Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Joyful Noise

The sweet cherubs have spent the whole day whining and slamming doors. Please tell me boys don’t slam doors. I can’t handle much more door slamming.

Here’s a list of our activities for today so you can tell me what a cool mother I am.

5:45 AM--I’m awake and nursing the baby.

6:15--I sit with Swimmer One while she gets dressed, then hang out with her while she eats and waits for her ride to practice.

By 8:00 I have put ingredients in the bread machine for sugar sweet white bread, have made banana bread, and awakened 2 Sleeping Beauties with a song and gentle hair stroking. We’re out the door, on our way to get Finished with Swimming One. Sleeping Beauties eat bagels and cream cheese on the way.

By 9:00 I have distributed Swimmer and Sleeping Beauties at the rec. center where the Sleeping Beauties will become Swimming Beauties--they have lessons. I have taken our car pool kids to their various destinations and allowed them to listen to their favorite radio station, which happens to be hip-hop. I love hip-hop. But not at 8:45 AM.

9:45 we’re on our way home from swimming. Chores for the day: weeding, bedrooms (mom-clean, not shoved-under-the-bed clean), and either: cook dinner, sweep kitchen or book rescue (find hidden books and return them to their loving homes).

11:00 Lunch--cantaloupe and a slice of fresh sugar sweet bread.

1:00--Oldest Tween gets dropped off at a party, and Friend comes over to play with 7 year old .

3:00--Oldest gets picked up. All 4 girls get sunscreened, put in swimsuits and are given the run of the backyard. They make a swamp. Then a river. Then a lake. Right in front of the back door. I wave at them and tell them how impressive it is to use the rocking horse as a bridge. I laugh at their muddy bottoms, which they wave joyfully. But then tragedy strikes. 7 year old has the audacity to actually spray 11 year old with the hose. 11 year old has to scream and stomp inside, tracking mud along the way.

4:30--Remaining 3 girls want to come inside. So I tell them to hold still while I spray the sun-hardened mud off of them. Of course, this results in angst, tears and fuming. But I get over it and eventually allow them inside. Once the mud is off.

5:00--11 year refuses to ever speak to me again because I don’t love her. She knows this because I have, once again, asked her to clean her room. Something smells rotten. Could it be the moldy towels on the floor? Or the spilled can of juice? Or the dirty clothes shoved behind the bookcase? Or the bunny pee on the floor? I seriously consider calling CPS--maybe they could threaten her with a foster family if she doesn’t clean up the toxic dump which she calls a bedroom.

6:00--husband walks in. I hand him Baby and inform him that Oldest Moody One is in charge of dinner.

6:30--Oldest One gets out of the bathtub, in which she has deposited all of her mud without wiping it out, and toys with the idea of making dinner. Good thing her father is home or I might have taken myself out to eat and left the rest of the lot to fend for themselves.

7:00--We drive around looking for a lost cat. Not ours. If I had actually lost a cat, I would not look for it. Looking for lost pets is officially on my “Do Not Enjoy” list. Especially cats, who are much more clever than dogs when it comes to hide and seek.

8:00--All the girl-children are in bed.

9:00--They finally fall asleep. I hate Summer Solstice.

9:30 PM--I finally shower. You’re welcome.

10:30 PM--I’m in bed. Not asleep, of course, because it’s my night to listen for Sometimes Sleeps Through The Night.

4:30 AM--I’m awake and nursing Did Not Sleep Through The Night

6:15 AM--Husband wakes me up to ask me a question and if I had a knife, I would have stabbed his eyes out. I’m just that gentle and loving recently.

I really need some Prozac. Or Vicodin. Vicodin would work, too.

Sunday, June 20, 2010


5:00 AM on a Saturday. 11 year old brushes her teeth, gets her swimsuit on, and sits, bleary-eyed, at the table pretending to eat bread.

We are in the midst of swim season.

And now I know why I never took up swimming. Well, that and the fact that I hate putting my face in the water.

Even though I doggie paddled my way through that section of gym, I do have a general understanding of swimming. But on Saturday, I watched my daughter do a medley where she swam one length each of the breast, back, butterfly and freestyle. And, she swam 200 meters of freestyle. That’s 8 pool lengths, my non-chlorine friends. I ask, could you swim 8 pool lengths (the long way, not the short way) without stopping? I could not. In fact, if I were being chased by Jaws, which often happens, I would have to pray that James Bond would rescue me, which could also happen (not Roger Moore. Who wants Roger Moore to rescue her? Who believes that Roger Moore is even capable of rescuing someone? If I had to choose between Roger Moore and Jaws, I’d choose Jaws.)

I was never good at anything that amounted to a recognized sport. So it amazes me that my genetic offspring is not only willing, but excited, about getting her face in the water 6 days a week. In fact, that isn’t enough, because when asked what she wants to do for fun, she says, “Go swimming!” I can honestly say I have never once in my memory wanted to go swimming. Unless I had a cute new swimsuit and thought a cute new boy would be there. Even then, I didn’t actually want to swim. That would have messed up my hair.