I found my son sitting in the bathroom sink today.
Proud as can be. It's not a big sink, either. But he somehow managed to climb up on top of the
counter and squeeze his overloaded diaper (not to mention his skinny little body) into the shallow, ceramic bowl. A cat looks cramped in that sink, and I would know, because we had a now-evicted feline who loved to lounge in the sinks.
When dutiful Josie reported the transgression, I looked in the bathroom to find him squatting, beaming, in a bowl of lukewarm water, the
faucet running and the sink nearing its capacity.
About an hour later, this same boy yelled, "Mama!" It's my cue to look and see what he's doing. I turned from the kitchen sink to see him standing on top of the couch cushion, just barely holding on by the grips of his stubby little toes. He was ready to plunge.
This was an average day. This was one child. And, I think this
was all between snack time and dinner
time -- about a two hour window.
This is why I'm enjoying a margarita right now.
Since I last wrote, about a billion things have happened. We lost Grandpa Joe -- and miss him every day. Josie sends him balloons and knows that he's in heaven with Michael Jackson and Patrick Swayze (I swear, this is how she explains it).
The day after we lost him, we learned we'd be expecting Lulu, our biggest surprise and much-needed ray of sunshine. She must know it, too. Because it seems all she does is smile and laugh, unless she's pissy and then what can you do?
We've just watched Josie grow, and change and begin to curse. Because, she does.
Just yesterday, we were preparing to go visit a potential preschool for her, and she asks me, "Can I bring all this shit?"
She was pointing to her Disney prince dolls (Prince Charming and Prince Naveen). In my opinion, yes, it's shit. It's too much shit to carry around, if you ask me.
But on the way to a preschool tour? You gotta drop a curse word? Really, Josie?
Oh, the capper. The school is in a church. Priceless.
So people ask how I'm managing with three. And, this is how I'm doing.
I'm trying to keep Dominic (20 months) out of the emergency room. I would not be surprised if he asked Santa for stitches this year, he's so desperate.
I keep soap on the ready to wash out Josie's (3) mouth (even though she is a spitting verbalization of my own language, God love her), and I smile at Lulu (5 months). Because, she's easy.
Somewhere in there I work in a shower. I have to. It would be awful if Josie had to tell me, again, that my armpits were stinky.