I finally succumbed to my husband's overzealous Christmas spirit. While the holiday season begins the day after Halloween for him, it does not begin until December for me. Even then, I do not tend to want to put up a tree until a couple of weeks before Christmas. Although, I have to admit, having smaller children once again has brightened my spirit...there's just something about the awe and wonder of a small child discovering the magic of Christmas. And by magic, I mean the things that we forget to appreciate when we're older...the things that do not have to do with the commercialization of the holiday season...or, if they do, it is purely because it really does seem magical to them.
For instance, my three-year-old waking up, glimpsing out her window and being heartbroken to find out that it had not snowed overnight. I'm not going to lie; I do not like the snow. It makes me think of scraping windows, shoveling walkways, and taking an extra 20-minutes each morning to bundle up children before they leave. But there is something about a tiny girl looking to the sky, waiting for the sprinkling of powdery snow...with dreams of snowmen and snow angels...that make me *almost* wish that it would snow. And, I admit...I am very curious to see the twins' reactions to their first real snow experience this year. It almost melts away the Scrooge inside of me.
Thank goodness for this...because without it, I'm not sure how I would get through the holiday season. Or the weekend we decide to put up the tree, for that matter. You see, I have this internal battle inside: I have my "stressed-out, wishing everything would end already, trying to make ends meet and buy presents, detesting all forms of Christmas music because my husband has been forcing it into the household since Halloween" side duking it out with my "wanting to give my children a magical experience, live in the moment, appreciate everything, and live it up at the holidays" side. They do not mesh well. I'm an inherent over-achiever residing in a worn-out, lazy body. My mother-in-law, who has perfected the art of not only surviving, but hosting, planning, and enjoying the holidays, would laugh at me, and give me a suggestion for an easier way to do things. My mother, who painstakingly makes every effort to make gatherings "proper" and full with tradition (I must make the eggnog, she puts great-grandma's beads on the tree, while the men put the lights on the tree,) would applaud my efforts and claim that I am Supermom. I just feel like all my attempts are in vain: I'm a Martha Stewart wannabe trapped in the body of Mr. Bean.
For example: while the children put up ornaments, I tried to make red and green pancakes in the shapes of snowmen and Christmas trees. They did not turn out perfect...but...I think it was still cute. However, while trying to shape pancakes and not burn bacon, I notice that Owen has become extremely quiet. These are the moments a parent must worry: when a child cannot be heard, it usually means that they are up to no good. I round the corner to find him sitting on the floor, with red and green posterboard rings in hand (another attempt at being crafty and fun: I had the three older children make red and green links, tape a Hershey Kiss to each link, to be torn off each day leading up until Christmas.) The boy was covered in chocolate...from his face on down to his feet. All I could imagine was the red and green tin foil that he would be pooping out over the course of the next few days as he had been sitting there, plucking each Hershey Kiss off, and devouring it whole...wrapper and all. Meanwhile, the older children are arguing in the living room...Jaylond was upset to discover that after spending a half hour in the bathroom, his sisters had decorated the entire tree.
Needless to say, the holiday season has not gone how I planned at all. My pancakes did not *really* look like trees and snowmen. I believe the older girl even made a comment about the food dye making them taste funny. The toddler boy wrecked his older sister's Christmas countdown craft. The children argued nonstop. An ornament or two shattered. The living room floor was now covered in fake pine needles and newspaper wrappings. I still cannot stand to hear Wham's "Last Christmas" or that song about the Italian Christmas donkey.
However, somewhere between standing outside with Irelynn while putting up her beloved blow-up Christmas Snoopy and hearing Owen, for the first time, point at a picture and say "Santa," my heart melted. Maybe it was the snow that gently fell while Irelynn and I put up lights, with her telling me all of her grand plans for what to do when we get "real" snow. Maybe it was watching her bravely tell Santa the one thing she really wanted for Christmas. Or maybe it ws noticing, that despite all the imperfections I saw...the kids all really enjoyed my silly attempts to make the holiday bright.
I'm not sure when or how...but I think my heart grew three sizes this month. It seems that while I was busy worrying about presents and money, thinking the kids only appreciated things that came from the store...I didn't take time to look through their eyes, and see that the season was much more. Snow forts and cookies, music and magic, although fighting was apparent, it wasn't that tragic. Christmas specials and crafts, lights and elves, though nothing was perfect, it was all heartfelt.
Now...if I could only find a good deal on roast beast...
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Star Trek for Breakfast
I am sitting here typing in complete silence. It is 9am on a Saturday, and all the children are eating breakfast behind me. To what can I owe this moment of Zen? Apparently Star Trek. Or Eggo, as the case may be, who came up with the brilliant idea of creating Star Trek waffles.
They were originally meant for my husband, who is an avid Trekkie. He has a Star Trek blanket. He has a mock phaser. He even has a box of stale Star Trek cereal sitting on his dresser in our bedroom. I bought it for him, thinking he would eat it. Apparently cereal could one day become a collector's item. Who knew? I'm waiting for our room to become infested with mice. The older children were quite put out that they were not allowed to partake in the Star Trek cereal.
When I originally bought the waffles, I informed him that a box of frozen waffles would NOT be setting on our dresser....these were to EAT. The children rejoiced, and the box was devoured before Bruce even got a waffle. I realized I needed to make a compromise.
