A Morning in the Life of . . .

Occasionally moments in my life take on a surreal quality.  Almost as if the events are scripted by a writer with a penchant for hyperbole and potty humor.  This morning a few months ago was one such . . .

3am - Gabi wakes up but I hold off feeding her till 3:30.  (Trying to stretch these times out to get her body to go into fasting mode at night.)
4am - Back to sleep
5:30am - Big girl in bed.  My girls play wake-the-other-up-then-fall-asleep game.  Here's how it goes:  try not to laugh as mom squirms as she tries to keep me quiet and get me back to sleep while my sister snoozes, then we trade off.
7am - Up time for everyone. One of my favorite parts of the day.  Lots of cuddles, smiles and giggles.  I love it when my girls cuddle each other.
7:30am - Change baby's diaper.  She's soaked through her clothes and blanket and onto our sheets.  Get baby new clothes toss blankie in wash but keep sheets; they'll dry.

I lose track of time as I the next events pile on top of one another:

• Head out to the kitchen, pop bouncy chair on counter strap baby in. 
• Wash hands.
• Start warm coco for the big girl.
• Brush teeth (in kitchen), apply contacts to eyes. 
• Pour glass of water.
• Discover large pile of vomit on counter top.  Curse cat, clean vomit.
• Wash hands.
• Discover chunk of poo on floor near the cat food bowl from old arthritic kitty.  Clean poo.
• Wash hands.
• Serve coco.
• Pour cereal for self.
• Sit on futon in play room, play roll the ball with baby, while eating, drinking and interacting with big kid.
• Share water with baby.  Make lame attempt to teach "drink" and "water" signs.
• Hear cat scratching in litter box.  Sigh.  Wait for assault on my nose.  Scoop litter box.  Notice all the poop streaks on the floor from old arthritic kitty that can no longer clean himself so he scoots his bottom on floor instead.  Sigh again, dodge said skid marks.  Run scooper full of poo to potty, sprinkling litter all the way.
• Wash hands.
• Play with baby and big kid in "secret grotto" (spot on the floor near heat register, between shelves and futon) until big kid gets upset about baby drooling on the floor and her toys.
• Shower - get clothes together while hauling around baby.
• drag over bouncy
• insert baby into bouncy
• start water
• step over old cat
• step around big girl who suddenly has to go potty
• get in shower
• listen to big girl narrate her potty experience, “Whoa that was a big poop!  Ewww stinky!” Then resist her attempts to engage me.  ”Mooooom do you smeelll something?”  *laugh snicker*  Then the wiping starts, half a roll of TP and half a package of flushables.  Then more poo comes out and the process starts over with my big girl chattering non stop.
• Baby is getting fussy, must hurry.
• I need soap, lean out of shower getting water on big kid and cat to get new bar from the drawer.
• Get out of shower, help big kid wipe while trying to keep towel on self.
• Wash hands.
•  Big kid washes hands too.
• Big kid goes into room to put on outfit which is wildly inappropriate for cold weather.
• Decides she want to feed cats, fills water dish and food bowl splashing water and scattering kibble on the floor.
• Discover more vomit. 
• Phone rings - Papa - “How's your day?”
• While talking on phone and spraying cleaner on poo streaks in hallway.  “Kinda crappy (literally) today...  How’s your day?”
• Clean up poo and vomit.
• Wash hands.

It's 9:30am  I gotta get out of the house.  Why are my hands so chapped??

Fun with Toilet Paper

My four-year-old Boots was sick with a fever; one that knocked Charley, Berzo and me on our respective butts.  Expecting Boots to follow suit, I got her up on the sofa to watch a movie and wrapped her up in a quilt.  She had rivulets of snot running from her nose, so I set her up with a roll of TP and a paper bag as a conveniently located garbage receptacle.  Then I turned and lunged to save Berzo from adding another purple lump to the menagerie she’s collecting on her head, and when I turn back a moment later Boots has unrolled the TP onto the carpet.  Berzo seeing her favorite snack, paper, in silly abundance, makes a go for it.
 

“Boots, Boots we gotta pick up the TP!” I said urgently.
 
Boots hesitates and grins mischievously, thinking it’d be funny to see Berzo get a mouthful, then watch as I try to fish it out of her mouth while trying to avoid those super sharp “milk” teeth. (Ha!  I like to meet the funny fellow who named THOSE teeth milk, teeth.)  So I switched into my MOM voice, “Boots, pick up the toilet paper.”

