Desperate Design

The timer is set. It's like some kind of 10th-grade English class exam. I have 10 minutes to write this. So, should you feel the need to get out your red pen, please take a number. I've got milk spills, booger wiping and poop-filled diapers to take care of first.

I read this story -- or rather drooled over photos and a story -- in last week's home and garden section of our paper. It was about the home of a woman who owns a shop for cute, collectible odds and ends. It must be the kind of shop I loved to visit before toting around my own demolition crew of two boys.

I was in awe and the prettiness. And then just grinning a smug grin thinking about how I traded a cute house for cute kids. Right? Just go along with this. It makes me feel a little better. Even if for just five minutes. It also inspired me to take a few photos of my own place. You know, to show you how I decorate around here.

Any collection of similar items grouped together tell a little story. This one is a story of whimsy, childhood and a mother who dreams of enjoying a stiff drink while her child colors.

Repetition is key to any good design. I love how this baby gate repeats the strong, narrow vertical lines of the staircase. And to think, it was found at Babies R Us!

It's OK to introduce new colors to a room. In this breakfast nook, a hot pink and white striped towel serve dual purposes. It looks fantastic, and it keeps milk, red sauce, cheesey goo and other shit off of the expensive, custom upholstered bench cushions mommy picked out years before children. (The validity of this claim is in question based on the grease-stained cushions, but Mom likens it to wearing an uncomfortable pair of heels with the perfect dress -- despite the pain, it makes you feel better inside.)

This is a shining example of repurposing. What once was an Easter Basket from Grandma now serves as a portable diaper changing station. It often sits on this end table atop three-year-old magazines. Amy writes, "I love being able to wipe a poopy bottom while singing the 'Dinosaur Train' theme song with my older son. Our motto is, 'We don't break for shit.'"

Know it all

I am a know-it-all. No doubt. You ask me a question, and chances are, I'll give you an answer, whether or not I know squat about your inquiry. This is a gift I rightly inherited from my father. This mom business sure makes me a bonafide know-it-all , and let me just set the record straight: I'd love to have a few moments off. Anticipating the next pee, request for a snack or when to pull out multiple milk cups because your imaginary friends are here -- not always a picnic.

Here's a little of what I know.

• I know where you are when two little feet poke out from underneath a bulging curtain and a little voice says, "Where's Jasper? Find Jasper."
• I know you don't have to poop when we sit there for 15 minutes reading yet another stinking Thomas the Train book. It's just a naptime delay.
• I know you are not really afraid of the toilet. You just like to poop in the potty chair because you think it's fun to dump poop into something.
  
• I know that touching your penis probably feels good, but for the love of Pete, let's not man-handle in public.
• I know the drink of water you request at bedtime is not a life or death situation.
  
• I know when your sick pains are a bluff. I always ask if it's your big toe nail. You undoubtedly reply yes, and for some reason, I am willing to kiss it to right your world once again.
  
• I know you will not eat the peas I put on your plate, even when I top them with olive oil and kosher salt. I also know that even though you will not eat them, you will ask me if it is kosher salt or sea salt, as if it makes a difference.
  
• I know that when I catch you playing with the hose in the backyard with soggy feet and dripping hair that the huge wet spot on your crotch has no connection to the hose other than it acting as a distraction.
• I know that you will do almost anything for a granola bar.
• I know that when you sass, mock, or otherwise push buttons, you come by it honestly with these two parents you've got. And for that, I am humbled.
  

Kid times the power of kid

My good friend Eileen has a hilarious saying. It goes something like this: "Two kids are more than double the work. It's the exponential factor. Kid times the power of kid."

So true, so true.

Carter turns 6 months old this week. I can hardly believe it and at the same time, I feel like I've been mothering two kids forever. I guess when you do something every day, all day, it's like dog years or something. Six months feels like 6 years.

