Demands.

Day 7 – National Blog Posting Month

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Kid 1 – “Mommy, we have to read my French book.”

Kid 2 – “Mommy, can you make pancakes?”

Kid 3 – “Mammma, mak pacake?”

Kid 2 – “Actually, mommy can I have eggs instead?”

Kid 3 – “Mammma, ook car!”

Kid 1 – “Mom come on! We have to read my book.”

Kid 2 – “Mommy, I’m hungry. Eggs please!”

Kid 1 – “Mom, can I watch TV?”

Kid 2 – “Mommy, I’m thirsty!”

Kid 3 – “Mama! Mama! Poo poo bum.”

Time  – 7:48am.

The Longest Day of the Year.

Day 1 – National Blog Posting Month.

Welcome to another installment of National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo), where bloggers post daily for the entire month.  It’s a big commitment but one I have succeeded at in the past and I hope to be able to keep it up again this year.  I can promise my readers there will be talk of running, life as a mother, being a doctor and running a practice and being a daughter to elderly parents.  So, probably nothing terrible new.  Ha!

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It’s the day after Halloween and it’s not even 10am and I think my kids have asked for candy about a hundred times.  Right now I’d rather stick a fork in my eye than hear them ask for candy one more time.

The clocks turned back an hour last night. Daylight savings time.  I can vaguely remember it the thought of an extra hour of sleep was heaven. Not so much anymore. In fact, it’s a horrible joke played on many parents.  An extra hour of sleep? What a joke.  The toddler was up just before 5 am. And when I say up, I mean awake and ready to meet the world.  There was no way he was falling back asleep. Then the older two, I could hear talking around 5:45 am.  My older son came into my room and gave me a kiss – the distinct smell of chocolate on his breath.  It would appear they sneaked some candy in their room before going to bed last night.  Well played, kids. Well played.

A Midnight Battle of Will

“The Force is strong in this one.”

Two years old in a few weeks and he’s giving me more hassle than the other two before him combined.

Seriously, kid?

He expertly climbed out of his crib a month ago.  Happy as a pig in shit to do so. Ready for a big boy bed, it would seem.  So a big boy bed he got. Trouble is now he won’t stay in it.  Oh, eventually he’ll just tire at the gate and shuffle back to bed but when this happens at 1 am in the morning, it comes down to a battle of will.

“Maaaaama, I whan warhm miiiiilk.”

Me, softly, from my bedroom. “Go back to bed.”

“No. Miiiiiilk.”

Whining ensues. Tired whining.

Me: “Go back to bed.”

“No. Maaaaama.  I hugry.”

A few more minutes of whining.

“Daaaaady. I whan warhm miiiilk.”

Sternly, “Go back to bed. Night night.”

“Maaaaama.  Miiiiilk.”

This went on for over an hour. Eventually, his will broke and he found his way back to bed. Hmpfh. Hungry indeed.  Just stay the fuck in bed, kid.

The Longest Hour.

Daughter had her fracture clinic follow up this afternoon.  I had called this morning to book the appointment only to be told it was already booked and it was in a few hours.

Say again?  No one from the hospital called us, it’s only been 5 days since she was seen and yesterday was a holiday, so how can she be booked already?

Sigh.  Thank goodness her dad is at home.  I called my mom to see if she could come over to watch the baby and then called daughter’s school advising them that she was being picked up early.  Husband texted me from the clinic that it was busy and he would be late picking up our son from preschool.  I re-arranged my patient bookings so I could pick him up and take him home.

As I was about to leave to get my son, I received this text from husband.

photo(37)I hated that I wasn’t there for my daughter.  I called husband and told him my plan of getting our son, taking him home to my mom and then coming to the hospital. I was going to cancel the rest of my day.  I spoke with my little girl and she was obviously crying, “I don’t want surgery, Mommy.”  I tried to be as calm and upbeat as I could telling her that the doctors weren’t sure yet and we needed to wait to find out what the x-rays showed.  Hubby then took the phone away and said they were going for the x-rays and hung up.

I got home about thirty minutes later and anxiously waited for news.  I kept telling myself that its not a big deal if she needs surgery, after all husband had a similar fracture when he was 12, they would have matching scars!  But the thought of her being put under a general anesthetic and having her skin cut open and her bones screwed back together – ugh, it was awful.

Finally, I got service back on my phone and a flurry of texts came in.

“No surgery.”

“New cast for 2 weeks.”

And then … “Done and coming home.”

I gave her the biggest hug when I saw her and her fancy new cast.

Sigh … kids.

Bedtime Shmedtime.

I hate bedtime.

There. I said it.

The shenanigans, the whining, the “one more make-up story”, the “rub my back until I fall asleep.”

No!

It’s so much more pleasant putting the 18-month old to bed.  A song, a story, bottle of milk, night night kisses and done. Door closes and that’s that.

The other two?  Oy, it’s an hour-long ordeal.  And it’s March Break and I can’t use “It’s a school night” on them.

Someone help me, please!

I’d rather stab a fork in my eye than try to put those two kids to bed.

Does that make me a bad mommy?  I certainly feel like it sometimes.

The mouths of babes

Husband is at a rehearsal for a show next week. A friend’s band is doing a covers night and they asked him to sing a song so I am home alone tonight with three kids.

Bedtime gets started early here. The baby was in his crib at 6pm with his bottle. The older boy was in the bath and the eldest was I her room writing something.

She came in to show me. “How to be good”.  I was very impressed!  She knows the rules!  Too bad she doesn’t actually follow them!

 

Listen. No talking back. Do something the firs time you are asked. Do as you are told. Focus your ears. Do not ignore. And all this information is good.

After bath, I read them a few of daddy’s old Smurfs and Ewoks comic books.  Then it was time to get into bed. I told them a make-up story all about Princess Rose and the good transformer who worked with the Prince to rescue her from the bad transformer.  But that story wasn’t enough, so I had to tell another one with Spiderman and how he became Spider-transformer after Optimus Prime injected him with nano-bots to assist the Autobots in taking down the bad transformer.  (Neither kids has seen the Transformer movies, or the cartoon, but their daddy tells them these make-up stories all the time.  I’m sure mine paled in comparison.)

Bedtime seemed to be going so well until it didn’t.  Suddenly neither of them were settling down and my voice started increasing in tone and pitch, and I may have tapped her on the back a little harder than I had intended in an attempt to get her attention and stop sitting up in bed. I’d gotten hit in the face at least three times by the Spiderman doll and clearly had enough and that’s when the waterworks from the girl started:

“You never spend any time with me.”

“I just don’t know what to say to you.”

“Why do you always have to work?”

“Why can’t you just spend all your time with us?”

Oy.  She’s a master manipulator.  At the age of six!

Needless to say, bedtime took about 3 hours.  It’s a little after 9pm, I haven’t had my dinner and I’m seriously considering opening a bottle of wine.

I swear I have no idea how my husband does this on a daily basis. He’s amazing.