Now that the professor is basically finished with his first year of teaching in the frozen tundra, our home life has morphed into a state of (even more) lazy chaos. Most days find at least 50% of the residents in our home wearing their pajamas until well into the afternoon. These days, the Hen is taking his late morning/early afternoon nap wearing the same outfit he went to sleep in the previous night. On Saturday afternoon, as our (parental) irritation level reached the red alert stage, I told Jason ‘we need to get out of the house.’ He looked at me curiously. ‘You realize, only two of us are actually dressed, right?’ As he cast an accusing glance at me..still in my pajamas…and the Hen, wearing a onesie. (So instead of going outside we made pancakes and counted down the minutes of the remaining three hours until the boys could be put to bed.)
I mean if you’re just packing trying to pack what’s the point of looking nice?
The only positive of moving house for the second time in 9 months is that at least I didn’t have to do the packing the first time around. (That, and we’re moving to a place with a dishwasher.) It took a group of 4 adults about three hours to pack up my entire house last August. It has taken me several weeks, and I’m nowhere near finished. Maybe that’s because those professional packers didn’t have two small unpackers underfoot. There was no one frolicking in the crumpled paper, making ‘nests’. No one getting into the art that was put aside for packing only to break the glass on a frame into a thousand pieces. No one capitalizing on their mother’s diverted attention by doing completely absurd things…like dumping gold glitter onto the kitchen floor, or taking long strands of uncooked spaghetti and breaking them into tiny pieces to use as ‘cargo’ for toy cars. Or taking an open bag of chocolate chips and sprinkling them all over the carpet.
I’ve since learned if Mr. G is darting in and out of a room, looking at me while laughing hysterically…it means his brother is somewhere doing something he is not supposed to. Aided and abetted by our oldest.
In celebration of Mother’s Day the Hen decided to wake up at 4am. As I walked the few steps down the hall to his bedroom, rehearsing all the arguments and refusals I would bestow on this ridiculous 20 month old, I decided to take along some water in case he was thirsty. He readily accepted the glass and lay down in his crib. Home free, I thought. Mistakenly. Several minutes later he could be heard talking to himself in his crib. I lay in my bed and hoped he wouldn’t start crying again. He must not have because I eventually drifted off to sleep. Only to be awakened by my oldest coming in for his 6am ‘snuggle’. Eventually Jason did as fathers everywhere did on this special day…got out of bed to go make me some breakfast, taking the kids with him.
When I came downstairs an hour or so later, there were cards on the table for me. The writing on one was particularly ‘authentic’ looking. ‘Did, G write this?’ I asked incredulously. ‘Well, he did the I’s and the A’s….so I had to squeeze in the remaining letters around those. ‘ It explained the strange looking M’s.
After lunch, the non-napping G came into my room to show me some ‘treasures’ he’d found. He got a little rowdy and ended up injuring me. I sent him out of the room. Disgruntled, he proclaimed: ‘I’m not going to snuggle with you for two nights!’. If only he really meant that he’d be canceling my 6am wake up call for the next two days – I could find it within myself to be okay with that. He continued on to his brother’s room where he relayed the breaking news to him too: ‘I’m not going to snuggle with my mom for two nights.’
At church today, the Pastor sincerely likened the love of a mother to God’s love for us. He went on to say, ‘but God loves us even more than our mothers (love us).’
I think we were supposed to be ‘blown away’ by that revelation. Not me. All I could think was, thank goodness for that! I’d hate to think my current state of impatience was somehow the pinnacle of love.