Last weekend Seth was headed out on Saturday morning for a bike ride, and I was trying to do some baking and get the boys out the door to a friend's house for an Easter egg hunt. Seth brought Carter downstairs after a morning nap and placed him in the highchair in the kitchen. He smiled while I hustled around for about three minutes. And then he started crying. And then I buzzed by him and caught a whiff of a poopy diaper. I picked him up, slung him onto my hip and did a few more chores on my way up the stairs to change his diaper. When I set him down on the changing table, I realized the diaper had leaked all over him and me. I took him straight to the bathroom, holding him by his shoulders and ankles, trying hard not to get poop on anything else. Jasper waltzed into the bathroom with a muffin in hand (breaking a rule of no food upstairs, but it wasn't the time to go over rules). I asked him to help me lift Carter's bath seat into the tub. Jasper moved slowly and tried three times to hike it up over the tub wall. Then he slowly tells me he can't do it because he's holding a muffin. Trying to express my immediate needs for help, I told him to just put the darn thing down and put the seat in the tub.

He took his time, headed for the toilet (lid down, thank goodness), and set his muffin right on top of the toilet lid. Then, with great excitement he helped me get the seat in the tub where I promptly placed Carter for a hose-down. Jasper turned around, picked up the muffin, continued eating and watched me give his brother a bath.

There was a time in my life when I would have freaked out about the thought of using the toilet like the kitchen counter. It's still not appealing, but I see what kids do, and frankly, it's not the worst. There's the boogers he brings to me. And our loud conversations in the grocery store aisles about why it is inappropriate to have your hands down your pants in public -- for some reason, it gets other shoppers' attention when you say the word "penis" in the produce section. And we're potty training now, so you would be hard-pressed to surprise me when it comes to exactly where one might find pee in my house.

I love these boys. I love how much they crack me up. I love that they laugh at silly things, crave my attention, want me to play with them and snuggle close with sleepy eyes. I know it won't always be like that. But before you get the impression that I'm delusional, I should acknowledge that I am also sleep-deprived, tired of the never-ending loads of laundry, exhausted that just when you get the kitchen clean, it feels like time to cook another meal.

But I wouldn't change any of it. Even though kid times the power of kid is insane.

A few pics from recent days.

The bus is a movin'

Have you ever received a gift and then six months later realized you never sent a proper thank-you card? That's how I feel about this blog. It's there, I know it's there, I've been neglecting it, and the longer I don't touch it, the harder it gets to even think about it.

Deep breath in. Cleansing breath out. This is me releasing the guilt.

It's not as if you don't know what's going on. Most of you who stop by here are probably aware to some degree of the insanity that is our family's life. A 2 1/2 year old known as The Boy who's got the kind of independent streak that I can only pray will one day lead us to look back 40 years from now and think, "You know, it would have been hard to be this successful without being a strong-willed child." A nearly 5-month-old (The Bug) who is as sweet as can be with a smile that should be copyrighted, but, alas, we all have our faults and his seems to be spit up and skin problems. And waking several times during the night, but seriously, it seems to not be bothering anyone but me, so that counts it as a non-problem, right?

And the hubs. How do I love thee? He's got a new (but still crazy) work schedule. The upside is that we see him for dinner more nights. The downside is that now even if The Bug doesn't wake me at 4:30 am, my husband will.

We just watched "The Social Network," which I am happy to report that I have hit the point in my life where seeing a young college kid making a gazillion dollars doesn't bother me. I'm mature enough to acknowledge that I didn't just miss that boat because I wasn't in the right place at the right time. What I did take away from the movie was an amazing line about how Facebook is never done. Mark Zuckerberg's character says something like this: "It's like fashion, it's never finished."

This, my friends, is life. Well, you know, it will be finished one day, but until then, it's one wild ride. I keep thinking I'll have more time to do something another day. You know the excuse, "I was going to blah, blah, blah, but then the day just got too crazy." Well, in my world, they're all crazy. And probably not any more than any other mother's, but I manage the complaint department of my life, and some days no one will get the employee-of-the-month honor.

So today I'll use the excuse that I wrote this blog post, which is why I didn't get laundry or dinner started during naptime. Or why the living room still looks like a hurricane blew the toddler aisle of Toys R' Us right into my house. And yesterday I did this blog post, so that's what ate up that afternoon.

Life is a moving target, and if I don't get off my rear soon, I will either fall asleep or miss the opportunity to make chocolate brownies. Hey, at least I could savor a brownie while toys whiz by my head and still be considered a "fit" mom. Right?