Just a BlinkProof Time Flies

Welcome Home Pete

Fatigue is just part of the game.

He and I greeted each other with a hug. We st00d in the kitchen, sleeping on each others shoulders, until one of our kids asks to be lifted up into the hug with us. We don’t really rest until 4 other little bodies are completely passed out in their beds.

Even then we’re on call.

Hunger is to be expected.

Dinnertime comes at the same time – everyday.  Try as I may, to get my menu plans in order, sometimes life just gets in the way. What’s for dinner when we are getting ready to leave town, the morning after our son’s birthday party? Pickles, fruit roll-ups and frosting. Awesome.

Good thing Peter is a master griller! He cooked up some meat and made a meal. A nice expression of his love for me – a night off from service.

Family time fills my heart up again.

Inside, I fed the babies their bottles in the living room. Outside, squeals of laughter bounced through the open screen door hitting every square inch of this house. (Yes, I’ll admit, sometimes the squeals of tears loom around the house too.)

I guess it is all the little things, that makes my house a home.

It’s all the little things that I need strength to get through.

It’s all the little things that help me grow into a woman of character.

A familiar breeze, a loving haven, a sad story and a life time of joyful memories that make my heart fill up, time and time again.

The good, the bad, the everyday.

I could carry on about my day -

My salon appointment mix-up after the kids were in bed or How we left the cover off the sand box before it rained (again) or About how the ring I bought was the wrong size and needed returning.

But alas, the evening eventually came to a close. Slumber took me into the next day. And God carried me through yet another day full of life.

Even when my days blend together with driving, wiping, fixing, loving, teaching, yelling and trying; I will cloth myself in strength and dignity.

Love,
Jess

The Rest of our Outings

I used my $2.50 store credit. How could I let the credit expire? It’s like throwing money away, right?

I fed Leah a bottle in her stroller, saved Molly from being smashed inside 4 turning jewelry displays and fielded 3 conversations about “How busy we must be!” I replaced about 14 jewelry items to their proper homes, opened 23 ring boxes that had been snapped shut, and taught Ryan the difference between pearls and white beads.

Finally, I found a clearance fashion ring worth $2.40. Oh, yeah, it was worth it.

Next, off to the Dollar Store! After all, Ryan’s 5 1/2 Birthday party supplies weren’t going to jump over to my house by themselves.

(The twins and I came home from the Hospital on his whole birthday, so we put off his kid party until the Spring. I had six months, but now I had only two days and a family road trip the morning after his party, to prepare.)

Molly convinced herself that we needed to prepare now for her 3 year old party in June. I ignored her repeated requests for pink noise makers, balloons and cookies. Really, she requested everything and everything pink she saw.

I let out, “It’s Ryan’s special day!” as cheerily as I could as she continued with her pleas.

I just kept plotting along, throwing red streamers, golden mini-trophies and juice boxes into my basket, which was now, causing my forearm to feel slightly numb.

On our way to the check out counter, Molly put her foot down. Literally, stomped her foot and exclaimed,

“I want to GO to JUNE’s house!”

Followed by another foot stomp and a even louder exclamation,

“For my PINK-ah-LISH-ous party! Now!”

You may think, at this point, I could have pontificated the virtues of using an inside voice and being self-less. What did I do?

Laugh!

“Who’s house do you want to go to for your party?” I asked surprisingly.

Molly slightly hyper-ventilating explained, “June’s house for my, my, my 3 party.”

I’m quite positive, all the ‘How old is big sister?’ conversations with on-lookers, have gotten her mind a bit cloudy on when her birthday will come along.

I assured her that I will make her pink cupcakes in a few months and gave her a hug.

More importantly, I headed home. Enough outings for one day. I still had to make dinner, make sure all our clothes were clean for our road trip and email my family about Leah and Claire in the Cutest Baby contest for our local paper.

More to Come…

Love,

Jess

The Store

It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s…It’s a mom burning rubber in her minivan to get her child to a bathroom!

Park the van. Whip up the double stroller. Buckle in both babies. Grab two hands. Check to see if I have my van keys. Okay, Operation Commode underway.

Riiing! Just as we reach the door, of the nearest department store, my cell phone blares from the underbellies of my purse. I could have let the phone ring. But, no, I answered it, like a loyal dog.

