Drip Drip Drip
The coffee is taking too long.
The teens are running
Toaster Strudel is cooking
The toddler is demanding cake.
In a brief Bill Cosby moment...I consider it.
The teenage girl can't find concealer
The teenage boy can't find socks
The babies are climbing the furniture.
Kids are off to school
The Imagination Movers sing
Owen dances along.
Irelynn needs help going potty
Connor gets into the trash
He is now covered in blue and green frosting.
The dishes mock me from the sink
As I scrub blue fingerprints off the wall.
Twin boys fight over a toy
The toddler intervenes
Creating two screaming babies.
Naptime doesn't come soon enough.
Kids are home
Homework begins
Arguments ensue.
Dinner preparations are made difficult
By babies stealing pots and pans.
CLANG CLANG CLANG
"Mommy!"
BANG BANG BANG
"Shut up!"
"You shut up!"
"All of you go to your rooms!"
Dinner is dished
Dishes are set
Settled into chairs are the kids.
The noise begins
The kids unsettled
With dishes now placed on heads.
Food is on the floor
Kids are arguing
The toddler is demanding cake.
Time for baths
Where both children and adults get covered in water.
Babies are clean
Older kids are bored
The grown-ups are exhausted.
Older kids are sent to bed
The toddler is carried, screaming, to her's.
The babies are rocked, one by one.
It's finally quiet, but way too late
I open a beer, anyway.
Time for bed...but first get the coffee pot set.
It won't be long, the alarm will sound,
And we will start it all over again.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Boys vs. Girls
Don't get me wrong...both of my girls are strong-willed young ladies. I like to describe them as...feisty. However, I have found baby boys to be a whole new arena. While both genders are fascinated by and unnervingly adept at mastering many forms of technology...I have found that there are a few differences in how each gender applies these skills. Irelynn could change and play CD's at a young age. She was a button pusher...examining the device with scrutiny and remembering how to not only change the source and input, but also how to play, stop, and skip tracks. The boys, while intrigued by the fact that their actions have an equal and opposite reaction...are much more interested in finding out just how much force the objects can withstand. For example: can the Wii remotes, after successfully interrupting the current Star Wars game between the older children, then still work properly after being slammed into the end table, dragged across the floor, and licked? And how does the surround system really work? Realizing that the buttons not only control the power, but the volume as well, was not good enough. They have successfully managed to tear the face plate off of the box and examine the wires inside. The blu-ray player has not only been opened, closed, and stopped mid-movie, but it has been shoved off of the entertainment center (after removing the DVD and licking it.) And the boys work together as a team. Just as you scoop up the one as he opens the DVD player, he smiles at his brother, who then proceeds to remove the DVD and run across the living room, waving it triumphantly in the air.
The differences do not lie only with electronic exploration. I have learned that food is much more than a simple source of fuel. It is an art medium. Now, I remember messes with Irelynn. I believe I have pictures of her cute chubby face covered in spaghetti sauce. What I do not remember, however, is food being used as a weapon, a game, or a form of expression. Never before have I had to clean the floor, the highchair, or the child nearly as much as I do everyday with the boys. Connor is just plain messy. I swear the child has a hole in his mouth. Owen...Owen is an artist. And I think he may have anger issues. He has thrown food at his brother. And the floor. I have also given up on putting food in a bowl or on a plate, as he thinks it is hilarious to wear it on his head.
I also do not remember my heart stopping quite so much with Irelynn. Although she liked to explore her surroundings, it did not involve climbing shelves, balancing between coffee tables and reclining chairs, riding the cats or surfing on Fisher Price xylophones. Having two boys makes this all that more nerve-wracking, as you try to decide who to save first: the boy trying to climb onto the dining room table, or the one riding the snarling cat as he smacks it over the head with the xylophone stick.
While I can honestly attest to the fact that boys are much more difficult as toddlers, I must say that by the time they reach the preteen years, the tables turn. The boys suddenly become the easier ones as hormones kick in and mood swings come out in full force. I'm not sure which is more difficult, honestly...the toddler boy...or the teenage girl. I guess I'll go with the toddler boy, being as I have double the trouble. But...I do think that I will be thankful in about ten more years that I did not have twin girls.
Currently, though...I'm thinking about investing in alot of bubble wrap. Or maybe just a couple of very large dog crates. If I get one big enough...perhaps I can use it on the teenage girl occasionally...
The differences do not lie only with electronic exploration. I have learned that food is much more than a simple source of fuel. It is an art medium. Now, I remember messes with Irelynn. I believe I have pictures of her cute chubby face covered in spaghetti sauce. What I do not remember, however, is food being used as a weapon, a game, or a form of expression. Never before have I had to clean the floor, the highchair, or the child nearly as much as I do everyday with the boys. Connor is just plain messy. I swear the child has a hole in his mouth. Owen...Owen is an artist. And I think he may have anger issues. He has thrown food at his brother. And the floor. I have also given up on putting food in a bowl or on a plate, as he thinks it is hilarious to wear it on his head.
