All Before Lunchtime

This morning, my children woke up with a cooperative mindset to rob me of all that is sacred. Or, maybe they just wanted to take my patience. They succeeded.

First, Tucker greeted me at his door, patting a wet spot on the carpet. A leaking, blowout diaper. Awesome. Good morning, Mommy. Grab the paper towels.

At breakfast, nobody wanted what was on the menu. I was offering an array of fruit bars and Cheerios; they wanted bananas. I compromised - everybody got a fruit bar and half a banana. Tucker ate his neatly, but in Tyler's typical fashion, he smashed his half in his fist, oozing through his little fingers. Terrific.

After breakfast, we all climbed the stairs for their extreme makeovers. I no longer get them dressed before breakfast, since I am a fast learner and don't like for them to wear their breakfast all day. As I chose their outfits, Tucker began his most subtle moves, where he backs into Tyler or grazes him as he walks by, knocking Tyler to the ground, but working to maintain his innocence and keep his halo on straight. I'm on to this.

Timeout for Tucker.

I got Tyler dressed. I put him back down, only for Tucker to bash him on the head with the light-up whirly-twirly Nemo.

Timeout for Tucker.

But wait... what's that smell? Diarrhea. From Tyler.

While I was changing him, I released Tucker from timeout. He proceeded to empty the toy basket in Tyler's room and launch each toy into my shin, seemingly as hard as possible.

Timeout for Tucker.

But at least Tyler was clean. I pick him up, set him down on the floor, only for him to make that face and telltale sound. Round two with the diarrhea. Awesome.

When I finished changing him this time, we all moved in to Tucker's room to get him dressed. But he just really wanted to jump on the bed. Nope. We had very different plans for when and how he would obey; I intended that he would obey immediately, but he thought otherwise.

Timeout for Tucker.

And wait... that smell again. I scooped Tyler up onto the changing table. Are you kidding? Didn't I just DO this??

I left Tucker in his room to think about his actions. Think. Think, Buddy. Or really, just be away from Mommy for a few minutes. Think if you want to. But give Mommy a few. Just a stinkin' few. And just a few minutes later, he came out of his room, with his diaper in hand. We have talked about this. Until he is remotely interested in the potty, the diaper stays ON. Ladies and gentlemen, this is maniuplation at its finest. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Timeout for Tucker.

At that point, while I was changing Tyler yet again, the receptionist from my doctor's office called. She was calling to reschedule an appointment I was to have tomorrow, but my doctor cannot be there; he will be in surgery. Bless the woman who will be in surgery, with my doctor's undivided attention. I, on the other hand, need an appointment with him as soon as possible. I suspect I may be taking faulty birth control, and we must change that immediately. As I explained to the receptionist, Lou, I have two children under three, I am sorely outnumbered today and everyday, and I am really not interested in adding a third to their troop at this time. No thank you. Slow down that train.

As Lou and I discussed my very serious need for protection, Tucker released himself from timeout, and he began driving his truck - into my heels. Oh. My. Word.

I'm pretty sure Lou feels like she got more than she wanted to hear, but she was an outlet, she was adult conversation, and she was offering me an opportunity to schedule an appointment with my doctor, whom I love, and where I will not take my children. (What does it say about my mentality when I would rather have a pelvic exam than stay home with my little cherubs??)

Finally, Lou needed to move on to other calls, Tucker was ready to obey and get dressed, and Tyler appeared to be dry for the moment.

Moving on. I wanted to vacuum. Call me crazy.

Feeling worn out from the excessive bowel issues, Tyler was feeling needy and cuddly, so he wanted to stay secure on my hip, along for the ride. As I hoovered the upper floor of our home, balancing Tyler on my left hip, maneuvering the sweeper with my right hand, and kicking the cord out of the way with my foot, Tucker closed the door of each bedroom as I entered it. So I was forever closed in, with a cord that was too short, and a baby who didn't want to be set down.

Lord, have mercy on my soul. And forgive my children. For they know not what they do.

And when Tucker wanted to be in the same room with Tyler and me, the two-man vacuuming wonder, he wanted to play dodgem' with the sweeper. He loves to stand in front of the sweeper, and shriek in delight as it touches his toes. (Aren't kids supposed to be afraid of the monstrous sounds a vacuum makes? Not my fearless little boy. His attitude? Bring it.) So that's fun. Among the other disractions, obstacles, and challenges, I must also keep from running over the little toes that keep planting themselves in harm's way.

I parked the vacuum in our bedroom, determined to finish this task at a later point in the day, when the needs of these short people are fewer... or at least when they are asleep. I moved on to the task of sorting the laundry, because it's Monday. That's what I do on Monday. Not because I am routinized, but because we run out of clothes every week at this time. Every single, blasted, cotton pickin' week. We need more clothes. Or something.

As I sorted through the clothes, still with a baby on my hip, Tucker followed behind me, with his own sorting method. Which looks a lot like Throw The Clothes In a Great Big Pile for Mommy To Sort Out Later. My favorite game.

I looked at the clock... 9:49am. You must be kidding. We cannot even call this midmorning yet, and yet I am ready to call it a day.

And at that point, we went downstairs. I will sweep my floor and wash my clothes another time. It was time for some fellowship with Bert and Ernie.

Thank you, Jim Henson. You know just what I need.

Is it naptime yet??