Spring soccer is upon us. There isn't a day that we don't have to go to some
one's practice. Stay at home mom fail.

Cinco was awake and happy to be so in the wee hours of the morning. She thought that she should nurse....a lot. Mostly to get it out of the way. There's too much to do during daylight hours to bother with nursing. Besides yelling at anyone eating and flapping your hands as if you are an abandoned baby bird is working just swell. In fact, the only time Cinco is interested in nursing at all is if X-Man happens to be sitting in my lap. Well, katie bar the door because it's about to get hungry in her tummy. Her feet don't stay still during that time, mostly so that she can kick X-Man if he tries to climb back on.

So there we were, nursing away. I kept trying to swap in a binky and she kept removing it from her mouth and chucking it. Of course this would be the time that X-Man started to bellow loudly. Something he never does. The boy loves his sleep and deeply indulges thorough the night. But there he was, pounding on his shut bedroom door, crying.

I woke the father figure and sent him up to investigate. His efforts were rewarded with a most definite "NOOOO MOOMMMY!!!!!" The father figure happily obliged.

I handed off Cinco, who mentally added this to her list of resentments, and asked the all important question "Is puke involved?" It was not.

X-Man was standing at the top of the stairs, yelling for me, and not waking his siblings somehow. When he saw me he said "Up please Dank you."  It's all one phrase to him. And so we sat. He wiped his nose on my shoulder and definitively declined my attempts to take him downstairs. I'm guessing the father figure had some words with him. Indeed, if the father figure could have just one do over in his life, I certain it would be the day that he allowed his young, naive fiancee to convince him that a king sized bed was too big and that a queen sized was just fine. He tolerates one child in bed with us.......and X-Man is roughly the size of three Cincos.

So I tucked him back in bed and left. He didn't even yell "Wait wait!" which is his usual bedtime routine. Followed by a request to read a story about Jesus, because Mom knows she really shouldn't say no to that. But the Jesus story book is quickly yanked from the hands and replaced with a Thomas the Tank Engine book. By which time, Mom has committed to reading another story, or as is more typically the case, reading The Little Blue Truck for the fifth time, and can't really quit.

I crawled back into bed and updated the father figure. No vomit. No cramps. No needing the potty. No clue. The father figure theorized it was a bad dream and that maybe something bad had happened to me in it. I countered that more likely, X-Man did something really bad in his dream and was concerned that I was aware of it in real life.

Either way, we talked just long enough for Cinco to clue in, pull the binky out of her mouth and throw it.