It’s been a beautiful fall day. With heavy winds. I’ve been enjoying it and threw open all the windows in the house to allow in the fresh fall air. Should have thought about that before breaking it to X-Man that I couldn’t find any of his minion underpants. And that we needed to brush his teeth. I almost judge my neighbors for NOT calling the police. Clearly someone was being murdered……or dressed. To add insult to injury, when he tried to toss some duplos into their container, he missed. I half expected him to rend his garments.

X-Man isn’t napping anymore. We’ve reached an understanding, naps aren’t required, but quiet time is. If not for his recharging, then for mine. I find myself craving the couple of hours of relative quiet that comes with Cinco and X-Man napping. So, I let X-Man have his quiet time. Which means I hear the sound of toys being dumped out and him thumping around upstairs and he stays upstairs. The relative quiet is uneasy, as X-Man does know how to open his door now. But that can be effective as it allows for easy access to the bathroom. Which typically is a good thing.

Until today. As I sat, trying to read and heard the unmistakable “plop….plop…plop” of water. From somewhere. And of course, that somewhere was indeed the upstairs bathroom.  I rushed upstairs to be met by the sight of my stark naked three year old son, sitting in the bathroom sink, water running. And of course, this sink lacked the overflow protections any normal sink would have, so the overflow spread all over the floor and the counter.  

I just stared. It had been a day already, and I just couldn’t process what I was seeing. Including how on earth he got himself entirely in the sink. He helpfully chirped “I wash mommy!” On closer inspection of my reaction he realized that he probably should hide and struggled to unwedge himself from the sink. “I sleep mommy!” A fifty pound toddler goes into a bathroom sink much easier than he comes out of it. 

We’re going to have to brush up on the definition of quiet time it seems.

It's not like I'm all that new at parenting. I'm not even all that new at home schooling. And yet, I managed to be blindsided completely. Again.

It's been beautiful, and I was basking in the beauty. I find sun motivating. So the house gets cleaner faster, I get up earlier, and I get more work done for my job as well. On top of it all, I'd been getting up early enough to get yoga in before work started. And by yoga, I mean push ups and lunges and being yelled at by Jillian Michaels. I've been sticking with it, can almost fool myself into seeing results and overall feel like I'm returning to myself. It's as if I've settled down to mothering five children, working and am no longer living in a remodeling chaos zone. Life is good.

The bulbs that I haphazardly planted in the fall, being very clueless about bulbs, have bloomed. Our front yard is bursting into color. And color makes me happy. So I sat by the front window, soaking up the sun and beauty. I had graded every math test in my inbox. I had worked out so I sipped my coffee as Cinco pushed the other ottoman about the living room. Mac sat at my feet, confirming that various words had long and short vowel sounds. Baby toiled away at the kitchen table and Baba sat on the couch reading about nutrition. All of this took place in a clean house. It was good. It was very very good.

Did you notice? Did you realize X-Man was missing from this picture? Did you forget, as did I, that there is no peace, there is no quiet when there is a two year old in your life. Oh sure, it might seem quiet and peaceful, but you are just borrowing trouble, compounding the amount you will have to deal with later.

And there it was. I realized that the quiet that I had been reveling was actually the equivalent of an air raid siren. It offered as much warning and the potential for as much distraction. I set my coffee down so rapidly that it spilled, perhaps a portend of things to come.

I ran upstairs, three steps at a time. I heard it before I encountered it. Water running. I felt it before I saw it. Wet carpet. I dreaded it before I knew it. Flooded bathroom. X-Man had chosen the upstairs bathroom, not by chance, and gone to work. It's a downside to the potty training. He became enamored with washing his hand and playing in the water. And when he used the potty, he would then wash his hands. Along the way, he discovered how to plug the sink. And the good times began to roll.

The water had poured out of the sink, pooled on the floor, run down the counters and into the drawers. It had run under the door. It was a mess. A very wet mess. Starting with X-Man himself. The boy who reacted to a shower as a vampire to garlic, had soaked his head, along with his clothes. I scolded him and scolded him and started laundry.

And then it was lunch time. Peaceful relaxing time was over. Life started up again. After lunch comes nap time. I got X-Man settled down for his quiet time, and yes quiet is used loosely here. As I headed down the stairs, Baba met me and said "So the ceiling is leaking."

Cinco was staring up. See the water was dribbling down onto the ottoman that she had been pushing around the living room. And there was a lot of water dribbling down. Through the new ceiling we had put in. I searched for the source of the leak in the bathroom and figured I had found it. The less than ideal bathroom remodel done before we moved in, had a gap between the counter and the wall. I then told the girls I would knock on the ceiling and asked them to tell me where it was upstairs.

Baby decided that the noise was coming from their closet. Which, although I knew it wasn't the source, meant that I ripped apart their closet with the hopes that there wasn't an overturned water bottle in there. There wasn't.

