serenity now. and later, too please.

I was starting to feel like the only time I was blogging was to complain about some crazy day-in-the-life horseshit. In fact, every time I sat down in front of my computer over the last few weeks, I come up with stuff even my dog wouldn't crap on my carpet. It seems that getting the hang of motherhood 2.0 with JG quite often away on business is no good for my creative side. Don't get me wrong, the chaos is still....chaotic. Little brown dog still "escapes" on long neighborhood adventures. I still step on Old Dog's shit on the back porch when I've chosen to step out sans flip-flop for a morning breath of fresh and quiet air. Ladybug had lice for the third time during Kindergarten and JG has been back and forth from the northeast territories for work pretty much every week since the end of February excluding a week's spring vacation. As for Sam...well he is noisier, faster, and let's say curiouser than ever. I see toilet lid locks and a helmet in the near future. (Toilet locks for Mr. Pee Fingers and a helmet for me.)
So, you see, stuff is the same. It just doesn't seem as punch-in-the-gut shocking to me anymore. Could it be that in relation to who I was when this whole two kids debacle began... I am more capable of handling the stress and the spontaneous stuff that ten or so months ago seemed to fly directly and mercilessly at my face?
Have I found a balance in parenthood and Stephaniehood through meditation or a miracle drug called Prozac?
No. I haven't the time to grow a set of balls big enough to ask my doctor (whose name escapes me...or maybe I never really knew it) for drugs to help me. I think I may envy those moms who grip the collars of their physicians and demand HELP because they love themselves and their kids enough to ask. As for me, I have simply let go of my inner control-freak. It was easier than I thought, apparently, because I just now noticed it's happened.
Where I used to change Sam's clothes when any bit of yogurt or blueberry juice touched a sleeve, collar, or crotch of his shorts, I now just say eff it and carry on with the grocery shopping or bus-stop stopping with no regard as to what the other moms think. He is bare-foot and blueberry faced on most outings and I don't even put down a changing pad or blanket under him on the diaper changing station at Target every time. *Gasp. I don't have a floppy seat or highchair cover to hide the swine flu virus or whatever microscopic life-ending bacteria are lying in wait on shopping cart handles or the wooden highchairs at Panera Bread. I dropped the kids at school and got coffee without a diaper in my purse or a package of baby wipes. Nobody stopped and stared at his crusty collar or told me to put socks on his feet. No. And you know why? I'll give you a hint. It's not because people have suddenly learned to mind their own business or stick their great-granny's advice where the sun don't shine. It's not because I wear a t-shirt that says, "go ahead...make my day" (although a shirt like that wouldn't collect dust on a hanger if I possessed it).
It's because he's smiling. His gums are toothless, his cheeks are pink hills of pudge and his eyes sparkle. He points or waves at every stranger who walks by and commands attention simply by being so contagiously happy that not a person we encounter can resist his charms.
And what's more... (what does that even mean? it just came out.) And what's more.... I'm a happier person because I don't care that we may need a diaper we don't have. Or because it looks like snot, but it's yogurt. And I certainly don't care about the off chance that maybe someone is judging me as a mother based on five seconds it took to pass by with their shopping cart/coffee cup/ whatever.
I'm a different person because there is a piece of toast getting remarkably hard next to the sink sort-of filled with dishes and the bed isn't made for the third day in a row while I am currently in an adirondack chair in my weed-ridden back yard. Because we took a mile and a half walk before nap time and let the clothes in the drier get wrinklier. It has taken me exactly long enough to write this post for both dog tethers to get wrapped hopelessly around my ankles and the chair and each other. And at least one of my flip-flops has poop on it. My days are filled with unexpected hurdles and semi-planned structure. And it's finally okay with me. Better than okay. It's fantastic.
This is what life is about. I just figured it out.

clean sheet day

It’s ten-thirty in the morning and my house smells like toast and sounds like a nap.  Standing on the driveway in bare feet, I wave at JG as he leaves in his truck for the airport.  Delaware is the lucky state tonight.  He’ll be back tomorrow.  Before the kids go to bed.   This week will be as close as we get to normal.

The bed clothes smell like hair and dog feet. We barely moved away from the king-sized island for snacks and diet cokes as the pages turned on the weekend’s story.  Ladybug spent the duration of it at her dad’s house soaking up all the splendor a grandpa’s visit had to offer and Sam grew inches during record breaking naps and full nights of uninterrupted slumber.  My husband and I were naked a lot.  Our blinds open in the morning and closed at night.  The pillows got tired of our heads.  The sheets grew annoyed at our mischief.

We rediscovered kissing with a purpose and had whole conversations while showering.  He thinks I look pretty in yellow.  I want to visit my father in Arlington National Cemetery. 

And.

He wants to have another baby. 

……

drawing the line at cat poo

So that thing the dog has been waiting for has finally happened.  Sam learned to throw food off his high-chair tray.  Old Black Dog waited patiently these past nine months.  She started getting excited when we got the chair and set it up in the kitchen.  Is it possible she remembers Ladybug’s chair and associates the thing with snack time? 

And then you could really sense her patience was wearing thin when he was eating baby food that went straight from the spoon to his mouth.  She sat quietly under the chair during every meal for a dog’s eternity.  What’s eternity times seven? Long.  Until FINALLY, the first Cheerio fell with a wholesome click onto the tile. 

Now it’s all I can do to keep her from making eye-contact with the boy before I get a slice of turkey and some blueberries in him.  Because after those big brown droopy things meet up with his baby-blues, the food starts dropping.  And she’s not shy.  His little hands grip chicken and cheese and dangle over the side of the seat just low enough for her to stretch her neck up and ever-so-gently nibble the soggy snacks from his fist.  And he thinks it’s the greatest trick ever.

So sweet.  *sigh 

In fact, I tried to get in on that sweet action.  At the end of the couch was the Old Black one and she snored while I picked a big booger.

{Heeeeere Chope. C’mere sleepy ol’ sleepy-do.}

What? The tissues were WAYYY over on the table at the opposite end of the couch.  And I had just mopped, so flicking it was out of the question. (as if)

{Wakey, wakey old lady bear.  Gotta lil’ snacky-poo for ya."}

One weirdy pink eyelid thingy sagged down and a single loud snore rang out before she heard me and thumped a graying, fuzzy tail.

{There you are, princess stink-breath.  How ‘bout you come get this boogy?}

I beckoned with the index.

She stretched her lazy legs and came down the couch pillows to me and plopped half on top of my waist.  And sniffed.  At the end of my finger was a prize-worthy crust-nugget and she stuck a pink tongue out to sample.  It darted in quickly.

{No, thanks.}

{NO THANKS? What does that mean?}

{Nothing. Just that your booger isn’t appetizing.}

{blink blink}

{No offense. I just don’t feel like booger right now.}

{really?}

{yeah. not boogerish right at this particular moment.}

I surveyed the green thing at the end of my index finger. It was half mushy/half crispy.  Seemed like a dog’s dream come true.  Hell, even my littlest niece would be chewin on such a prime nose nubble.

{wipe}

{Did you just wipe that on my nose?}

{blink blink}

{You know I can’t NOT lick my nose if there’s something on it.  Even if it’s your incredibly UNtasty booger…}

{do it}

{ugh, SLURRRP}

{thank you, princess}

{you’re disgusting}

{you eat cat shit}

{poooooot}