The Next Day...

Robb is home for about four hours, in between business trips. (Okay, 48 hours. But it is fleeting.)


On our family playdate to McDonalds tonight, he said, "By the way, I moved my chair this morning to retrieve a coaster that someone had thrown under there. The whole corner is covered in oats."


I'm not surprised. That episode will stay with us for a long time.

I can smile about It now. A Little.

So, yesterday.

I was gathering things for a morning at the park, packing a picnic lunch and making one quick phone call. While I was on my cell for less than two minutes (honestly, no more), Tyler snatched a canister of oats from the pantry, poured them all over the living room carpet, and enticed Tucker to join him in the smear campaign.

Oats. Everywhere.

I am sorry to tell you: I became boisterously angry. I screamed. I stomped my feet. I showed maternal wrath they had never seen before. I put on quite a display.

But first, I took pictures. Because even in a rage, I know a good blog post when I see one.

They don't look particularly amused, do they?

That's because they are afraid for their lives and our family as they know it.

In this next picture, you can see the pervasiveness of it all... on the floor, in the carpet, on and in my coffee table. (And you may also notice the canister of chow mein noodles sitting on the coffee table. That was their next plan of attack, had I been on the phone for another 15 seconds.)

Oats are like confetti. It's nearly impossible to clean it all up.

Those teeny bits seem to multiply in the cleaning process.

Just for perspective, look at this picture.

We're not talking about a small pile; we're talking about lots and lots of Quaker's finest.

I felt like I was airing a commercial for our vacuum cleaner, as I swept it all away. 'And look! The Boss can scoop up cups and cups of oats, even mashed into thick carpet! And if you call now, we'll add a bottle of valium and a book on parenting. For just nine easy payments, this too can be yours."

We were a half hour late for our park play date, and when we finally arrived, I realized our menu for three consisted of an apple, a ZipLoc of Sunchips, and two rice cakes.

Sorry, guys. Hope you filled up on your brunch of dry oats while you had your chance. Mommy left the rest of your lunch at home with her remaining portions of patience and grace.

The boys ran themselves crazy at the park, which was the best thing for all of us. Tyler didn't even make it to the van before naptime hit.

And I didn't try to fight him on it. I let him fall asleep, and his brother followed suit shortly after I buckled him in his carseat. I carried them to their beds, and then I crashed into mine. Naptime all around. We all earned it, for very different reasons.

There is a deep, deep exhaustion that comes from such a day. And it lasts a long, long time.

If you'll excuse me... I have to go run my vacuum again.

Enriching = Exhausting

My children spent the morning painting pictures and playing in the dirty dishes.

(Which is a reason to delay washing them.)

A lot of me wanted to intervene, since just one toddler experience with watecolor paints means that they no longer are distinct in their colors, but washed together and not quite so brilliant. Especially poor, poor yellow.

Two painted masterpieces later,

we cleaned up the spilled water on the table and the paint off the walls.

And about those dishes... well, any degree of water play makes for excessive bubbles and puddles on the floor.

Good thing I have invested in a solid collection of highly absorbent towels.

**************

“One of the sad realities of being a parent is

that the same stuff you know is

exciting, educational, and enriching

in your child’s life is often

messy, smelly, and exhausting

to deal with.”

~Joyce Maynard

Choose Your Battles.

Tucker's current favorite in the realm of animated television is the VeggieTales movie, Dave and the Giant Pickle. It's a parody of the story of David and Goliath, portrayed with a wise cucumber, a narrating tomato, an army of french peas, a very brave asparagus, and of course, a giant pickle.

It's his favorite. He simply calls it, "Giant Pickle."

(Which is greatly improved from what he used to call it: "Dite Booger." Try explaining that one to the passerby at the grocery store, who falls prey to Tucker's sketchy storytelling.)

It's not so much Tyler's favorite. He is really rather scared of that towering pickle. As Dave winds up with his stone in his slingshot, Tyler runs into the kitchen and watches from around the corner. Better to take cover as the Giant Pickle falls to the ground... you never know when he could come to life and crash through the TV. The kitchen is a safer bet.

Everyday after his nap, Tucker requests another viewing of the Giant Pickle. Every single day. Without fail. One more time.

Yesterday, in one of my lesser moments, I decided to persuade him to choose a different show for his post-naptime entertainment. He had already watched Giant Pickle that morning, and every day this week, I reasoned. There are many other choices. Time to expand the repertoire.

As his sadness increased and the meltdown commenced, I stuck to my guns. Nope. No Giant Pickle today. Choose something else.

(Until this thought crossed my mind: Wait just one minute, there, SuperMom. Of all the things for him to crave, he really wants to hear a Bible story. Yet again. You're wise to cut him off. Absolutely. Rein that one in before it gets too far out of control. No more Bible stories after naptime. This is definitely a hill to die on.)

Giant Pickle won again.

(I just needed a healthy dose of Perspective.)