There was a time when X-Man ate whatever was put in front of him. And asked for more. This is not that time. He carefully picked all the vegetables out of his soup and piled them on the table. I instructed him to not do that. He carefully picked them up and dumped them in Mac’s bowl.  Looking back the whole incident, clearly Cinco rubbing the garlic bread in her hair shouldn’t have been my priority. Even though I don’t know how I’m going to wash her hair, as she’s still scared of water. 

Except when I’m taking a shower, then she’s convinced she should get in with me. Until I actually let her in…..them defcon hysteria.

X-Man’s finicky eating is still very toddler-esque. He won’t eat any dinner placed in front of him. He will eat dinner if he is sitting in my lap and eating off my plate. The father figure frowns on this greatly. As I should, but half the time I’m just happy he’s eating. Not that my fifty pound three year old is undernourished at all.

I should encourage the lack of eating in order to curb the boy’s energy. He’s upped the busyness to match the excitement of the season. He’s convinced that I’m holding out on him and that there really are bouncy balls hanging on the Christmas tree. He’ll find them if he has to test every. single. one.  Meanwhile Cinco is convinced that the snowflake ornaments are really cookies. She thinks she’s sly. The glitter on her lips betrays her.

I’d keep writing by X-Man just crawled into my lap, gave me a kiss and ran off. Which means he just did something very naughty. And messy.

I’m about to close the book on my first decade of parenting. Someone should tell my children that this is not my first rodeo.

It’s our typical routine in the morning, a sleepy voice starts calling to me “Mom, are we going to have breakfast?” For the record, I have not yet failed to provide breakfast for any of my children. Now, just because you don’t eat oatmeal, or believe it is better suited on the ceiling, doesn’t mean I failed to provide you breakfast. And without fail, as the breakfast dishes are cleared away I am asked “What’s for lunch?” You know, because that’s the only thing worth living for.

Earlier today Mac came and asked me “Mommy can I have some toast?” And I said “sure” and he started crying saying “But Baba’s having some!” “I know, and you can too.” Cease tears. “Oh ok.” Why is it that the default assumption is that mom is mean and totally not fair? Or that mom will forget to feed you?

As Gestating Cinco continues her antics for the doctor, I have to leave for numerous appointments. This always, and without fail, leads to the panicked question from Baba “Who’s going to watch us?” It’s not that she has persons she doesn’t want caring for her; it’s that she’s convinced that I’m going to put her in charge of the younger hooligans. I have yet to do that, and I wouldn’t start on a Monday morning, but that seems to be of no consolation.

Baba’s certitude that I was indeed flying blind started on the drive home from the hospital with Baby in tow. As her father turned the corner onto our street, she yelled out “Careful!” and I turned to see her holding onto her sister’s car seat with her chubby little hand. A couple of days later, as I headed out to a postpartum appointment, flying solo I might add, Baba threw a massive meltdown. She thrashed and screamed all the way to the car. And as strapped her into her car seat. I returned the car with Baby in hand, and the meltdown ceased. Baba hyperventilated to me “I thought you forgot the Baby.”   Let the record show, in the ten years I’ve parented, I have yet to forget a child anywhere.

Although, I have almost left Costco with an extra child before. I admit to switching on the autopilot. If there are enough small little heads, hitting me in at the hip, I just assume they are mine. Had this small child actually come home with me, rest assured she would be fed three times a day.

It’s not just a daughter thing, doubting your parents’ ability to care for the family. Mac spent X-Man’s first weeks of life with an unending chain of concerns “Mom X-Man’s alone! Mom change X-Man’s diaper. Mom, X-Man might cry soon. Mom, X-Man doesn't like his shirt.” Who needs CPS?

I’ve spent the better part of a decade not starving my children, not favoring one over the other, not leaving them alone or forgetting them anywhere.  And yet, these fears are still first and foremost on their minds. What is it about me that inspired such panic? That’s actually a door I really don’t want to open tonight. 

Curse you Daylight Savings, curse you. 

Dinner was interesting. Mac spent most of the time helping his peas give birth. Which is a real thing apparently. I think he got the idea originally from the sugar snap peas I had in a stir fry, he spent THAT dinner performing C-sections on the pea shells. He has mastered the technique birthing peas. It takes time and focus, gentle massage and lots of not eating of the peas. But he does produce little, shiny peas that are cute. Interestingly enough, the “mama” peas, despite all the time and care, still look nothing like they did before. Rather, they end up shriveled, saggy worn out shells of what they originally were. It’s actually a fairly educational experience.

X-Man decided to follow suit. Why eat the food that your mother so carefully cut up into non-chokeable pieces when there are peas to birth? Unfortunately for the peas, X-Man attended the Edward Scissor Hands School of Midwifery. So, whereas Mac did indeed have a plate full of cute little peas, X-Man had a tray of split pea soup rejects. Don’t get me wrong. They were most certainly split, and then smashed and then spread across the tray.  Of course, X-Man’s OCD did still come into play. So the pea remains were separated into the mothers’ innards and on the opposite side, the smushed baby leavings. With corn protecting the two from the horror.

Not satisfied with the carnage he had produced, X-Man enjoyed his handy work up close and personal. Like peas in the eyelashes close. It’s quite possible that you have not considered how much work it is to balance pea remnants in your eyelashes. But X-Man was not easily deterred. And he did indeed master the practice. His nose did have to remain at a 45 degree angle to the ceiling. He wasn’t performing, rather he was acutely aware that he shouldn’t be doing it and was trying to hide from parental supervision. So he used his arms to shield himself from view. Unfortunately, this resulted in knocking the peas off his eyelashes, which led to shrieks of outrage. This did cause undo parental involvement. At least as far as X-Man was concerned. Sometimes the peas would be knocked upwards, to his eyebrows. This led to other frustrations, as he could see the peas, but knew they weren’t quite where he intended them to be.

Mac appreciated X-Man’s antics. Not for the entertainment value, but instead because X-Man was occupying everyone else’s attention. Leaving Mac to sing quietly to his pea babies.

The most disturbing part of the whole dinner was the fact that it didn’t strike me as odd. Sure I was picky peas out of X-Man’s eyes, while telling Mac to stop singing at the table. Father figure and I discussed something, I’m pretty sure it involved him doing something that he hasn’t done yet….still. The girls attempted to renegotiate later bed times, due to daylight savings. It was routine. I don’t know what that says about my life.