It would seem that every day was a little of stretch for me, so we’ll continue with an “as-much-as-I-can” mentality till the end of the month. Already, more writing has been done than in a long time for me, which is the point, anyway. After that, I’ve thought to challenge myself by picking a theme for the month — my house, prayer, Japan, poetry, parenting, books, the church. Anything you want to hear my thoughts on? Spill it in the comments.
Right now, my babies are in the boys’ room, looking at books from three different perches (two beds and a chair), and I decided to sneak away to our bedroom down the hall. Because when I’m present, I get pummeled with the same sort of questions that I’m hit with all day, and my strange-why-question tank is running low by 7p. Dangerously low. And you know what? If I leave, they stop asking questions, and all becomes quiet except for the turning of pages, the tapping of keys, and the round-the-clock chirping of semi.
Ooooohhhhhh, the semi: otherwise known as the mutated, on-steroids sibling of the American cricket. They are singin’ their loud, annoying song twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. Right now, since its May, they are still relatively quiet, perhaps the level that I remember from my childhood in America. Around August, their chorus becomes lethal, and we shut our windows, despite the heat. Sometimes, they wake me up.
I paused to take books away, give kisses, and escort the littlest to her crib. During that short period of time, the requests I handled were numerous enough to reveal that I was near the “don’t-say-another-word-or-I-will-flip” level. It’s never a good place to be. Simple requests make me wanna pull my hair out — its best to just say goodnight in a sing-song voice, ignore all other pleas, and shut the door without looking back. Who cares if they end up hanging from the ceiling? Mommy just. needs. OUT.
I can hear Jones sighing. I just called Bryan to request ice cream on his way home from English class. Ezra has hopped out of bed, and I’m fighting the wild-eyes that are threatening to take over. No one knows what awaits them when they first discover a pregnancy or sign the dotted line of adoption. Parenting is not for wimps. And requires a lot of dairy-and-reality-TV therapy.
I’m going to wait on the couch with my spoon. Come home quickly, love!