But there was an unattended baby left on the main floor, abandoned by her older sisters who were certain I didn't know the first thing about plumbing disasters. I don't. But they aren't exactly helpful themselves.  Meanwhile, the baby was left with a bowl of water, contaminated with plaster and a disturbing yellowish color. Which of course made it delightful to push about the hardwood floors in the living room, while the ceiling continued to leak.

On the other hand, my first foray into online shoe shopping was highly successful. I don't know which news will be worse to the father figure.

Dare I hope, we've turned a corner? It occurred to X-Man yesterday that using the potty and getting candy is a much more pleasant experience than attacking his mother. Took long enough, but, maybe just maybe. Of course, he has put it together that the more often he uses that potty the more candy he gets. So, I've had to take him numerous times so far this morning. But I'm not complaining.

At some point in this circus, the father figure should actually learn to quit underestimating his children. Cinco keeps threatening to crawl, she likes to hang out on her hands and knees and then sort of jump forward. This process takes too much time, so she still ends up army crawling if she's really committed. And she's always really committed. As a result, she's all over the place. And has discovered the stairs. The father figure saw this and commented "She'll be climbing those soon." I responded "I think now is about the time." "Oh no, she can't even stand on her own." And with that Cinco pulled herself upright and the foot of the stairs.

It took her at least five minutes before she figured how to lift her little leg up onto the stair. Then she was stuck. She gave it her best efforts and managed to get her whole body up there, with the exception of her little leg which she was balancing. She couldn't bring herself to lift that last leg. But that won't last long.

Of course I have boys and therefore they are physically incapable of staying out of the drywall dust. I asked the drywaller guy to leave the paper on the floor for protection as I painted. Should of thought it through. X-Man was actually making dust angels. His hair is so thick, he seriously resembles Pig Pen. Clouds everywhere. Fortunately the paper is loud, when small feet hit it. Which means I need to go chase someone down right now. Maybe distract him with the potty.

Have I mentioned that we all have colds and X-Man finds tissues a personal form of torture. I'm waiting for CPS to arrive, called by well intentioned neighbors. I plan asking them to wipe his nose, while keeping him out of the construction zone. And then resting my case. And yes, the white powder hand prints all over me are really and truly dry wall compound.

One day X-Man will be potty trained. I just hope I'm alive to see it. I'll be able to brag to all my friends on bingo at the senior center. Until, I'll continue to live at the mercy of his whims, which seem to be tied to the most inconvenient moments possible. Today I was expect the dude to come and finish the job. He arrived and sat in the driveway, as per usual, finishing his morning cigarette. About that time I heard, "MOOOOOM! X-Man's POOOOOPY!" "Yeah and it stinks too!" Well happy Monday to me. The moment I unleashed X-Man's weapon of mass digestion, the door bell rang. Of course it did. Now, I could have run downstairs to open the door. But I know how that would have ended. Lots and lots of Clorox all over the bedroom. So, I dispatched Mac to tell Baba to please let the drywaller in.


I came downstairs to see Mac at the front window enunciating very loudly "I. DON'T. KNOW. YOU. I. CAN'T. OPEN. THE. DOOR." and Baba calmly unloading the dishwasher. The drywaller guy actually shook Mac's hand, once admittance was granted, and told him "good job." I was still trying to figure out how the whole "go downstairs and tell Baba to let the gentleman I am expecting in" translated to "yell out the window." Oh well.


Painting. It ain't like the movies. It's not fun, you don't look cute in overalls, there's no cute boy to playfully paint the tip of your nose. There are toddlers to help though. All sorts of help. And the father figure was bound and determined not to help. Overtime my gluteus maximus. He could smell the paint a mile away and kept his distance.

Time the nap, it's a tricky game. I knew I needed to go and get paint and supplies for my newly finished walls. However, I knew that I wanted to paint during nap time. I also knew that I wanted to get some work done on school and I wanted to spare myself some hassle. I could leave with breakfast dishes still on the table and the kids would start asking for lunch immediately. Plus, the sheet rock guy was still there. I could leave after he left, but Cinco was sleeping, fitfully, with a stuffy nose, so that sleeping baby was going to lie. I was hoping to time things right, just after lunch, and get back in time for naps. But never underestimate X-Man's ability to sleep wherever. And his determination to continue sleeping into the store. I have lost count of the number of times I've had to transfer his totally limp body into a shopping cart basket and watch him sprawl out and make himself at home.

So this meant no painting during nap time. But it did not mean no painting. I'm dying to finish off the house so I tackled the job. I only had to chase X-Man out a couple of times. He only stuck his hands in the paint once. His siblings sat slack jawed being entertained by minions, so successfully that they didn't notice that the ONE thing they were supposed to do, keep X-Man out of my way was not happening.

