in the information being thrown at it. Crazily searching for something by which to reference the gibberish that I should, by now, be able to interpret with ease. And all at once, it comes to me. My 2 year old son is asking if I had a good sleep! Wonder of wonders. "Yes Caleb!" I cried as I swooped him into my arms for a snuggle. "Did you have a good sleep too???" "Ya mama" he sweetly replied.

As I continued my morning preparations, my day seemed a little brighter. The monotony a little fresher. I was faced with a glimpse at the man that my little boy will one day become. And I can't help but fall a little bit more in love with this "job" of motherhood to which I have voluntarily been assigned. 

cookies, candies, and chocolate...

I call it a slump. After a peak of energy and busyness, the lull becomes nearly mesmerizing. I have been running to clean and organize and chase two little rugrats all over my house, and spend as much time as possible with Jonathan on his days off. And at the end of it all, I am exhausted. And the urge within me, as I look at my tornado of a home, is to crawl into bed with as much junk food as I can fit beside me and eat, drink, and be merry with my good friend the television. Some would judge this inevitable side-effect of pushing myself too hard for too long. But I revel in the simplicity and console myself with the weak excuse that "I deserve it." Hmmm, do I indeed? Yes, I am pregnant and feel like a whale. Yes, my feet hurt, my back aches, and lack of sleep makes my eyes feel like lead. But does the world simply stop for me just because of these things? No, if anything, it seems to spin out of control on a path that I must follow or be destroyed.

Kids beckon, cat calls, husband wants me to sit and relax with him (so that he doesn't feel too guilty about doing it himself I suppose), and house silently begs me to ceaselessly pick up after the growing destruction. And round and round it goes. I cannot simply raise my hands in defiance and yell, "quiet!" I cannot lock myself in my bedroom where time stands still... (well I could, but I can guarantee you that what I would find upon leaving would be a disaster indeed). No, I must go on. For without me, the running of this tumbleweed household would stop turning and instead lurch back and forth in a most disorganized fashion.

And it is because of this explicit "need" for me: mother and wife and homemaker, that I continue to move at my tireless pace. Even when I know the dishes can wait, I can't sit down and relax. It is becoming a part of me, etching itself into my being. And the urge is almost too strong to resist. For this, I am thankful, it has given me a new sense of purpose and pride in my home. And because of this, I cannot complain. I cannot sit and stew in my mound of junk food. First I must prepare my home for the next flurry of activity that will invade it again come morning. Who knows, maybe when I am done my "duties" I will find a spare moment to 'slump' as my nature suggests. Now if only I could get moving :)

Judging Joe

Judgement. An unavoidable enemy we face every day. I am greeted by its familiar stench every time I open my front door, or go to the store, or take my kids for a walk. It is an unfortunate reality of this world we live in, and we all find ourselves passing out a serving once in a while--whether it be justified or not.

Its presence has become a fact that I begrudgingly accept, however I am becoming increasingly aware of a certain group of people that seems to surpass the rest in the "critical examinations" they assign. Old people.

Almost every time we go out we are bombarded with a series of angry looks or condescending glares. And this is just the beginning. From here, it escalates to mutters or 'deceptively sweet' comments. Take today for example, when the kids are standing up barefoot: "Oh my, that can't be easy on his feet can it?" And from there, it continues its path of deterioration to the gossiping whispers that are somehow just loud enough for you to overhear: "Oh my, Marvin, that can't be good for his feet. Tsk tsk. Oh! He looks like he is going to fall over. Well in my day....."

I am officially FED-UP with the "sweet old person" facade that is painted on their faces as they publicly humiliate us and berate us as parents and families. Let me get something straight... in 'your day' children were perfect? In your day they never misbehaved? Or ran away from you? Or maybe you only had a few children instead of the two toddlers we have running circles around us. Or perhaps you lived on a farm where they didn't have the opportunity to wreak havoc on the delicate balance of a shopping cart and instead spent their days running with the cows?????!?!?!?! Whatever the reasoning, either they have forgotten the realities of parenthood, or time has drastically changed the culture in which we raise our newest generation. Give us a break! How are we supposed to survive as a family unit when we are criticized on every front and from every side? It makes me want to stay in the peace and quiet of my home where my kids can be kids without someone staring down their excitement!

And so, I beseech you, whether you be old or young... next time you see a young family struggling to just "get through" the shopping trip that is on everyones last nerves: reserve your judgement. For it is the very few and far between people who give you a kind smile, or pat your arm reassuringly as you struggle to grasp a flailing, screaming 2 year old that gives you the strength to do it all over again the next time. And strength is a gift that is often in too short a supply.

