Here You Go, Mommy.

It has occurred to me that I paint a rather rosy picture of parenthood. Kids are cute, they say funny things, they have an interesting view of the world, and I truly love being with them. But, some days--and even some weeks--are hard. Some days you just don't want to provide 3 healthy meals and 3 healthy snacks. You don't want to get up every 3 hours in the night. You don't want to play Candyland for the 100th time in one day. Some days I have thought that I could not stand to hear my own voice one more time, especially saying things like, "Don't touch her! Stop screaming, please! Eat it. Just try it. Find your shoes. Shoes! Now, shoes!"

Parenting gets tiring and repetitive and frustrating. And yet, even when I have one of those days, I am completely in love with Garrett and Mary. Even on those days when I'm ready to bolt out the door in search of a tavern the minute Chris comes home, I'm contemplating the possibility of having a third baby. To illustrate this strange dichotomy, I will tell you about the events of the first week of December.

After a weekend of ice storms, during which the four of us stayed home and did not go outside at all, lest we slip and kill ourselves on the sidewalks or roads, the kids had a nasty case of cabin fever. They were tired of me and I was tired of them. When you have kids, you don't take advantage of the nasty weather by making a nice cup of tea and watching all your favorite Christmas movies. You watch Aladin....again. And Again. You watch Baby Einstein, Shapes and Colors. You don't decide that it's a good time to wrap those Christmas gifts because as soon as you leave your station to get some more tape, the scissors have gone missing, the paper is torn, and someone is whining about wanting their own present. So, by Monday you're wishing that you had Aladin's magic carpet and could direct it toward the nearest sound proof location.

We chose this particular week to take down Mary's crib (it was broken) and have her start sleeping in a big girl bed. Mary had other ideas, like screaming at the door and throwing everything that she could get her hands on around the room. Currently, the only way she will go to sleep in her bed is if we go to sleep with her. So much for saying night-night at 7:00. Now we say night-night at 8:00 and we have to take a nap. Clearly, I'm doing something wrong.

In an effort to solve the bed dilemma, I called a few of my fellow mommy friends to ask them how they managed to get their toddlers to accept the big bed (Garrett never had a problem with this). I called my friend Anna who had successfully moved her daughter (who is 3 months younger than Mary) to a bed. As we were talking about this, I noticed that Mary was scratching at the back of her diaper. She is prone to rashes. While listening to Anna's wisdom, I asked Mary, "Mary, do you need a didee change? Didee? Mary, yoo hoo, didee?" She said, 'No, no, no mommy," and ran away. Suit yourself I thought and continued to talk to Anna. Because of the cabin fever problem, I had moved a variety of toys to the living room because were all sick of the playroom and it's offerings. We all sat in the living room, playing and chatting... and scratching. Anna and I were discussing the rapidly approaching due date of her third child when Mary came up to me, put something in my hand and said, "Here you go, Mommy. Oh, no mommy. It's yuck." I seriously thought she had handed me a wad of dried out playdough, extracted from the toys in the room. I absentmindedly moved it around in my hand, trying to figure out how the playdough had retained some of it's moisture.

AND THEN, an unbelievable stench wafted up to my nose and to my shock and horror I realized I was handling poop, which Mary had lovingly extracted from her diaper! I shouted, "Oh my God! Oh, no, OH YUCK...." Anna asked, "What's wrong?" I said, "I have to go, I'm holding poo!" I dropped the phone, grabbed Mary with the poo-free hand and raced us both to the bathroom. I had to clean her hands, my hands, and everything she could have possibly touched while I was on the phone, and change the blasted diaper. And to make matters worse, I only had fifteen minutes to clean it up because we had a play date arriving on the hour. The cursed smell followed me around all day even though I was sure I got all of it. It haunted me.

The next day, I was talking on the phone again, trying to arrange a play date for Garrett. Suddenly, I became very disturbed by the lack of sound coming from Mary. I asked Garrett, "Where's Mary?" He said, "Uh, I don't knooowww. I think she's going potty." I look in the bathroom (she had closed the door to ensure some privacy), and there she was playing in the toilet. Thank you, Garrett for not flushing when you used the potty because now Mary is playing in pee water. Her sleeves were wet, her socks were wet where she had dripped water, and all of the toothbrushes from the bathroom had taken a dip! The worst offense of all was my soiled Word Wealth book, which is my favorite text book of all time. I had it in high school, recently rediscovered it when I visited Martinez, and have kept it in my bathroom if perchance I have the opportunity to learn a new word and all it's wonderful uses, opposites, and related words. Hell hath no fury like a stay at home mom with a penchant for learning who has suffered an attack on her treasured trove of words!!! Mary saw the scorn on my face and simply said, "Oh no, Mommy. What happened? Ohhhh nnoooo."

I plucked Mary out of the bathroom by her dry arm, stripped her down, saying, "No playing in the toilet! Bad Mary!" I got her a new set of clothes and frantically tried to dress her because naturally when all of this was happening, I had about 10 minutes to get Garrett to preschool. Once I got Garrett to school, I kicked myself for forgetting that Thursday's are show and tell day and I forgot to send Garrett to school with an item to show and tell. I wonder how he would feel about discussing his hat?

