Unraveled

Have you ever watched someone completely unravel from sanity?  No?  Well, let me tell you about it.  It's not unlike pulling on that one tiny end of yarn at your waistline thinking it's just a bit of lint, when in all actuality it's the beginning of the end of your sweater.  One sharp tug is all it takes to start the process.  If you keep pulling on the thread, the sweater will only last a matter of minutes.  If you leave it alone and try smoothing over what you've started, the sweater will last a bit longer.  It might even make it through a few washings before it becomes just one incredibly long piece of nothing.  Either way, you'll never wear it with confidence again.

If you could see me right now, you'd know that whatever remained of my mind up until this morning is now nothing more than a tangled mass of yarn pooling at my feet.  My sweater of sanity has unraveled, leaving me exposed and vulnerable to the people who pulled the string.  I need a dark room with soothing music and a metric ton of chocolate in order to rally.  Maybe then I can think about making a poncho out of the scraps I have left.

Anyway, the events that led me to total mental destruction this morning were thus:

1) Henry is teething.  Really, do I need to say anything more?  I don't, but I'm going to.  My pain is now yours as well.
Along with fever, drooling and general grumpiness, one of the most common symptoms of a teething baby is the terrific diarrhea and subsequent diaper rash.  Poor Henry is suffering terribly in this particular area, therefore so are we.  Every few hours you will find us performing the same horrific tasks, like some sort of hellish re-enactment of Groundhog Day.
This morning I actually made myself a hot breakfast.  Melt in your mouth bacon, crispy hashbrowns and eggs, over medium.  My tummy was rumbling at the thought of real food (yesterday I had a handful of carrots in between packing boxes until Jordan came home and cooked dinner) and I grinned in anticipation of the savory delights that awaited me.  As I put the first bite of food into my mouth however, I heard Henry yell from the kitchen and I ran to see what trouble he'd gotten himself into.  It turns out that he was trapped in some awful yoga position in one of the kitchen cabinets and had been straining so hard to get free that his already taxed bowels released themselves... upside down.  Gravity took over with the result of poop coming out of the neckline of his shirt.  By the time I got him undressed (WHY do they only make baby clothes that go on over the head???), a bath was vital.  For both of us.

2) Because I've been busy packing and haven't been as vigilant with rationing, Mitch has eaten a LOT of popcorn and apricot leather in the last few days.  So, while I was bathing Henry, Mitch came at a run to use the facilities.  He kind of made it... mostly.  Needless to say, he got to use the other tub while I disinfected the bathroom.

3) Everyone finally washed, bathroom clean and myself practically dipped in bleach, I sit down to my now very cold hot breakfast to take a bite of congealed, rubbery eggs and sigh in self pity.  That was my mistake.  I let down my guard for an instant.  A moment. A nanosecond of time that was the last tug on my sweater.  Henry reached his tiny hand up and quick as a snake, grabbed my plate to fling it backward, over his head in a rather impressive arc that covered floor, wall, tv and table.  I can attest that ketchup has a splatter pattern not unlike those I've seen of crime scene photos and egg yolk will harden in seconds.  The next 30 minutes were spent scraping and washing the living room, including a brief but violent struggle with Henry over a piece of bacon.  Tears were shed on both sides.

4) Jordan called as I was finishing the last of the scrubbing, to tell me that the lenders working on our home loan have asked for a new document to prove that he was in the Army.  The Army was very helpful and said that it's no problem at all to get us that particular document... in approximately 30 days.    So, we won't be moving this Friday as we had originally thought.  We have no idea when that will happen now that I've got most of our household in boxes in the front room.

All of these events have led me to where I am right now, eating heath bar ice cream in my pajamas at 10 o'clock in the morning, watching the kids make a ramp out of the couch cushions to roll their baby brother down.  I threw a couple of pillows at the bottom of the ramp, but that's all I have in me at the moment.  I am currently unraveled.   

Happy Birthday, Baby!

Henry is ONE!  I can't believe how quickly the past year has gone by.  I miss the sweet scent of a newborn and the soft coo of an infant.  Now we ask each other questions such as "Why does the baby smell like meat?" and we hear the ear splitting trill of 'daDAdadada!'.  He is the sweetest baby I've ever met but, like all babies, he is a lot of work.  I truly think that the high pitched chipmunk chatter I hear coming from his crib in the pre-dawn stillness is a motivational speech he gives himself in order to keep up the fast paced activities throughout the day.  He goes over the checklist, sometimes twice, just to make sure he doesn't forget anything.

 I long for the days when he was still immobile and content to stay so.  Wasn't it wonderful when he just laid there sucking on his toes?   Now, he is everywhere and into everything.  He methodically and systematically works his way through the house checking items off of his to-do list:

Pull on the curtains to bend the rod?  Check.
Dump out my brother's water bottle in the recliner?  Check.  Check.
Splash in toilets?  Check. Check.  Check.

