Thursday, February 20, 2014

Just Another Manic Monday (Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday,Friday,Saturday, Sunday)

Parenting makes me feel manic--up, down, up, down like an elevator in an old-people's home.

I feel joy when I see those angelic faces.

When I see those silly faces.

When I walk in to get A. up in the morning and he says, "Morning!" in his high, soft voice. 

When I snuggle up on the couch with the kids and read to them. 

And then.

There are those other times when I wonder how I'm going to make it through the next five minutes or the 1 hour 36 minutes and 29 seconds until bedtime.

When E. says, "Poopy Diaper" for the millionth billionth time.

When A. screams, loud ear-piercing screams. (I won't subject you to a video of them.)

When E. bonks his head on the floor, door, washing machine so that A. will copy him.

And the nose-picking. So tired of the nose-picking.

We can be having a lovely moment. All feels right in the world. Little birds are chirping. My life is like a scene from Pollyanna (pre-fall Pollyanna) and I feel like I could have a dozen kids. And then, as quick as you can say, "Poopy diaper," it all falls apart and I wonder what I'm going to do with the two kids I have.

And when I do make it through the day, at 7:30 p.m. I feel like I deserve a reward, such as chocolate mousse and not one, but two servings. (Yes, I had two cups of chocolate mousse last night and that was on a day when Dave was home from work! But, I suppose that deserves its own set of rewards.)

I love chocolate mousse. I think Heaven is not only going to have streets of gold, but rivers of chocolate mousse and lots of mochas and biscotti, but that's another topic.

Yesterday when E. asked if I was making dessert, the best I could come up with was: "Um. . . kind of. It's mostly eggs and whipped cream."

Thankfully, Daddy distracted him and he accepted my lame answer. Otherwise, I would have had to launch into how it actually was going to be fluffy, decadent chocolate and how I was going to savor it after he went to bed so I didn't have to share it. That's right even though I harp about how "Sharing is caring" and all that crap, when it comes to me and my mousse, my mantra doesn't apply and I turn into a hypocrite. But not entirely. I did share with Dave--a little bit. I saved the rest for tomorrow's nap time as a reward for making it through the morning. Yay me.

Up again. E. tells me, "You're so nice to me," even though I lost my temper with him an hour earlier. That unconditional love and forgiveness send me sky high. And those peaceful sleeping faces.

And I wouldn't change being a mom for anything.

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