All in all, it was one of my more successful painting experiences. Never one to do a thing half way, I tend to paint when nesting. For the record, there is no nesting involved this time around. And I tend to paint during nap time. Back in the peaceful days of Baba and Baby and gestating Mac, I was painting my bedroom a bright cheery yellow. My bedroom was large and it was a multiple day project. The entry way to the master bedroom was next to the girls' bedroom door. Behind which, Baby was allegedly napping.

The phone rang, distracting me and causing me to leave the room. I left mid project, obviously, and was gone less than two minutes. Ya'll know how this is going. Sure enough, I returned to find an entire gallon of yellow paint, suddenly not so cheery, spilled on the beige carpet. And, to add insult to injury, a trail of little yellow footprints led out of my room, into the hall, which too had beige carpet, and into Baby's room. They stopped right at her bed and there was a little bundle under all of the blanket, desperately trying to sleep.  In case you were wondering, her bedroom carpet was beige too. But fortunately she had pulled all the books off her bookshelf, so several of them were covered in yellow as well. But not her carpet.

I was not amused and spent the rest of my afternoon, and extended nap time or sheltering in place as it were, scrubbing yellow paint out of the carpet. I managed to convince the father figure to not pour turpentine all over the carpet and all in all it was a very successful salvage operation. For some reason, I found the little yellow feet not sentimental at all. Unlike the little blue hand print that Baba left on her bedroom door, back when I was nesting with Baby. Probably because it was just one. Or I was still in the phase where everything a child of mine did was super adorable. Yeah, not there anymore.

"MOOOOOM! Can you come up here please? Now?" Those are chilling words to hear, especially after 36 hours stomach illnesses presenting in numerous fashions. "What's going on?" "There's nothing wrong. It's actually something good." And so it was, Mac had written, in his darlingest  first grader handwriting, i mac love my family. Punctuation comes later.

There are contractors galore coming and going. They seem mostly amused by the circus in which they were required to work. One mentioned to me that he too had five children. He proudly recounted how he had them alternate making dinners and doing their own laundry. They were able to function on their own as they moved out, teaching their roommates. Then he sprung it on me "My wife took off a few years into it. Left me alone with everyone. Make sure you're taking care of yourself. Don't burn out."
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Sweet advice, and worthwhile as well. Not that I'm concerned that I'll burn out on motherhood. More likely just not wake up for three weeks straight. Now that sounds delightful right about now. I think of this blog as a way to vent frustrations or try to make sure I see the day's event in the most positive light possible.

To me it's bittersweet that I only have eight or so more years left with Baba. Not that she'll fall off the face of the planet, or write me off completely, but I only have a few years left to imprint my hands on her heart. It's going by way too fast. That's not to say I look at Cinco and think "ah man, eighteen years to go."

And now I have to go, start along my afternoon soccer runs. Wonder what I'll feed them, they really seem to notice if I'm not johnny on the spot with food. And the appropriate amount of food. Both Baba and Baby will enlighten me as to what THEY think to be good meals. Cereal for dinner is not a good option. Peanut butter and jelly is not acceptable for lunch because "there's too much sugar in jelly and I don't like peanut butter." Also, Baby doesn't like turkey burgers and when I told her they were for dinner her first question was "How big?" And in case you were wondering, they were too big.

So I wrote this post about not really needing that much of an escape from my kids. And then I took all five of them grocery shopping. Now I am ready to r-u-n-n-o-f-t. Screaming the whole way. Which will make it easier for them to find me.

I'm sure you're all missing me and wondering why I didn't blog yesterday. I know I am.

I was kicked out of my house. By chemtrails. Or chemicals. Or something. Whatever they use to seal refinished hardwood floors. So, off to grandma's house we go.......wait I've been on this ride before.

So, the children who have always been fairly cooperative with bedtimes and not so cooperative. And have been running around the house. Mostly to their Nana who hugs them and loves them and tells them they are so cute. It's not helping.

And there's been a moment of weirdness.......which in my life isn't that unusual, but this was weird.

So this is a British actress named Jodhi May. She's about my age and my height and there are some similarities in our features. Oks she looks quite a bit like me. Or I like her, as she is older. I first became aware of her existence in 1992 when the film The Last of the Mohicans came out. The movie was acceptable and all that, my friends became obsessed for a while, but I grew tired of the whole thing. So I created the Help Through Strength Society and sent them anonymous letters advertising seminars to help them get over their addiction to the movie and the actor Daniel Day Lewis. The idea came to me while in church, which means on of two things, I wasn't paying attention or it was divinely inspired. I'm going with the latter. In case you were wondering, no one took me up on my seminar offerings. And, to add insult to injury, they assumed my older sister came up with the idea. She's always stealing my thunder. Seriously, she was three states away, and her baby shower gift totally out shown mine. Somehow hand crocheted baby cowboy boots are WAY more popular than baby jammies.

