Life with kids. I never really understood all that it entailed until this past Saturday morning. Upon arising from a night of sleeping and waking in intervals of thirty minutes each as a soldier undergoing a simulated combat training in anticipation of a nocturnal enemy attack, my limbs were just finally beginning to release all the tension of the torturous night. My body felt as heavy as a cadaver when the littlest critter in the house, well-rested and full of energy began screaming from her crib, ¨Mommy, Hi, Hi Mommy, Out, Please, Out Please!¨
At this point I simply turn over and lay on my ¨good ear¨ to muffle out the sound in hopes that she will just change her mind and choose to sleep in. I know that my husband is also wrecked and I plead with him insisting that she is calling Papi instead. God forbid our little cubs distinguish between weekdays and weekends and oversleep. I mean it is a Saturday and we have no reason to be up at 6:30am so what am I going to do in order to keep this live one busy without waking the entire household?
Well, there is no time to strategize with my active brood because my fate was decided for me as the two lion cubs (boys) awoke full of excitement and before I even had a chance to down a cup of cold day old coffee, they were changing into their ¨basketball¨ clothes and dribbling the ball throughout the house.
Before I know it they are headed for the door and despite my stream of protests to wait and let Mommy use the bathroom, brush teeth, get dressed, something, I find myself standing barefoot outside dressed with whatever clothes I could grab quickly enough from the laundry room. Turns out I had draped my husband´s twenty year old t-shirt over my pajamas.
At that moment all I could think about is how to relieve myself while simultaneously supervising these boys who do not notice that not a soul is yet awake in this unofficial almost all over sixty residential development. (I was not in the mood for another scolding from my HRS-conspiring friends.) I don´t dare glance at my reflection in the window so as not to catapult myself straight into clinical depression.
At that very moment, one of the friendly neighbors walks by with her dog and as we are conversing, I remember that I am shoeless, bra-less, have not yet brushed my teeth and my hair is so knotty and frizzy that the antennae-like follicles could pick up Moscow. All my vanity has vanished at this point and I have become the epitome of what I have always despised. I have been nullified.
It gets better. My poor neighbor is struggling to maintain an adult conversation with me about current real estate prices while keeping her poor dog from being dragged away by my curious, never-shuts-up three year old as he (the dog, not my son) is trying desperately to evacuate in my front lawn (soccer field) before being yanked away by this little boy. