Carnival and Cowboy were angels at lunch today in Whole Foods. Then I took them to the bathroom to change their diapers and something happened. They suddenly became Dr. Doofenshmirtz’s Baby-Cry-Inator. Just as all the moms in the city were instantly drawn toward Doof’s invention… all the moms in Whole Foods came into the bathroom to see if they could help me. One woman was rocking my stroller while another admitted she didn’t actually need to wash her hands; she just came in to see if she could help.
Cowboy was screaming at the top of his lungs because he didn’t want to sit strapped into a stroller. Carnival was screaming because he didn’t want me to change his diaper on a public baby changing ledge. Silly me! Here I thought all I needed to take the boys out myself was a stroller I could fit them both in while also fitting down store aisles.
Tandem umbrella stroller to take the boys to lunch myself: $300.
BPA free toy keys neither boy wanted: $4
Realizing, when offered some, my three year old son doesn’t know what the word candy means because he never eats it: PRICELESS.
“The history of the world is but the biography of great men.”
I’m accumulating phrases I hear myself saying to the boys that I never could have come up with on my own. Someday I’ll share the collection with you. Examples: “Of course I’ll hold your hand, Honey. Are the potatoes floating in lava lamps scaring you?” and “No one is sitting on anyone, we don’t squish people here.”
And the three most common things I think to myself: “Stay calm.” “For real?” and “This should be good.”
Last night Big C hit his head on our hall table while running some laps. I ran to him to give him a kissy and hold him. I realized he needed the ice panda so I fetched that for him and held him a bit while he iced his head. Somewhere along the way, Cowboy started crying. The more I comforted Big C, the louder Cowboy cried. Once Big C insisted on holding ice panda himself, I picked up Cowboy. He started rubbing his face in my neck to say he wanted me to feed him. I was about sixty seconds into feeding him when he stopped, bent backwards to look at Big C and smile at him. I couldn’t get him to finish eating, all he wanted to do was smile at Big C and gloat. At seven months old!? I’m about to be schooled on sibling rivalry…
“Is there some kind of inbreeding program here?” Alex turns and asks Marty, Gloria and Melman after meeting King Julien and the Lemurs.
The pediatrician tells me it’s a good thing if Big C tests his boundaries with me. It means he’s the most comfortable with me. If, in fact, it’s true that it’s a good thing for Big C to misbehave with me, he must be the most comfortable child to ever have taken a breath of human existence.
Just as the properties in PV=nRT are interrelated, so too are the properties in the Stay At Home Mom equation, EE=SETS. Simply: Evening Energy is equal to the product of Sleep, Exercise, Time and Socialization. When one is changed, the others will change in kind.
Note: EE has an inverse relationship with TT (Toddler Tantrums), FP (Food Preparation), DQBS (Drama Queen BS) and HW (Hand Washing dishes or laundry).
The most valuable commodity to a SAHM whose husband works elsewhere during the day is EE.
Store bought soap was drying my hands out so I made my own liquid hand soap. I followed the recipe but for some reason mine morphed into a large white congealed blob. It won’t let you cleanly take some of it’s goopy mass without hanging on. It’s stringy. This is an annoying but acceptable attribute for me because my hands were actually starting to crack and bleed.
I finally got Carnival into the bathroom to wash his hands before lunch. I helped him rinse them then I squirted some homemade soap on his hands. When he pulled them back to rub he felt the soap… fighting back. He Shrieked “Fuzzy in mouth!” (default for “get this the hell off of me!”) and held his hands against his shirt. He wouldn’t let me rinse them. I told him he would see magic as the water would make the fuzzy disappear. He shrieked, “No magic! No magic!”
I eventually had to pick up the whole Carnival to get the hands rinsed off.
I’ve nicknamed my oldest son “Carnival.” Just as no two trips to the carnival are the same, no two days with Carnival, or Big C, are the same. He’s entertaining at home and on the road. Whenever he learns something new, he always tries to take it to the next level… immediately. I taught him how to pull up his pants. The next time he wanted Nice Soft Doggie (that’s the stuffed dog’s name) to help him pull up his pants. I taught him to walk down the stairs holding the railing. The next time he wanted to walk down sideways.
My younger son is only months old but fiery and hands on enough for us to know he could wrangle in a bull. Logically… Cowboy.
Every minute of every day counts.