He empties drawers in the kitchen, he climbs in cupboards, he tips over the trash can.  The floor is piled high with the rubble of his passing.  One must negotiate rather carefully in order to survive crossing the wasteland that used to be our living room.

Sitting from the (relative) safety of the desk, I can survey the extent of the damage and the need to document the destruction is overwhelming.  There are smashed graham crackers in the rug and a piece of wet, limp turkey jerky under the couch.  I guess that explains why the baby smells like meat.  Large sized Legos and stuffed animals are spread out as far as the eye can see.  My turkey baster and someone's toothbrush are under the television table and all the bottom shelves have been emptied of their books.  Because the floor is so obviously Henry's domain, the older boys have taken to spreading their toys out on the higher surfaces.  Therefore the piano is covered in pirate and firefighter figurines frozen in the midst of battle.  The mantel is a display for the smaller sized Lego sculptures and one very odd arrangement of used sucker sticks built into a teepee.  As I type all of this, I watch Henry slide into the room doing that army low crawl he's so famous for, and it looks like he's swimming through a sea of Legos as he pushes them out of his way to cut a path.  When he looks up and meets my gaze, his face lights up, squishing into the most heartwarming and contagious smile I've ever seen and he squeals out a greeting: "Hiiii!".  Sigh.  He is forgiven.  How can I begrudge the happy devastation of his surroundings when he does it with such uncensored joy?  That sweet little guy is perfect just as he is, and I wouldn't change a thing.  I am, however, counting down the minutes until nap time.

It's A Date

Jordan and I celebrated our 6 year anniversary recently and were lucky enough to know someone who was willing to put her life on the line in order to babysit for us while we spent the day together.  My friend is a loving, courageous woman whom the boys all adore, but she will probably need counseling after a full day spent with my little angels.  In fact, when we arrived to pick them up that afternoon, she was a shell of the woman we had left behind earlier that morning.  I pray for her full and speedy recovery and hope that she will someday be able to see my children without a full body shudder and hasty backward steps to keep out of range.  Time will tell.

I can't remember the last time that I was able to leave the kids behind in order to spend time with my husband.   I reminded Jordan that the only time I've ever been away from the kids for more than a few hours at a time, was when I went to the hospital to have another one.  He looked at me in horror and pity, then announced that I needed to get out more.  Believe you me, mister, you aren't telling me anything I don't already know.

It felt surreal as we drove away from the house at 7-am without the little cherubs chirping in the back seat, and I was filled with excitement at the thought of being able to actually go INTO the gas station.  Jordan encouraged me to take my time since we were ahead of schedule for the septic inspection (Aren't we the pair of romantics? We also scheduled a meeting with the lender and made a trip to the bank for copies of statements. It was heavenly.), and I skipped across the asphalt in downright giddiness.  I didn't necessarily want or need anything, but that didn't curb my desire to browse.  Imagine my pleasure when I realized that they were still selling Snickers!  I bought one out of a sense of nostalgia, earning another look from my husband.  He was certain I'd reached the point he'd been dreading for awhile now and steps would need to be taken to put me into some kind of long term care facility.  In the meantime, I was treated like a queen.  A fragile, slightly batty and eccentric queen, but royalty none the less.  He took me to a bookstore, to which I reacted with childlike wonder.  Imagine being able to read again!  I hope I remember how when the time comes.  They say it's just like riding a bike however, and that once you do it you'll always know how.  Hmmm.  I wonder if I can still ride a bike...

We had lunch together.  Such a simple statement, but so powerful in the meaning.  What it means to us is that we were able to eat while the food was hot.  We didn't have to cut up or remove undesirable parts of anyone's food but our own.  We conversed in full sentences without raising our voices to be heard over the din of small people banging spoons against the table.  No one complained that their ketchup was too red or their noodles too short.  At the end of the meal, we weren't required to spend 2 minutes under the table picking up stray bits of food, the baby's sippy cup and a most beloved pet rock.  For the first time in a long time, I was able to hold my head high as we walked out of a restaurant, and not scurry out the door quickly, leaving a rather large tip for the unfortunate individual having to clean up after our pack of wild hyenas.

We saw a movie that was not animated and I didn't have to share my popcorn and coke during it.  I was able to eat my candy out in the open, instead of surreptitiously dipping my head into my purse during all the action parts when everyone's attention is on the screen.

I wasn't ready for the fun to end, but I was most definitely missing the boys, so we headed home.  I have to admit though, I was exhausted from the thrill of being alone with the love of my life.  My heart can only pitter patter so much before I need a healthy dose of reality.  I think dating is like a muscle, and if you don't use it, it atrophies.  Which means that I am dreadfully out of shape and could probably use the practice of a nice second date, but I also like my friends sane and not drooling.

 Jordan won bonus level extra credit points on the way home when he melted my heart with the comment "Even though we don't get to go out like this very often, I have fun with you every day.".  I suppose that could be one of the best compliments of my life, that even in the midst of the mundane day to day routine called life, I am enjoyable to be around.  Either that or he's trying to lull me into signing papers that admit me somewhere nice and quiet.