Our day in town: Take I

Well, today was a long day. My legs ache, I have a headache and don't feel well; and yet I am content. For the first time since moving, we went as a family to the wildlife park. And as a family, I mean with my usually absent husband in tow. It was wonderful. So relaxing and fun. I didn't have to lug a stroller by myself or hold a screaming child in my arms while dragging the other to the safety and privacy of our van. No, this time I had a second pair of eyes and hands, and it was heavenly. Selah had the rare opportunity to practise her walking outside, toddling all over the park and putting her mark on the world. No holding hands, no help, no strollers, she could do it "all by herself". How fast they grow! Caleb on the other hand didn't walk, no he ran! From one cage to the next "mama, mama, mama, look!" And I walked, arms unladened with the usual baggage, in awe of this little family that is mine. Time and time again, I watched my daughter fall on the pavement when she lost her balance. And yet despite my heart's ache to gather her up and protect her, she brushed me away and tried again... and again... and again, without a word she persevered. And once again, I was left on the sidelines to watch these little people who were so recently swaddled in my arms as they explored away from me. And despite my melancholy, I am content. This is my job--to teach my children independence and I am so proud of them!

After the wildlife park, things got a little sketchy. 

Load: blankies, check.

waters, check.

movie, check.

Drive.

Unload: appeasement snacks, check.

diaper bag, check.

waters, check.

Shop.

And repeat. Again, and again, and again.

And as I felt my blood pressure rising, and a headache start, and the panic begin to take hold... I had a momentary lapse in judgement...  And so it was that I found myself purchasing suckers. GIANT suckers. Anything to give us just one more stop without the meltdowns I have come to so greatly dread. And as we unloaded our tired, cranky children to the stroller for the umpteenth time (or so it felt) and they began to arch in defiance, I pulled these massive bits of sugar from my purse and proceeded to give one to each of them. And the most amazing thing happened.... they smiled! And they stopped crying! And they sat nicely for at least half of our shopping trip! People didn't stop and stare and glare at my screaming buggy as they usually do. No, instead they smiled at the cheeky little charmer sitting in the front seat grinning at everyone she saw. And the guilt that had so assailed me upon purchasing these "teeth killers" disappeared. 

After this stop, they really were at the end of their rope, and so were we. So we loaded them up and came home to the peace and quiet of our home. And that brings me here... listening to my son play in his room in a sugar-induced haze of energy, and knowing that everything is okay. As I said, I am content. It was a good day. We had fun, they had fun, and it is a trip to town that I won't soon forget. At least not with my blog to remember it by!

Just Survive until Bedtime...

The day dawned cold and crisp. No glorious sunshine awaited my sleep-deprived eyes, instead they were greeted with the gray-blue of a fall dawn and I could hardly wait to get out and enjoy it. Rolling over (a task which my growing abdomen greatly opposes), I groped to find the alarm clock, surprised to find that it was only 5:30. "What kind of person gets up at 5:30?" I questioned myself as I fluffed my pillow and attempted to fall back asleep. Only it was to no avail. The morning beckoned, and I could not stand idly by when there was so much to do. Getting ready as quietly as possible so as not to awaken my "super-sonic hearing children" I tiptoed down my squeaky hall determined to go out for a walk before they got up. I opened my door to freedom. Briskly putting one foot in front of another, I looked around me at the sheer silence and it was nearly overwhelming. What do I do with myself? I prayed, I thought, I planed, and I cut my walk short simply because I was bored and couldn't stand the silence. Shivering and feeling revived, I hopped into the shower, shocked that my house was still quiet and I was allowed the simple and yet mind-boggling freedom to perform this routine act--alone! And then, it began...

The eggs I make as an appeasement gift for my children (who are growing endlessly tired of eating cereal for breakfast), is thrown in my face. The house I have slaved over to clean, is destroyed in mere minutes. Caleb hangs onto my leg and cries, "Mommy sick", Selah follows me everywhere I go declaring my name in her whiniest voice, and I want to go back to bed. The diapers overflow with things to which I will not name, the cat I so vehemently insisted we have decides his litter box is too far and manages to fill my sons bed with his early morning offering, and the crying continues. Really, why did I get up? If you are thinking that my day proceeded to improve, you would be drastically wrong. Instead it was a sheer cliff to which we were fast approaching. A toilet drain going round and round of screaming, crying, pooping, runny noses, fevers, more screaming... By mid-afternoon, I had run squat out of ideas. No food was accepted, and yet they cried for food. No toy was good enough, no cuddle sufficient... they all ended in the same result: fussing, whining, crying. And I was at my limit. It is here that I insert my motto as a mother of children so closely tied in age... "just survive until bedtime." And survive I did. Because here I sit, in a house torn apart by both my children and myself in a desperate attempt to quiet them, in peace. And I am, indeed, alive. And as my swollen, aching self sits in denial and shock at the drastic change in pace, I realize that the freedom I strove for in the early morning hours of dawn are upon me once again. So I resign myself to another fateful day of sickness tomorrow, knowing that tonight is mine. And hoping desperately that the small tidbits of freedom I experience will give me the strength I need to face it all over again in the morning. Until next time!