Thankfully it was my dh, Neat Pete. Even now, as I type, I can’t even remember why he was calling. I muttered something about having a potty emergency. Molly pushed as many automatic door buttons as she could find during my 15 second conversation.

Through the open doors we flew. Passed fundraiser stuffed animals, summer sun dresses and brightly colored patio collections, we flew.

Until, I saw, an end cap with jewelry sets. Oh look, something shiny, I brought us all to a stop.

“Mo-om! Don’t doddle!” urged Ryan. (Where have I heard this before? At least I know something I say makes it into his memory banks!)

Leisure shopping is not in my vocabulary.  Plus, the bathroom beckoned us from the back of the store. The jewelry sets left my attention, as quickly as they had gathered it, and off we went, in search of the bathroom.

I accepted help, to open the bathroom door, from a customer service clerk. So, humbling, I promise you.

The girls and I waited for Ryan, who is now happily situated in a stall. Each and every woman, that passes in and out of the door,  strikes up a conversation or tosses out fleeting inquiries about my family.

“Are those all yours?” they cry. “You must be so busy!” they claim. “I could never do that!” they admit. “Are they identical?” they prod. “I knew twins in my graduating class!” they add.

“It’s a lot of fun!” I respond. I feel like telling them I also have a 5 year old boy, but he’s is pooping in the stall next to you, but I don’t. Cause, I’m sane.

“How old is big sister?” they beg of Molly. They of course are met with a blank stare, filled with wonder. I can see her wheels cranking, Why do all these strange women want to know my age?

To which, I say, “she’ll be 3 in June”.

That’s all it took. Molly began whining and scrambling for the door. I knew my patience was getting thin. I sent a how are you doing pal? over the stall door. He was almost done.

Almost done, isn’t done, when your a 2 2/3 years old middle sister, waiting in a bathroom for too long!

She melted into a whimpering puddle next to my leg. At the same moment, I remembered, I had store credit that would expire unless I used it by, of course, that very day.

Back to the jewelry department!

Part 4 – coming soon

Love,
Jess

Preamble, here. Part 1, here.

The Park

The kids and I unleashed ourselves onto the crowded park area like a breaking dam. Sun, slides and freedom! In case hunger were strike at a moments notice, I was armed with a cooler full of hummus, flat bread sandwich thins and clementine oranges.

White puffy clouds, cool breeze and green grass = Bliss

I soaked in the freshness of the air and sipped on my warm coffee watching my big kids run and climb. I felt ‘with-it’ (I was wearing my new sunglasses after all) and prepared (no need for fast food here), a great feeling, to be at peace, in the hubbub of the day.

We ate while the babies slumbered away in their double stroller. Hummus proved to be no substitute for pb&j. Ry and Molly ate plain bread and didn’t complain! The oranges refreshed our dry palettes.

Swinging time! Molly held her feet and legs straight out of the swing a hollered, “Look Mom! I’m pumping!” So cute. We even had Claire in a baby swing. Very fun.

Then I heard Ryan say, “I have to pee…real bad!” This declaration was accompanied by a crossed legged, crotch-hold stance. I knew I had no time. I told him to run to the bathroom within my eye shot.

He ran.

Then he ran back with a frenzied whisper, “It’s locked!” I whipped off my new ‘with-it’ sunglasses to squint and clearly read the sign by the door. CLOSED FOR SEASON

What season does it have to be to hire someone to maintain toilet paper? Ack! I can see Ryan’s eyes darting around, silently screaming, surely Mom has a key to the bathroom.

In the distance, I see a city truck slowly creeping along the road in front of the park. It looked as if it were patrolling dandelions or dirt on the curb. I wanted to scream, give us the key, he doesn’t even need to wipe! But, alas, the truck was too far and most likely only had weed killer in the truck.

So like every strong mama I slugged down my now tepid coffee to empty my to-go mug, snatched Leah’s baby blanket and latched onto Ryan’s hand. We ran for the nearest tall bush. You can fill in the rest from here. Let’s just say, the city worker won’t need any weed killer for that bush.

As we returned to the double stroller, I murmured a quick prayer. Please don’t let me forget later what my to-go mug was used for just now.

Crisis solved. I saw a fellow mama park goer flash me a dry smirk, as she had likely been there, done that.

More play time in at the park was enjoyed by all.

Until, I heard, “Mom, I have to poop…real bad!”

Off to the nearest store front…part 3 coming soon.

Love,

Jess