The next time I bought waffles almost ended in disaster as well, as I bought them while visiting the in-laws up north. Our stores down here do not carry the Star Trek ones anymore, so I thought I scored big-time. Unfortunately, I then left them in my mother-in-law's freezer. Luckily for me (and my husband,) my mother-in-law made a trip down only a few days later, and she brought the waffles with her. A new rule was put in place: no one was allowed to eat the waffles until their father had eaten some first.
The following days I was hounded by children wanting to know if their father had eaten his waffles yet so they could have some. I finally, one morning, made some for him. The boxes were officially open. Which brings us to this morning, the first morning the children are allowed to have waffles.
Owen and Connor are shoving them in their mouths, looking like little chipmunks. Irelynn had me carefully cut her's so I did not distroy the picture in the middle. The older girl excitedly put her's in the toaster and described the aliens adorning the front. We are officially down one box.
This is why my morning is quiet...I have a table full of content kids, happily eating alien encrusted waffles.
Oh...wait...Connor just tried to steal some of Owen's. So much for the quiet. Ah, and now Irelynn is trying to cheer Owen up with her rendition of Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies." I suppose it could only last so long...
They were originally meant for my husband, who is an avid Trekkie. He has a Star Trek blanket. He has a mock phaser. He even has a box of stale Star Trek cereal sitting on his dresser in our bedroom. I bought it for him, thinking he would eat it. Apparently cereal could one day become a collector's item. Who knew? I'm waiting for our room to become infested with mice. The older children were quite put out that they were not allowed to partake in the Star Trek cereal.
When I originally bought the waffles, I informed him that a box of frozen waffles would NOT be setting on our dresser....these were to EAT. The children rejoiced, and the box was devoured before Bruce even got a waffle. I realized I needed to make a compromise.
The next time I bought waffles almost ended in disaster as well, as I bought them while visiting the in-laws up north. Our stores down here do not carry the Star Trek ones anymore, so I thought I scored big-time. Unfortunately, I then left them in my mother-in-law's freezer. Luckily for me (and my husband,) my mother-in-law made a trip down only a few days later, and she brought the waffles with her. A new rule was put in place: no one was allowed to eat the waffles until their father had eaten some first.
The following days I was hounded by children wanting to know if their father had eaten his waffles yet so they could have some. I finally, one morning, made some for him. The boxes were officially open. Which brings us to this morning, the first morning the children are allowed to have waffles.
Owen and Connor are shoving them in their mouths, looking like little chipmunks. Irelynn had me carefully cut her's so I did not distroy the picture in the middle. The older girl excitedly put her's in the toaster and described the aliens adorning the front. We are officially down one box.
This is why my morning is quiet...I have a table full of content kids, happily eating alien encrusted waffles.
Oh...wait...Connor just tried to steal some of Owen's. So much for the quiet. Ah, and now Irelynn is trying to cheer Owen up with her rendition of Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies." I suppose it could only last so long...
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
The Twin Trail
It was subtle...but I could detect a faint scent of Gerber body wash and banana leading into the kitchen. I crouched down...yes, I could see some tracks...small markings where someone had stepped in the banana. Tracking babies does not require strong detective skills...but it does require a strong stomach and large amounts of patience.
I followed the trail of Cheerios into the kitchen, where it looked like a poltergeist had been present: cabinets were all open, objects had been strewn across the kitchen, and I'm almost positive I heard things slamming in a far off room.
I pass the toddler, happily eating her pancake at the table. She looks at me, and calmly points toward the hallway.
I see the remains of graham crackers littering the hallway, and fingerprints on the walls. Then, I saw it: the telltale sign that one of the twins had recently been in the area: Owen's diaper was sitting on the floor. Twin droppings are not rare...but they are key to finding their location.
The bedroom door was closed. I could hear voices on the other side. I slowly opened it...being careful to not spook them...there is nothing quite like a toddler stampede. Sure enough, Connor was sitting in a pulled out plastic drawer, and the elusive Owen was hiding under the Leap Frog Learning Table...I could tell it was Owen by the bare butt cheeks sticking out of the back of it.
I suppose I should look at the bright side: if they ever get lost in public, it won't be too difficult to find them. I just hope Owen leaves his clothes on.
I followed the trail of Cheerios into the kitchen, where it looked like a poltergeist had been present: cabinets were all open, objects had been strewn across the kitchen, and I'm almost positive I heard things slamming in a far off room.
I pass the toddler, happily eating her pancake at the table. She looks at me, and calmly points toward the hallway.
I see the remains of graham crackers littering the hallway, and fingerprints on the walls. Then, I saw it: the telltale sign that one of the twins had recently been in the area: Owen's diaper was sitting on the floor. Twin droppings are not rare...but they are key to finding their location.
The bedroom door was closed. I could hear voices on the other side. I slowly opened it...being careful to not spook them...there is nothing quite like a toddler stampede. Sure enough, Connor was sitting in a pulled out plastic drawer, and the elusive Owen was hiding under the Leap Frog Learning Table...I could tell it was Owen by the bare butt cheeks sticking out of the back of it.
I suppose I should look at the bright side: if they ever get lost in public, it won't be too difficult to find them. I just hope Owen leaves his clothes on.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Daily Life
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.
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.
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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