She jumped down and scooped up the paper.  Now that she has been detached from the sofa, this wad of toilet paper begs to be explored.  First she sets up a “bridge” of toilet paper from the sofa to the toy chest.  She leans over the back of the sofa and wants me to counter balance her legs while she crosses her “bridge”.

The TP bridges were abandoned in short order.  She retreated into the bathroom and noticed herself in the full length mirror.  Then she tucked a piece of TP in the collar of her jammies admired the effect for a moment before running across the room taking a flying leap at the end, with the long TP cape flowing rather beautifully behind her.  She does this again and again, soon adding more capes and doing more flying.

Next we head downstairs and while I’m fixing breakfast and she makes a “Treat Trail”.  It consisted of a winding TP path on the floor on which she arranges all my favorite snacks.  Next she takes five of her Schleich horse figurines and hides them around the our front room. If I am able to find all five horses I get to walk the “Treat Trail” and eat my goodies!

And you thought TP was just for cleaning your nethers!

This is not how I look when burning up with a 102 degree fever.

A Promise of Spring

It was a cold gray day amidst a wet cold month as Danielle, Gabrielle, and I sat out on the curb in front of our house when I noticed tough green daffodil leaves lancing up through the mulch.  I pointed it out to Danielle who immediately went in to investigate.

This seemingly insignificant discovery did wonders for my mood.  Those robust shoots reminded me that the cold and grey would soon give way to warmth and light.  They are every bit as reliable as the winter solstice, and maybe a bit more so than a certain rodent with teeth as long as his name.

Daffodils, also called narcissus, originated in Southern Europe as well as parts of China, Japan and Morocco.  There are about 50 different species that are categorized in twelve groups, based on look.  In favorable conditions, (like ours) the bulbs may outlive the person who planted them.  These are no delicate tulip bulbs that need to be replanted every few years.  Nor do they need much in the way of pest and disease control as they are generally free of both.  (Screw you Monsanto.)  They are seemingly happy wherever they are plugged into the ground and will obligingly clone themselves by way of growing clusters of bulbs which can be dug up and divided, then stored in a shed for a few years before being distributed to neighbors; as I am wont to do on occasion.   They will also propagate in the usual flower fashion of pollination by insect and wind, but the resulting seeds will take a long five years to produce a flower after germination.

On many a stroll down the roads of Oysterville, Washington I have noticed daffodils growing amidst the forest.  Often looking closer there's evidence of a tumbledown cottage or perhaps only the remains of a foundation, almost fully claimed by the forest.  The daffodils that once grew in a flower box or along a picket fence are all that remains of a home.  Whenever I see this my imagination erases the tangle of brush and conjures up sepia toned images of a small cottage with a trim lawn and perhaps a tire swing hanging from a thick branch of a maple tree in the front yard.  Perhaps some children playing while the adults relax on a rocker on the front porch or standing at the gate while visiting with some passersby.

What were we talking about again? Oh yes, daffodils.

Daffodils have been one of my favorite flowers for as long as I can remember.  I've always been an outdoor kind of girl so those short soggy days spent mostly indoors are long ones for me.  I have vivid memories of being outside in shorts and tee-shirt (in kid protest of the enduring cold) while climbing our maple tree and beneath the tree in a patch of hard dirt grew the loveliest patch of daffodils, which I'd lay on a low hanging branch to admire.  It still makes me smile.  I've always imagined their beauty to be a gift to others, not selfish vanity like the Narcissus of Greek mythology.

Daffodils, being so common and nearly weed-like in robustness, I assumed my particular fondness for this flower was rare.  However, I couldn't have been more wrong.  Since thinking about writing this article, I've noticed each of my neighbors remarking on the daffodil leaves and overheard many a conversation of strangers whose subject was the very thing.   It seems as though the daffodils hold the same promise for everyone.  The Chinese believe that if the daffodils bloom before the Chinese New Year there will be extra wealth and good fortune and although I couldn't find verification of this for 2012 on the vastness of that which is Google, I do believe that they did, and that the good luck transcends the borders of China.

For further daffodil reading:
http://www.portlandnursery.com/plants/seeds-bulbs/narcissus.shtml
http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/archives/116425