In addition to many lost hours of sleep due the crib change, several terrible bodily-waste episodes, and general impatience by all--thanks to the weather, there was one more complication during this week. It was time for me to do my bi-annual pee test. For those of you who are unaware of this little ritual of mine, I shall explain. I have to pee into a container for 24 hours twice a year so that my doctor can determine how much copper I get rid of on an average day. I must collect every drop, or the test is not viable. And it must be refrigerated. You can imagine the elegance we experience in our home when we open the fridge for a tasty snack or beverage and have to confront my pee while we weigh our options. I hate doing this test. I am homebound because I have to pee near my refrigerated container. No exceptions.

After I picked Garrett up from preschool on Thursday, we went home to spend the rest of the day near my jug. I did manage to step out in the evening to go to a friends house for a little chit chat and reality tv, which was a welcomed relief from my trying week. After a blissful two hours of adult company, I went home to make my deposit and go to bed. The next morning I planned to take my container to the lab before Chris left for work and then jet back to the house to pick up Garrett and Mary and then jet to Garrett's occupational therapy session.

It was another long night with the big girl bed battle and we all slept a little late. There was 3 inches of snow on the driveway which had to be dealt with, so Chris worked on clearing a path out of our driveway. In the meantime, a lost dog wandered into our driveway and I managed to get a phone number off of his tag. I called the owners and it turns out they are are currently in Maryland, but their parent was looking after the dog. Golly, he must have chased a squirrel or something and ran away. They used their phone to call dad. Dad would put on his shoes and coat and come right over. Meanwhile, Chris was holding onto the dogs collar and petting it so that it would not run away again. Turns out the dog had some sort of fecal problem of his own and Chris had to remove the offensive odor from himself before going to work. What this all amounts to is that I could not take my container into the lab before Garrett's occupational therapy. I decided I'd just have to solve that problem later. With the smelly dog returned to his owner, and a fresh husband, we took off for our destinations.

After OT, God gave me a gift. Her name is Amy and she offered to have Garrett over for the entire afternoon. Oh, what bliss. What joy! I immediately surrendered my son to the angel and set off for home to get my pee. This was great. It would be ever so much easier to turn in my pee with one child than two. With my jug in hand, I set off for the lab. Mary and I parked in the parking garage and I strapped her in the stroller. I then cleverly attached the bag that held my container to the back of the stroller and set off for the building. There is some construction at the hospital, so we had to take a detour around the garage, which was a longer, colder walk, but what did it matter? No problem. Much better to do this with one child than two and I am a person who likes to count her blessings.

To my great relief there was no waiting at the lab and I eagerly approached the counter with my offering. I looked into the bag to get the container. Once again, to my shock and horror, somehow the contents of my container had escaped into the bag! Thank God I chose a strong bag with no holes. My hard earned, sacrificial sample was sloshing around in the bag. The lab tech looked at me like I was hopeless. I felt hopeless. I had heard sloshing during the trek from the parking garage, but I thought everything was contained in the CONTAINER. What kid of cheap lids do they put on these things? All I could do is look at the lab tech and ask her for a new container.

As if that wasn't enough, I decided to go ahead with my blood work and got a young blood-drawer person who revealed that she is an identical twin. I can't help myself in these situations. I said, "Me too." She said, "Oh, are you identical." I said, "Yep." She said, "Does your twin sister have kids too?" I said, "Nope, she died. We were 19." She gave me what I call the maximal look of pity and started to tell me how close she is to her sister, how she can't imagine ever not having her, she had had a brother too, and he died, so she can kinda imagine what that would be like, but gosh, her sister, she just didn't know how that would be. She has considered renting a house in her sister's neighborhood, but maybe that's too close. "Whaddya think?" I told her, "I understand that it's hard to know where the boundary should be between her and her sister and that it's good to stretch your independent muscles now and then." I thought my blood would never fill those tubes quick enough.

I'm a tough cookie, if I do say so myself. But, sometimes I just cannot stand feeling like a survivor. In that lab, with my lost pee, and the feeling of the blood going out of me, and my empty stomach making my head feel light, and the happy, conflicted twin going on about her twinness, and the knowledge that I would have no time to myself and no twin sister to call and make it all seem like a funny story, I actually felt the tinniest bit sorry for myself. Mary started to cry and fidget and the nurse gave her a Mickey Mouse sticker, which she dropped 3 times on the way back to car. She cried, "Mickey, mickey, mickey! Oh, no, lost it." Every time I doubled back to look for the sacred sticker. Mickey, Mary, and I all made it home and then God gave me another gift. Mary went to sleep in her big girl bed without crying and slept for 2 hours.

That night I went to dinner and wine tasting with a friend and I felt pretty lucky to have the opportunity to end my week on such a nice note.

In tomorrow's edition of this story, I will tell you about why, despite the frustration, I still think I have it pretty good!