the sleppys

A friend came over to pick up some girl’s clothes. As we were talking, the topic of death came up. Well, life insurance came up, not really death itself, but still. She supposed that things would iron themselves out if I were to die. Perhaps moms are only necessary when it comes to birthing. Then came “What would Mom do?”
“You’d have to work!” worriedly exclaimed my friend.
Do I have the air of someone who doesn’t work for an income? Maybe because I go on and on about homeschooling and field trips and baking bread and making crafts. “Oh, I thought you were a housewife.” Yea, I wish… but my feminist husband thinks that I should work to set an example for my feminist sons and daughter. I so would *love* to be a woman of leisure. Pretty funny.

This whole “moving” thing has been stressing us all out. Even Isis is feeling the stress. We packed up the items that were hiding in the darkest corners of this house. We threw out some garbage and stuff that we haven’t user in the past, uh, four years. And we emptied out the closets and rooms to take accountability of our stuff. So the rooms are nearly empty (except for our daily stuff, id est, diapers, shirts), and the common areas are packed ceiling-high with boxes, bins, and stackable furniture. It’s like living in a cave or a submarine or a tunnel or a combination of the three. But I can’t wait until we get the new house’s floor cleaned, the piano moved, and our stuff over there. When we finally unpack, we’ll realize that we don’t have enough stuff to fill a house that big. Gotta get more stuff!

This morning, while waiting for the bank to open, we played in the parking lot. It’s not a busy parking lot, not at that time of day. It’s the lot for the Ruby Tuesday’s customers, and that restuarant doesn’t open til close to noon. So the sun was rising, and the lot was empty. We casted long shadows (or the sun did) along the parking stall lines. Ty tried to get away from his shadow, and Kyle’s shadow, with the help of my shadow, had wings. Taylor’s shadow disappeared when she came to stand in front of me. And I could get away from my shadow by jumping. We all tried to touch our shadows’ fingers without touching the asphalt, but none of us succeeded.

So we got some cash and drove to the grocery store for laundry detergent. At the laundromat, the boys sat quietly at first, then they wanted to hear a story.
“Once upon a time, there was a boy named Jack.”
“Heard it!” they called out simultaneously. Then they laughed of how hysterical they both are. It takes me the whole wash cycle to tell the story of Jack and the Beanstalk because I go into detail about Jack’s mom’s apron and the smell of Bessie the cow, blah blah blah blah.
Gank the harp and the hen. Run run run. Down down down. Chop chop chop. BOOM! Giant’s dead. The end. So we dry the laundry, fold it, drive home, unload… haven’t put any of it away yet. Dad took the car to Target and Publix.. or one of the two.

I suppose that I am a woman of leisure… if you subtract the laundry and cleaning and working and all that difficult, tedious, mundane stuff that takes up most of the day.

It’s 6am, and I have been awake for over two hours, just lying on my bed. So I thought it would be best to get up, have something to eat (because my stomach has been growling at me for that long a time) and gather my thoughts into the Pensieve.

• Call Brooke: Ask her to watch the kids AGAIN for a couple of hours while Dad and I work, work, work, work, work. Offer compensation since she did me the same favor last week. (Check)
• Call Marlen to move the piano lesson up an hour so that I can fit in Lilah’s make-up lesson. (Check)
• Call piano movers to schedule. (Check)
• Pack the daily unnecessaries (trinkets, baby journals) for the move. (Check)

Oy, the move. I love that we’re moving. I love even more that we’re moving to a house ! Can you imagine a house with a yard and shade and a screened-in backporch, a decent-sized living room with a DEN? Not one but two, count ‘em, two bathrooms… Merda Sanctus! That’s a castle!! I can’t wait to have a living room again. Our television will seem so small. Do we even have enough stuff to fill a 3/2 plus a den? We can set up the drums, plug in the bass (after we buy an amp and cord), have a jam session, give lessons… oh, the possibilities!!!!