I also do not remember my heart stopping quite so much with Irelynn. Although she liked to explore her surroundings, it did not involve climbing shelves, balancing between coffee tables and reclining chairs, riding the cats or surfing on Fisher Price xylophones. Having two boys makes this all that more nerve-wracking, as you try to decide who to save first: the boy trying to climb onto the dining room table, or the one riding the snarling cat as he smacks it over the head with the xylophone stick.
While I can honestly attest to the fact that boys are much more difficult as toddlers, I must say that by the time they reach the preteen years, the tables turn. The boys suddenly become the easier ones as hormones kick in and mood swings come out in full force. I'm not sure which is more difficult, honestly...the toddler boy...or the teenage girl. I guess I'll go with the toddler boy, being as I have double the trouble. But...I do think that I will be thankful in about ten more years that I did not have twin girls.
Currently, though...I'm thinking about investing in alot of bubble wrap. Or maybe just a couple of very large dog crates. If I get one big enough...perhaps I can use it on the teenage girl occasionally...
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
It's a Molson Night
It was a dark and stormy night in the Sawdon house. It began when the toddler woke up from her nap with an attitude that rivaled her older sister's. In fact...I think she had her older sister scared.
"Irelynn, did you have a good nap?"
The toddler whirled around and glared at her sister.
"Um...ok then..."
It all seemed to go down hill from there. I was making a Hamburger Helper meal...mainly because I couldn't justify eating pizza for the third time in the past week. Jaylond was making a sound that he called "beatboxing," but sounded more like an angry duck with bad flatulence. The older girl was repeatedly telling him to "stop." The toddler was on a mission to take out her anger on every living thing in the house. I hear the CD player in her room switch songs. She was at the table glaring at Jaylond, so I went to her room to see what was up.
Owen was standing on his toes, reaching up and hitting the skip button on the player. He found a song he liked and started bouncing up and down. I scoop him up to take him out of the room, and he loudly expressed his displeasure...which only encouraged Jaylond's noise session to increase in volume as well.
Connor...where was Connor? I head back into the kitchen to find him scooping scraps of food out of the garbage can...and eating it. Well...there's a nice story for them in a few years...while Owen is mastering his technical skills, his brother is eating out of the garbage. Nice. For the record: I do feed my children. Honest.
Dinner is ready, Bruce is home, and I crack open a beer. We sit down at the table, and our toddler quickly informs us that she does not like what we are about to eat. Now, just telling us this was apparently not good enough. She had to circle the table and whine...and repeatedly tell us that we ate this just yesterday and she did not like it.
"Irelynn...we did not eat this yesterday."
"I know. But I don't like it!!"
Owen was grabbing handfuls of meat and sauce and tossing it on the floor. Connor was taking his spoon and smearing it all over the table with all the concentration of a brooding artist. Irelynn circled behind them and came to me to tell me, once more, that she did not like what we were having. It was then that Connor decided that she would make a nice canvas, as well.
I thought Jaylond's flatulant duck was bad. The scream that came out of the toddler's mouth as food hit her head made me fear for the glass bottle sitting in front of me. No...not the beer...please, not the beer...
When the toddler came to her senses and moved out of the range of our little abstract artist, she circled back around the table only to discover that the older girl had taken the cup that she had wanted. As we witnessed yet another meltdown, we also happened to notice that the older girl, having put strawberry syrup into her milk, did not bother to get a spoon to stir it. Instead, she shook her cup in a circular motion, thus splattering pink milk onto the table.
Owen growled. Connor screeched. The older two argued. Irelynn continued to demonstrate just how healthy her lungs are.
The rest of the night is a bit of a blur. My husband let me take a shower. I'm not sure how long I was in there...but I did run out of hot water. I was beginning to imagine how long I could survive locked in the bathroom if we stocked a mini-fridge full of beer in there. The children are now finally in bed, and I have cracked open another Molson. It's a good thing we bought the case at Sam's Club.
"Irelynn, did you have a good nap?"
The toddler whirled around and glared at her sister.
"Um...ok then..."
It all seemed to go down hill from there. I was making a Hamburger Helper meal...mainly because I couldn't justify eating pizza for the third time in the past week. Jaylond was making a sound that he called "beatboxing," but sounded more like an angry duck with bad flatulence. The older girl was repeatedly telling him to "stop." The toddler was on a mission to take out her anger on every living thing in the house. I hear the CD player in her room switch songs. She was at the table glaring at Jaylond, so I went to her room to see what was up.
Owen was standing on his toes, reaching up and hitting the skip button on the player. He found a song he liked and started bouncing up and down. I scoop him up to take him out of the room, and he loudly expressed his displeasure...which only encouraged Jaylond's noise session to increase in volume as well.
