Ten Weeks to Go
Any schedule is going to be easy after this.
You remember I said when Ilse was a wee baby that three wasn’t bad yet? Yet came and went. Yet hit me about two or three weeks into Matt’s training. Ilse began moving, Ilse continues to develop her little perky attention-seeking personality, Ilse eats foods and toys and junk off the unmopped floors. She’s a pretty cheerful baby, and she’s sleeping well….this could certainly be a whole lot worse….but three is getting to me. But is it three or is it being the sole authority 5 days out of 7? That is a weighty factor, as well. All three need attention and love and all three want the same toy or space and all three definitely start squawking at same time.
Take a deep breath.
One minute Hans and Jaeger are playing together outside and Ilse is sleeping and the right balance of silence and caffeine comes to me and I get a little thing that had been grating on me done. And I think I’m doing all right. It’s hard, but we’re hanging in there. Ten minutes later everyone — and I mean everyone — is throwing a fit in the living room.
Great. This is great.
I’m tired of being the Mom.
Then Jaeger makes a leap in his physical growth and maturity level and Hans reads and writes some ol’ random thing he sees or thinks of, and Ilse smiles and smiles and coos and pats Jaeger’s head. She gets over into the boys’ business and they tease each other and her lovingly and play around her and distract her and let her have something they can all be happy with her having. Hans and Jaeger sit on the living room floor and have fascinating conversations while they tinker with their toys.
And life is good. I’ve got such great kids. The dishes are done, there’s calm, and I think I’ve got a pretty good gig.
So, how I answer the “how are you doing?” questions depends on which 10-minute segment you hit. The coffee stage? The Tylenol stage? The just stole a moment of peace and accomplished something stage? The “oh goodness, I need a glass of wine and a padded room” stage?
The padded room would be for me, actually. Bright, clean, soft, quiet. Lovely. That’s exactly what I need. Thank you. Please feed the children at regular intervals. I’ll probably return.
So, the answer is, we’re hanging in there. I have grandiose ideas as always….somehow thinking that with lonely evenings I should be able to work on all sorts of little projects….or that without really doing much for meals my afternoons will be more care-free and available…..or that without someone to hold me in bed when my morning-loving personality tries to roll out of bed I will actually consistently get up at unseasonable hours…and get all my housework done before the boys are even up. I don’t know where I come up with these ideas, but the visions dance in my head. They are so lovely there, dancing in my head; I am loth to give them up. I like to dream of them at 4am when I tell myself I’ll get up in an hour — or maybe right now, in five minutes — or not. I like to sit and let them run me ragged, wear me out, there on my couch staring blankly at train tracks and matchbox cars. My head is a nice place to be; much nicer than reality.
And now it’s almost 11pm. Dirty dishes lie in the sink, dried laundry wrinkles in the dryer, the vacuum hasn’t gotten its biannual date with the stairs and hallway, and I like to just assume that the downstairs bathroom is suitable for public viewing (I haven’t gathered first-hand evidence in awhile). And, of course, I have a routine posted on the fridge and several concurrent lists of things I’d like to do and things I should do.
After all, tomorrow …. is another day!