I’m very excited. But I’m also very nervous about the cost of the house. We’ve been going at 6,000 RPMs since the new year, and I’m whipped. Is this how much people work to get into a house? Yes, we can make it happen. We just have to adjust our schedules a bit (the kids are going to sleep later because I’m coming home later), and learn some new habits (eat beans beans beans during the week so that we may enjoy cooked animal on Sunday).

I just want this move to happen already. I’ll be glad when this packing and unpacking thing is over, when we’re back down to 3,000 RPMs. One good thing (aside from the house and the den and the yard and the two bathrooms), though: Moving is a great time to weed out the crap that can be left behind… Like that trio of demonic singing and dancing Elmo dolls.

It isn’t much like that scene from the Daddy Daycare previews, where countless small people scream and swarm over Eddie Murphy’s helpless, collapsing body. Generally speaking, our home life is peaceful and quiet.

BUT. There are two times every day where I start thinking Uh, this IS kind of a lot, wtf.

First thing in the morning – because both boys are asking for different things for breakfast and drinks, asking if they can let Isis out of her room (or crate), asking if they can go outside, etc, while Taylor screeches and points at things in the kitchen. Meanwhile Ty is at his worst when he’s just up and is liable to be whining or throwing a full-on OCD fit. And I am still trying to wake up. I am the kind of person who used to set my alarm early enough that I could have a full 20 minutes to just sit on the edge of my bed staring at the wall in a daze, before getting ready for high school. It just sucks, once I’ve spent 30 or so minutes passing out and/or preparing food, have calmed Ty and have either changed two diapers or wiped up the tile as many times, depending on whether the boys have their morning juice. And I can’t let Isis out of her crate just yet because, well, she’s a dog. But that scratching sound that comes out of her crate when she paws the floorboard, ugh. And if she is the first to be fed, there goes Taylor, trying to get the dog’s food.
“Mommy, I need juice. Mommy, where’s my breakfast?” I tend to end up standing in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing out the dreadlocks in my hair, loudly re-stating to anyone who approaches me “Remember I said I just need a FEW MINUTES to myself?!”

And, pre-dinner evenings. It’s like feeding time at the zoo, with everyone prowling around acting irrational. Worst-case scenario: I’m making dinner and have no idea what we’re going to have. But even when it’s all planned out and running smoothly, there is just something about that time of day. Ty is going to be at his most OCD extreme, having little fits of yelling nonsense and flinging himself around and beating on everything he can get his hands on. That is when Kyle will actually whine and complain. Without fail, at least two of the three will be underfoot in the kitchen asking for food the entire time I’m cooking. I can send Ty to the corner or Kyle to his room, I can go drop Taylor off in front of her toys five dozen times, reminding the brood AGAIN that I am cooking: My prescence in the kitchen signals everyone to come bugging! Usually this time involves Taylor getting into the garbage as often as possible. And it all culminates with the boys waiting impatiently at their table, Taylor strapped into her seat, and my fast-footing between the table and kitchen, waiting on them like I’m back at T.G.I.Friday’s. And there’s Isis, who is begging to be let out and do her business outside, doing that pawing thing in her crate.

I don’t normally feel harried. Our late mornings are really calm; the boys tend to be in the living room, playing, while Taylor naps – unless I’ve taken us all to the shade of the side yard. Ty colors, Kyle watches some TV. Then they switch off. Isis spends most late mornings and afternoons on the living room floor, napping. The boys and I read a book or do some flash cards. Afternoons, when I don’t work, are calm, too, with Kyle napping and Ty and Taylor actually playing together. Bedtimes are even simple now, and I like the quiet of paying them individual attention during bath routines.

I love the kids-have-gone-bed time, when Dad and I can talk, like we did in our pre-kid days. Only this time, Isis is around – kind of like an only child. And I really love having the kids around – when they’re quiet and good and angelic.

But twice a day, our home is the three-ring circus that people envision when they hear “3 kids 4 and under… and a dog.”