Connor...where was Connor? I head back into the kitchen to find him scooping scraps of food out of the garbage can...and eating it. Well...there's a nice story for them in a few years...while Owen is mastering his technical skills, his brother is eating out of the garbage. Nice. For the record: I do feed my children. Honest.
Dinner is ready, Bruce is home, and I crack open a beer. We sit down at the table, and our toddler quickly informs us that she does not like what we are about to eat. Now, just telling us this was apparently not good enough. She had to circle the table and whine...and repeatedly tell us that we ate this just yesterday and she did not like it.
"Irelynn...we did not eat this yesterday."
"I know. But I don't like it!!"
Owen was grabbing handfuls of meat and sauce and tossing it on the floor. Connor was taking his spoon and smearing it all over the table with all the concentration of a brooding artist. Irelynn circled behind them and came to me to tell me, once more, that she did not like what we were having. It was then that Connor decided that she would make a nice canvas, as well.
I thought Jaylond's flatulant duck was bad. The scream that came out of the toddler's mouth as food hit her head made me fear for the glass bottle sitting in front of me. No...not the beer...please, not the beer...
When the toddler came to her senses and moved out of the range of our little abstract artist, she circled back around the table only to discover that the older girl had taken the cup that she had wanted. As we witnessed yet another meltdown, we also happened to notice that the older girl, having put strawberry syrup into her milk, did not bother to get a spoon to stir it. Instead, she shook her cup in a circular motion, thus splattering pink milk onto the table.
Owen growled. Connor screeched. The older two argued. Irelynn continued to demonstrate just how healthy her lungs are.
The rest of the night is a bit of a blur. My husband let me take a shower. I'm not sure how long I was in there...but I did run out of hot water. I was beginning to imagine how long I could survive locked in the bathroom if we stocked a mini-fridge full of beer in there. The children are now finally in bed, and I have cracked open another Molson. It's a good thing we bought the case at Sam's Club.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Yard Waste
It was time. We had not ventured into the jungle that was now our yard since shortly after our sons' first birthday, in the beginning of September. Bruce had been telling our oldest son that we needed to mow it one last time...for over a month. Cleverly avoiding it until now, the yard became a major undertaking. You would have thought we had told our son he needed to fix the economy in one day or something.
While he begrudgingly cut the grass in the front, my husband tried to wrangle stray lawn furniture and fixtures in the back. The girls were playing an elaborate game that involved pretending to drive to Sam's Club and purchasing pretend slushies. I was attempting to herd babies across the yard, and keep them from eating dandelions. My husband, whether he was frustrated at the amount of time things were taking, or he just felt sorry for Jay, took a turn with the lawn mower, starting along the back. I glance over and see that my husband is no longer mowing the lawn...but going at my garden with a vengence.
"Bruce!!"
Nothing but the loud whir of the lawnmower as he pummels the garden.
"BRUCE!!!"
I am beginning to wonder if he is ignoring me, or he honestly cannot hear me. I begin to run across the yard, baby in my one arm, the other waving frantically, as if my husband can somehow see me even though his back is turned.
"BRUCE!!!!"
The older kids look at me, eyes wide, and Bruce finally turns around and looks at me, confused.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING???!!!!! TURN THAT THING OFF!!!"
He cuts the motor and shrugs.
"I was taking out that huge ugly weed on the side of the house."
"That's not a weed, that's my butterfly bush!!!"
"Oh."
"Do not mow the garden, please. Stick to cutting the grass."
The older girl begins to snicker, and Jaylond says, "our family could have their own TV show. Seriously."
Yes Jay...I agree.
While he begrudgingly cut the grass in the front, my husband tried to wrangle stray lawn furniture and fixtures in the back. The girls were playing an elaborate game that involved pretending to drive to Sam's Club and purchasing pretend slushies. I was attempting to herd babies across the yard, and keep them from eating dandelions. My husband, whether he was frustrated at the amount of time things were taking, or he just felt sorry for Jay, took a turn with the lawn mower, starting along the back. I glance over and see that my husband is no longer mowing the lawn...but going at my garden with a vengence.
"Bruce!!"
Nothing but the loud whir of the lawnmower as he pummels the garden.
"BRUCE!!!"
I am beginning to wonder if he is ignoring me, or he honestly cannot hear me. I begin to run across the yard, baby in my one arm, the other waving frantically, as if my husband can somehow see me even though his back is turned.
"BRUCE!!!!"
The older kids look at me, eyes wide, and Bruce finally turns around and looks at me, confused.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING???!!!!! TURN THAT THING OFF!!!"
He cuts the motor and shrugs.
"I was taking out that huge ugly weed on the side of the house."
"That's not a weed, that's my butterfly bush!!!"
"Oh."
"Do not mow the garden, please. Stick to cutting the grass."
The older girl begins to snicker, and Jaylond says, "our family could have their own TV show. Seriously."
Yes Jay...I agree.
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