But I digress. As chemical refugees, we are all sleeping in my sisters' bedroom. And there are hand painted images from the movie in the room. That's the advantage to having artist friends obsesses with something, free artwork! And of course, Alice Munroe, portrayed by the aforementioned actress, is depicted.

So Nana comes into the room to say goodnight, and X-Man charges over to great her. After hugs and snuggles, he grabbed her hand and said "Mama, mama." I, being as attentive as always responded "I'm over here dude." Nana, fully aware that his mama was not outside the room, where he seemed to be wanting to head, just stood and smile. But X-Man was not to be deterred began to push her leg. Puzzled, Nana began to walk. X-Man rushed around put his arms up and said "up peeeze!" Nana obliged and then he pointed to a picture by the door. A depiction of a certain character from Last of the Mohicans. He pointed and said "Mama, mama." And then wanted down.

I would have assumed that his siblings put him up to it, but they hadn't ever seen the picture before either. Mac helpfully explained to him "That's not mom, that's some weird person." I have to admit, it's not the most flattering depiction of the person in question. And if that's how X-Man sees me, I'm just a little alarmed.

It's never a good sign if you hear odd crashing noises in the ceiling. Ones similar to what you think squirrels or a large rodent would make. It's especially not good if you hear those noises in the office, which is directly under X-Man's room. And he's supposed to be napping.

The boy had pried the grate off the heater vent and chirped "Ball go bye mom!" when I investigated further. He might have a new favorite toy.

I was having a serious discussion with Mac the other night. He admitted that he had seen a movie that gave him nightmares. I panicked, thinking of some of the shows that I had let him see, some that might have been too much for him. He liked Iron Man, didn't see Transformers 2, of course that would have given anyone nightmares. I asked him which movie bothered him. He looked down and said "Well it scares me to say, but it was Phinneas and Ferb." Well then. I'm not sure I wasn't taken for the let's postpone sleep ride.

The girls were making up jokes and sharing them during dinner. We have finally progressed past the point of "knock knock" "who's there?" "snow" "snow who" "chicken." Yeah, those alleged jokes really bothered the father figure. He kept trying to tell them "It has to be funny for a reason!" Mac finally decided that he wanted in on the humor action. "Mom I have a joke." "Oh really, what is it?" "Well, I don't really want to talk about it." He was working the irony angle apparently.

Or something.

I will continue to be held hostage until Tuesday, when my van gets a new computer. So I will have a running car and a window instead of plywood in my living room. If I'm not careful, I'm going to start putting on airs.

I'm going to pretend that the flooring guy didn't tell us it would be mid-October before they can get the floors in. I'm going to forget that the electrician can't figure out what half the switches in the house do. It's not that I don't LOVE plywood covering what should be a window....that's four weeks out as well. What really is eating at me is the fact that the hardwood floors that are in the house already make it very, very easy for Cinco to get everywhere. And at the moment, everywhere in this house is still mostly a death trap. Death traps sing the song of Cinco's people. And don't even ask me how many places and times X-Man has gotten his head stuck today.

Ok, I'm back. Gestated Cinco crawled into a garbage bag and is now lecturing me on the cruelty of taking away the best toy evah!

It was occurring to me as I tried to get Cinco down for a nap--a nap that she most firmly rejected  by the way--how weird my kids are. Some might call it tactile. I call it really, like spine tingling, annoying. This line of thought started as I recalled the events of the previous night's soccer practice. As I was talking with other moms, trying to figure out how I would manage 8am, 8:30 am and 9 am  soccer games, no where near each other of course, I realized that Cinco was yanking on my lower lip while trying to eat my nose. And I was there talking, like this was all normal. Because in my life, it is. I'm assuming that's where the strange looks were focused on. But whoever really knows.

When Baba fell asleep she liked to play with my cuticles. She would trace each finger, over and over again until she fell asleep. Heaven help me if I had a hangnail. She would play with that sucker for what seemed like an eternity. And, rookie that I was, I let her do so. It still causes me to cringe, ten years later. Baby liked to pull my hair. I should have let her continue this instead of letting her focus on her own. She spent four years with large bald spots on her hair where she had twisted it out. Mac liked to play with my neck skin when drifting off. Yes, that's right. My son went for my jugular on a daily basis. X-Man preferred noses. He would hold my nose while napping. I'm sure there's a not so hidden message in that. And then there's Gestated Cinco. She likes my whole face. Any of it. All of it. Preferably my nose, again. Although, unlike her brother, she prefers to slip her delicate little fingers up my nose. While grasping at my eyelashes. What make this all the more impressive, is that she does all this with her eyes closed. So maybe it's not so much weird as it is talented.

X-Man has his head stuck in a stool, again. He's bellowing "Help please." Guess it's time to show him manner pay.

This doesn't have to do with anything. It just makes me happy.