Everybody's on Vacation.

Today begins a weekend getaway with Robb's family. We have all escaped to the mountains together, for three days... six adults, three children, and three labradors in a mountain house. Good thing the house is spacious.

We are a bundle of memories waiting to happen.

When our family goes on vacation, everyone goes on vacation. That means me, too. That means most bets are off, some rules don't apply, and my kids can bend the routines.

Some things are consistent, like kindness, respect, and seatbelts.

But other things... like bedtime routines and balanced meals? Not as much.

For example, I let Tucker watch a movie during his nap today. Why? Because it's vacation. It's fun for him, and let's be honest... it was easier on me.

The boys have their own bedroom in this home, which is nice because they don't sleep in our room... but tricky becaues they're not used to sleeping in the same room. We followed a semi-normal bedtime routine. They had their baths, we read books, we said our prayers, and then they went to their respective corners of the same bedroom. An adventure for us all.

Tuck is in the twin bed and Tyler is in the pack 'n play. Last time I checked, they were playing peekaboo and laughing at one another. Really, really laughing.

I could spend the next hour racing up the stairs, enforcing the rules and routines, demanding that they go to sleep right this instant. But what fun is that? No fun for them, and frankly, too much work for me. I'm on vacation, remember.

Plus, I really don't know when their own vacation memories will begin, and it could be this week. They could talk about this night for years to come, the games they made up, thinking I couldn't hear them. My brother and I have our own feast of these memories, including my impeccable impersonation of Ed McMahon. I made him laugh every single time. (Don't ask. I will not do it for you.)

So tonight, they get to play. Live it up, guys.

As for me? I think I'll have some more ice cream. After all, I'm on vacation.

What if I really do MISS this?

I had a fullblown parenting meltdown last night.

I will spare you the gory, self-depricating details, but suffice it say that it was a grand display of selfishness on my part. I desperately needed to run away, and I finally dropped the children off with my mom, left my sick husband to fend for himself (what kind of wife does that??), and left. I just drove. In my mind, I had a destination, but I wasn't sure where it was. And it took me a LONG time to get there.

Sometimes, I just have to get out, get away, and get lost. I just have to. I am not proud to say it, but it's wise to know one's limitations, I'm pretty sure. Last night, I met mine.

This business of being a Mother of Two Under Three... well, it's just hard. Sometimes I fear that the job description and endless demands may cause me to lose my mind, or worse yet: myself.

I am glad to report that the evening did the trick, I feel better today, and I woke up ready to face the challenges of the job. And it's a good thing, because Tyler is on day three of diarrhea and Tuck threw up four times last night and twice this morning. Bring on the disinfectant; my kids are sick.

Thankfully, four hours away helped me gain some perspective as well as my Game Face. Robb, thanks for allowing the frantic departure. Mom, thanks for catching the kids as I tossed them at you.

And now, less than 24 hours later... I have a new approach, a new self discovery, and a new plan. Sort of. It's only just now coming together in my mind.

As of late, I have had so many well-meaning people say to me, "Just enjoy every minute with these children. You're going to miss it someday."

I get what they mean. But not every minute is enjoyable. It's just not.

I think I will miss the next stage. I will miss the preschool years, when they are potty trained and a little independent. When we are having family movie night and game night and reading books together and talking about what they are learning. I think I'll miss that.

I think I'll miss the elementary years, watching them run on the soccer field and be the blueberry in the school play. I think I'll miss the school projects and the family camping trips. I'll miss tucking them in and kissing them good night.

I think I'll miss the teenage years. I think I will miss their football games and halftime shows. I will miss their humor, when they will live to make me laugh. I think I will miss knowing and loving their friends, the bustle that comes with a houseful of teenagers hanging out after practice, eating everything in sight.

But will I miss this? Will I?

As I talked with my mom about all of this (as I so often do, since she knows this journey so well, she remembers its demands, and she doesn't make me feel ridiculous for feeling tired or spent), she said she would say the same thing differently. She doesn't miss the baby years, but she recalls them fondly. That's different. She looks at pictures of my brother and me, when we were so very little, and she remembers her babies. She even got teary saying so.

But does she want to go back and do that again? No. Not at all. But part of her heart will always remember and hold dear those sweet little people who called her Mommy.

That's refreshing. It's not about enjoying every minute... it's about enjoying the ones I can and making the most of the ones that are harder to embrace. Like, oh, I don't know... the vomit in Tucker's bed this morning. Make the most, Tricia. Make the most.

So, here's what I started to wonder... I have been so incredulous of anyone telling me I am going to miss this, while my children are hanging on my pantlegs and demanding more, more, more. Maybe I will miss it someday, but for now, I'm just trying to survive.

But there is a closely related danger: while I am waiting to "miss this," what if I really miss this?

What if I miss the little details that are my children, so little, as they are today? What if I am so eager to move on and look back longingly, that it all bypasses me in the moment?

What if I miss the feel of their sweet little dimpled hands and their fingernails (that always need trimmed)?

What if I don't look at them enough?

What if I forget the feel of Tyler's hands in my hair, my curls gently tangled in his little fingers, as he falls asleep?

What if I forget the many faces of Tucker? He has a different expression when he is proud of himself, when he is trying not to laugh, when he knows he's funny. Three different smiles. What if I forget their subtle distinctions?

What if I forget what it sounds like to hear them call my name, even if it feels incessant in the moment?

On my birthday, I gave myself the gift of sitting with them to watch Sesame Street. And to my surprise, I liked it. It was funny. But it was also darling, to sit in my chair with my little men. One on my lap, one at my side, all three of us wrapped up in Grover's silly antics. What if I don't do that enough, and when I'm finally ready to sit with them, they would rather run and play?

What if I forget how much Tyler loves his blanket? How he dives into it, in his crib, face first?

What if I forget how they smell right after a bath? Or even more endearing but demanding to love: right before the bath?

A friend of mine said not too long ago, "Look at Tyler's feet. They are identical to Tucker's."
I had never noticed. How did I miss that??

What if I am so busy investing in other people that I forget to invest in them? What if all these play dates are really just about me and the other moms, and I'm just letting the boys tag along?

What if I miss what they need from me today, because I was too busy with what I need to do today?

What if I let them slip through my fingers, when they were so briefly mine to hold?

What if I miss this??

Okay, Tricia. Slow down. Yes, slow down with the questions and the what ifs. But more importantly, just slow down. Slow down the schedule. Slow down the day. Let today be what it is instead of trying to fill it up, make it more, maximize. I have learned that discontment sets in when I wish for more. More in my life, more in my day, more in this moment.

If this day is about jammies and Bert and Ernie? Do it. Slow down.

So that's the new plan. I am here. So are they. No regrets. I don't want to miss this.

Because someday, I really, truly, actually might... miss this.

Thanks, Crayola.

Guess which artist chose the blue marker today.

And guess which artist chose the red one.

I'm actually not sure which child of mine used the red to paint my feet. I did not see or feel it happen. I only know that I didn't choose it, nor did I ask for a pedicure with the red marker.

But it happened anyway.

Thanks for being waterproof, my Crayola friends.

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??