I wrote a Christmas letter last week and it reminded me how much I love writing. Whet my appetite really. So I’m back. I think. But no promises. Why? I have committed to a no promises policy for this stage of my life. Here’s why.
Raising four boys is a bit like gambling. You start off a day with plans, or at least ideas, of what will happen. But really, you have no idea. None. Who knows what the day will hold.
For example, you may start today with breakfast. That, at least, is predictable. Until someone, who is five, decides to be silly with their cereal bowl while holding a cup of milk. Spoiler alert, the milk spills. But we don’t cry over spilt milk, right?! Yet, do we cry over the spilled cereal with milk of the three year old that happens moments later? No. Because we are optimistic and the day is just starting. Messes can be cleaned!
Other plans take longer to unravel, like deciding to bring your potted geraniums in for the winter for the first time. You keep them safely watered and well for two months on a table in the porch. Then, after breakfast one day, today, the one year old pulls one off the table, onto the floor and himself, begins crying and runs through the house to find you, leaving a trail of moist soil.
Soon after, you realize the 7 week old wet through his entire outfit and the one year old has significant diaper rash due to an undiscovered bowel movement.
Another crisis arises. Let’s just say it’s hard to explain to children how it is unethical to always trade something inferior for the superior, when the smaller brother doesn’t know better. Even when the items in question are santa and christmas tree pencil erasers. It is incredible how long the debate can last. Even when it is over, there are times you question who really came out victorious and if you made any headway in explaining that living purely for yourself is wrong.
Returning to the other children, you find one in the bathroom trying to remedy the error of pooping in his pants. Never let a small child try to remedy this error on their own. Once finished wiping down the vanity, toilet, wall, and floor with disinfectant wipes, cleaning the derriere, and replacing the previous underwear and pants, it was time to nurse the screaming infant.
Remarkably all this can happen between the hours of 8 and 1. But then it’s naptime. Once the smaller two are snuggled in, the older two and I read books for a bit. We giggle and read a scientific book about states of matter, that I learn from myself, followed by a Spongebob book, that makes me cringe.Then they throw their arms around me and kiss me.
Once they are tucked away for sleep or at least quiet play time, I fold laundry and make cookie dough. Because I’m crazy enough to bake cookies with these wreakers of havok, though we will have Nana along for back up. While I work, I hear the vacuum and see a silly five year old sneak the mop cleaner while warning me not to look in his room because he is working on a surprise.
Nope. I don’t make promises, because things rarely go how I plan. Sometimes there is a chasm between reality and my hopes. Would I trade it? Never. Because even though my world sometimes does appear to be upside down, it’s exactly how it’s meant to be. My only promise is to love my hooligans and keep them alive and fed. But I do love writing. So I am back. Probably. When I can sneak a moment or two.
Your World Upside Down 