Confessional

Today I made a questionable decision. I had two objectives for the sunshine this afternoon. I planned to get a second planting of peas in the ground, and I intended to get the lawn mowed. The peas could be done with the children in the yard but mowing with a two and a three year old who both take exception to my refusal to pile them on the mower with me is well nigh impossible. With this in mind, I set my hopes on naptime. As any mother of young children can attest to, naptime should NEVER be counted on. Gideon, who goes down easily and sleeps long, chose today to break his pattern and refuse to nap at all. I really try not to hold on to my ‘to do’ list to tightly but…I just could not let the mowing go. When Wyatt got home from school, I left the children putting away their laundry and decided I’d just mow the back yard where the grass had really become overgrown.  About twenty minutes into my mowing I looked up to see my two year old wandering across the yard towards me…covered in blood.

 

First, I screamed. Then, I jumped off the mower and raced over to him. Wyatt followed him out and seemed just as bewildered as I was by the state of his younger brother. “He said he got into Helen’s food,” was the only explanation he could offer. My mind was racing. Gideon seemed unharmed but he looked like a lion cub fresh from a kill.

 

WHAT did he DO?!? He got into Helen’s food, or ate her??

Entering the house did little to calm my nerves. It appeared to be a bloodbath.

 

I called Helen. She came in, perfectly clean and dressed as a pixie.

I followed the trail of blood to it’s origin: a tiny pool on the kitchen table…next to the steak Helen requested for a snack…and a steak knife. (I must be clear here: Helen did not have a steak knife…but, I had cut her steak with the knife and stupidly left it on the counter…apparently within reach of two year old fingers that decided they needed a steak knife to go with their pilfered steak). The next step was to clean up the steak thief and attempt to locate the source of the blood. I found it on his pointer finger, tiny and no longer bleeding.

Mommy may or may not attempt yardwork in the future but she will definitely be more careful with the steak knives!

The Best Laid Plans

Today I was sympathizing with a chicken again. We were both so sure of our purpose for the day…and both so wrong. I woke with determination to avoid the guilt trap that is so often my morning. Every morning I have guilt that I did not get up early enough to make my husband breakfast or send him out the door with lunch. That guilt then transitions into the inevitable guilt over how long I spent over coffee and Facebook and the fact that, no matter what my intentions, it is ALWAYS 10 AM by the time I have little people fed, the kitchen halfway put back together and the obligatory load of laundry in the wash. Today would be different. I rose before everyone and began on Kent’s breakfast. As I tossed last night’s scraps to the chickens I noticed that my broody mama was off her nest, foraging with the rest of the flock. Curious about the state of her eggs,  I peeked under the porch which she had chosen as her maternity ward. This is when I discovered the hen with plans of her own. Summer, Joan’s sister was sitting placidly on her own nest. I had known that one of the other hens was preparing to brood because someone was feathering the nest next to Joan. I had been collecting the eggs on a daily basis though, thus hopefully thwarting the actually brooding of any additional chicks. When I saw Summer puffed around what I was pretty certain had been an empty nest last night, I wondered what she could be sitting on. So I lifted her gently and discovered…a rubber ball. A rubber ball that she had to have placed in the nest herself. Silly chicken. I chuckled and went back inside.

I made up two healthy tuna wraps for Kent and was getting them in the fridge when the troops came downstairs. Instead of the nice breakfast I had planned, the children wanted cereal. That was fine and when they were finished I tossed the remaining cereal out to the birds as well. Gideon and Helen began torturing one another and did not stop until I removed Helen to her ‘thinking spot’ (the guest bed). Kent was late in coming down the stairs, and when he did he only made it as far as the recliner. Well, I guessed he was getting his own late start but that wouldn’t stop me from fueling him with a healthy breakfast. I whipped up scrambled eggs and cinnamon empanadas and was carrying his plate from the kitchen when he bolted from the recliner into the bathroom, where he proceeded to heave over my clean porcelain toilet. He had a migraine. One of only three he’s experienced in his lifetime. Today turned out not to be a day in which the kitchen was clean and the laundry folded and the ‘to-do’ list started before 10 AM. It was a day for shushing wild hooligans while rubbing Daddy’s neck in my jammy pants and daydreaming over kitchen remodels on Pinterest. It was a day for my six year old to read to his littlest sibling to keep him calm and happy. It was a day for the children to get lots of sunshine and outside and the kitchen to stay appalling until naptime.

 

I had been so sure. I awoke with energy, conviction, and purpose…But then again, so did poor Summer. I am about as likely to blossom into the perfect helpmeet and housewife as Summer is to hatch a chick from that silly rubber ball…Ah, but we try. J