I dragged four baskets of laundry up from the basement and began folding. It was the quiet hours of the day, before the kids are fully awake or awake at all.
But they always know how to find me. As they bound down the stairs, asking for a cup of juice, a cup of milk, a bowl of cereal, I strain to hear the words of the Bible teacher. Words I desperately need to hear, encouraging me from the book of Ezra.
Someone, a small sprite, pounds on the bathroom door the whole time I'm in the shower. She knows instinctively when a door closes and she's been shut out. And she hates to be separated from me.
Someone is moody all morning long, and it's not me. The glass isn't even half empty, it's just plain empty with this child on this day. Talking things out, taking a Break, giving consequences doesn't curb any of the negativity. A plate of pretzels with a scoop of peanut butter seems to do the trick, though.
I'm accused of breaking promises, like "You said maybe we could read this book after we were done!" This child doesn't understand the operative words maybe and done.
We have one stellar potty trained toddler in the house, the one (out of three) that I didn't have to coerce, threaten or bribe into giving up diapers. Every time she uses the potty, which is often because she drinks a lot, she completely disrobes. And would then like to do one of three things. One- run around the house naked for at least a minute. Two- pretend she wants to get dressed then refuse to let me help her. She laughs, I try to play along. But I've got two kids sitting at the table with a book I threw haphazardly before them as I ran to try to prevent #1 from happening. Three- painstakingly dress herself while I wait pseudo-patiently.
Nap time doesn't happen. Not for Potty-girl, anyway. I lay down with her and find myself falling asleep, however. It's only 2 pm. Can a young thirty-something like me really be this tired already?
The day is only half over. What adventures await in the other half?
