*For all those that chose to be offended by the title, I’m not seriously comparing myself to Jesus.
Pierce came wandering into my room sometime in the middle of the night. He crawled up in bed with me, but I was too tired to put him between daddy and me. I snuggled with him like my very own teddy bear, only he was hot and I kept worrying I would go into a deep sleep while he rolled off my bed. However, he kept startling and sitting up, so I guess I didn’t really need to worry about me sleeping too deeply to keep him from falling out of bed. Eventually he passed out, and I was about to, from the human hot water bottle pressed up against my pre-menopausal body. This was a great opportunity to scoop him up and put him back in his bed. So I did…without any mishaps. Back to the cool sheets of my bed and the hot spot he left behind!
Then Pink Eye shows up at 5:30 or shortly before and lies down on the floor. Daddy had to get up about that time to get to work earlier than usual today, so I told Mikey to crawl into bed and sleep for a little while longer (like an hour?) Hopefully, by inviting my kid and his pink nastiness to spread all over mine and dad’s pillows, we will be able to sympathize with his itchy, weeping, orb. And by hopefully, I mean “hopefully NOT.”
Shortly before 6am, Pink Eye is asking “Can we go eat?” His standard daily request that happens earlier than I prefer all too often. By a gracious turn of events, Greg is up before me, so I told Mikey to go find dad and get him to pour a bowl of cereal. Now BEAT IT!!!! This worked great for another 10 minutes or so. Then he found my phone and Talking Tom. I tried to ignore the hollering, screaming, and mimicking frolicking up and down the hallway outside my OPEN bedroom door. THEN dad brings me a whiny sad tot—basically the cherry on top of my crappy sundae! Time to get up.
Now it’s 7:30 and I spent a good 20 minutes staring at a blank screen trying to put an amusing spin on NOTHING, and this is what I’ve got. Meanwhile, as I sit in the little tv room with my computer on my lap, Mikey makes periodic entrances and exits from the room, grabbing toys to take to the living room, however nothing comes back with him…stuff just leaves…like puzzles and blocks. I’m afraid…frankly, I’m terrified! What sort of toy tornado has swept through the living room?
I told him to go start picking up. Here is his response: “I can’t do it by myself—it’s too much. Can you help me?” (me) “No, I am trying to write a blog post about you guys, and frankly, your just not that interesting these days.” (Mike) “Well, if you won’t help, than I’m not going to clean up.” (me) “Well, if I have to pick those toys up, they will go into the garage with the three boxes of cars from two weeks ago.” (Mike) “If there are 4 or 5 boxes of toys out there will you give them away (to some other little boy who listens to his mom?” (me) “Maybe.”
I suggested that maybe he could go and just pick up the puzzle for starters, so he did. Now he’s resting in the chair across from me, because that was such an endeavor. He asked me if “we” would pick up the rest later—“like after we come back from the zoo?” I said, “No, you will pick them up later—in like 10 minutes.” (Mikey honestly questioning) “Are you kidding, mom?” (me) “No, they are going to be cleaned up before we go to the zoo!” (Mike) “Are you really kidding—are you just teasing? I can’t do it, because I am still little.” I really at a loss for how many ways I need to say that the living room needs to be cleaned up before I pile all of their toys into the “orange” fire pit, squirt on some lighter fluid, light a match and break out the marshmallows.
All I know, is that both boys are still sitting here in the room watching TV with the glazed over look that represents how I feel this morning, and Fland-lord, the cat is sitting on the arm of my chair staring at me like I’m late on the rent and various other obligations he has foisted upon me.