Chaos is the score upon which reality is written.
-Henry Miller
Just in case you were under the impression that our house is calm and peaceful and perfect, it's not. In fact, I think wild, loud and chaotic would fit the bill.
I wish it weren't so, but with our bunch it's our life. Sure we have six kids squished into one tiny house, a card table and folding chairs plus a piano bench for our dinning room setup and the big boys have shared a room since the beginning. Our babies have never been great sleepers and I tend to like to do the fun things first on occasion (who doesn't!?). It might be because I have yet to master the task of running a tight ship or following a schedule, and figuring out those things could drastically help, but when all is said and done we survive amongst the chaos.
Then there are those days when you are left thinking, wow. We all need a vacation away from here. Really.
Just when I think I've seen everything I have a day like Monday. The day just hours after my weekend long birthday celebration. Let's just say I said it more than once, "I'm so glad it's not my birthday today." The honest truth.
Monday morning Rich woke up early and snuck off to work long before the rest of us started moving. I was still in bed when the boys burst in and told me that Zach was awake. I told them to just bring him into me. Boys being boys didn't notice the stinky smell or the brownish spot in little Z's jammies. After a long week of illness, a tiny bit still remained in the little fella. They plopped him down on my bed and he crawled over to me. The damage was done. Everywhere he had been, there was a trail of yuck. I promptly bathed the baby and washed all my bedding and his. Pronto.
It was a cold and rainy day with occasional thunder clap. Not a day fit for a zoo outing or museum. I informed the boys we would be cleaning out their closet and drawers and the stash of clothes in the basement. Matt told me we weren't moving for months. I replied it will be here before we know it, so get started. That didn't go over to well, but they did get sorting. After an hour and a huge black garbage bag of discards they announced that this was their worst Presidents Day ever. They thought it even more when I told them it was now time to practice the piano.
Trey and I had a battle of wills while he played and I'm not sure how he could properly read the music through his tears, but we did have a nice chat afterwards and peace was restored.
The girls played quietly upstairs while Zach napped, but really they were making a 'cake shop' out of ALL of their clippies and headbands. Brynn dumped out all the micro-mini rubber bands and tossed them on the floor like sprinkles and they had drawn pictures on toilet paper with fingernail polish and markers. Thankfully they were skilled with their drawings and not a drop of polish was spilled, but it was quite a colorful mess when I walked in on their little set up.
Later that night I was sharing my fun primary lesson about prophets for FHE. We were discussing stories about President Joseph F. Smith's life while Zach sat on my lap. Instead of grabbing the prophets pictures off the floor like he had done earlier, he got into the bag of Hershey's Kisses I was going to use on the matching game part and half choked/gagged on a piece of chocolate. The next thing I know he's thrown up on himself (post bath and jammies), my leg and carpet. As I hollered to the bunch to grab a bowl, the rest of his dinner came up and we had a mess of lasagna, grapes and milk on him, me and the carpet. Rich handed me a rag, cup, spoon (to scoop up the mess) and off he went to get the carpet cleaner and Spot Shot.
I scooted the kids up to bed while I cleaned myself and Zach up and we met up with Rich in the kitchen after he had cleaned the carpet and things were finally better. Just as we started to talk about the day, Zach opened up a cupboard and all I saw was a glimmer of glass and an explosion like I'd never seen. Somehow my square Pyrex baking dish fell from the upper shelf and literally blew up like a IED, shattering glass across a 15 foot span. Zach was standing next to my feet and I scooped him up just as the glass broke and we walked away with just a few tiny cuts on our legs from the shards of flying glass. Sweet Rich didn't miss a beat. As I looked over Zach for any injury and pulled out the band aids for two tiny splotches of blood, Rich silently found the broom and started sweeping.
After a good while of sweeping and vacuuming and mopping the floor, it was deemed safe once again.
It was official, we had to get to bed ASAP before another disaster struck.
Zach did fall asleep (like at 11:30 PM), but at 3 AM he must have missed me because he started hollering my name. I got to snuggle with him on the carpet next to his bed because 1) you can't let him cry it out in his crib or he WILL throw up 2) I don't dare bring him into our bed because he wiggles, wakes Rich up, makes it impossible for me to sleep and might fall off the bed and onto the wood floor and 3) I was way to tired to rock him and not fall asleep sitting in the chair.
The alarm sounded early for Rich and somehow, with the will power of a superhero, he turned off the buzzer and stood tall, ready to face another day with us and all the crazy he'd find at the hospital.
Are we crazy? Yes. Is Rich a saint? Yes. Are my kids sometimes like a destroying angel? Yes. Can I be a mean mom? Yes. Do we all need more sleep? YES! (esp. Rich) But we love each other through thick and thin and it gets us through the rough patches.
One day will will look back and say, "Remember those crazy times? Glad those are behind us." Then we'll smile because we survied the choas together. I guarentee that 100%.
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