If half of the surfaces in your home aren't sticky, then you've got to be doing it wrong.

There are days when I want to punch my husband in the throat.  Those days when he gets home from work, immediately lays down on the couch for "just a minute" and falls asleep in .7 seconds amidst a screamining baby and a toddler yelling Mom, Mom, Mommy, Mom, Mom Mooooooooom.   I've had a lot of those days recently.  Too many.  Its not just your hardworking husband, it the sweet old lady bagging your groceries.  Moving at sloth speed. Doesn't she realize your kid has poop in her diaper and you thought it would be easier to just leave the diaper bag in the car?  For that matter, doesn't she smell it!!?   Or what about at the same grocery you see a girl you used to work with, who also has two small children, but she - she looks immaculate.  Her makeup is perfect, only outshawdowed by how perfect her hair is.  Gah - I want to punch you because I'm so jealous!  (If your reading this and know I'm talking about you I really love you in all your perfectness!!!) 

I'm a work from home mother.  I have a full time career which requires my attention 40 hours of the week.  Granted, I have some flexibility in which 40 hours I choose, but I need to give that much of my time, in order to provide for my family.  My lovely, adorable, screaming, crazy, loud children are with me two of those days.  The other three, they spend their time with the babysitter.  Praise Jesus for babysitters.  And if you are a babysitter (or a teacher for that matter), you should be granted sainthood.  You should have a special place in the next life where everyone else waits on you hand and foot, and designated little children take turns running around after you wiping every surface so its clean and shiny, and free of germs.  

During the days in which I am required to work my office job and parent my children, I am both happy and astounded when they come to an end and my children fall asleep in one piece.  Its at the end of these days that I feel like I have had the entire staff (with animals) of Ringling Brothers at my house, practicing their routines for the show.  How can my children, with a combined weight of under 40 lbs, 1 of them immobile, render me completely useless?  Wanting nothing more than to get under the covers, curl into a ball, and turn off my brain.  I can't explain it. But it's like that, every time.  And then, I sail right into the three day stretch where I receive help, and all is right again.  Granted, on weeks where my husband is out of town and I am required to pack up the diaper bag, get both kids ready, transport them to and from the sitter, work, unpack the diaper bag, feed the kids dinner, bathe the kids, read them a book, put them to bed - you have to understand - I'm sure I look homeless.  These days, I typically have a normal lunch, but my dinner generally consists of a handful of m&ms and 4 pretzel sticks from the couch cushion, which I found trying to frantically find my son's binky he's been crying for.   Who has time for dinner, or showering, when you'd rather sleep?  Sorry if you see me (or smell me) during one of these days.  It is what it is, and I certainly hope that other mothers go through the same experiences, because if not, I am clearly doing something wrong.  If half of the surfaces in your home aren't sticky, then you've got to be doing it wrong.  If your son's favorite game isn't hitting his sister in the head with his hot wheels, you must be doing it wrong.... Right??

"Fun"

As you can tell, I was in the mood for a break.  At the last minute, I scheduled a grandma for an overnight, booked massages and a hotel room for my husband and I, and started packing up an overnight bag for my hellions  angels.  Parker and I were due for a bit of fun, eh?  We had visions of relaxation, followed by (heavy) drinking, a nice dinner, the casino and...wait for it.... a full night's sleep with no wake up call in the form of crying infant.  (Mental Note - invent alarm clock sound of screaming baby and no one would ever hit the snooze button again.)   Our massages went just as expected, and we headed to our room to get snazzy for our dinner then casino.  We made it just in time for the casino shuttle and that's when the real fun began.  *closes eyes slowly and deliberately*.  We boarded, what can only be considered, a stripper shuttle.  Neon lights, poles, bar, curved leather seats.  Perched atop these seats, at least 15 21 year olds, drunk as skunks, screaming over one another. 

I thought I was escaping from children!!   Dont' get me wrong, 21 year old Lindsey would be drunk right along with them, but 30 year old Lindsey spent the beginning of her night trying to curl her hair (and failing) and squishing herself into her Spanx while gulping down 1 glass of wine running out the door.  Appppparently, the good Lord saw it fitting to shove us, literally, into the middle of a 21st birthday party.  Was there really a time when this was enjoyable?? - Parker and my eyes meeting, and thinking the same thing. We wove along the street, during our 2 minute shuttle to the casino, and as we approached, it happened.  Vomit.  One of the little bastards (excuse my french) thought the middle of a packed shuttle bus was a great place to empty his stomach.  Awesome start to our "fun" night.  Somehow, the sight and smell of vomit as a result of too much drinking kinda curbs your desire to get drunk on your only night out for the week.  

We made it to the casino buffet nearing 10pm.  I had a buy one get one free coupon, I mean, how could we NOT go, right?  We ate until we couldn't eat anymore.  I'm pretty sure I had an entire plate full of dessert.  In fact, I know I did, because my Graeter's had to be put in a side cup as I had no room on my plate.  Massages, Check.  Nice Meal, Check.  Now, it was time for drinking so much that even my half curled hair looks amazing- right?  Wrong. Thinking my spanx were about to bust a seam, we sat down at the blackjack table, lost our money in a short while, and left on the vomit bus as sober as when we left our kids.  

My, what a difference 9 years makes.  We were in bed, sleeping, by midnight.  Instead of getting drunk - we were able to wake up early, shop all day at thrift stores and antique malls, and get back home to grill out and see our babies' smiling faces.  This, this is what fun is. Thank you God for slapping me back into reality and what truly makes me happy, even if I don't recognize it that often. 

This is what matters. 

This week

This week, I started to take out summer clothes for my children.  Lyla's closet filled with new frilly dresses, neon tank tops, and strappy sandals - the same size as her brother's.  For Toby, I just needed to unpack his summer clothes and shoes from last year.  They can be reused, one convenience about a child that doesn't grow :) We have 7 more days to wait until we meet back with our specialists for more information.  As that date grows nearer, I grow more anxious to hear the results.  I pray that there is nothing more than what he is already diagnosed with, but I also know we still have more specialists to meet.  More openings for slivers of doubt to be raised.   Please continue to keep Toby in your thoughts as we pass the next few weeks of appointments, and undoubtedly further testing - bringing along with it more sticks and more worries.  Please pray for his comfort and bravery, and for my optimism to remain steadfast. And lastly, please pray that we win the lottery and I can hire someone whose only job is to walk around behind me and my children wiping every surface so its clean and free of germs.  Amen. 

Thank you for Listening
Lindsey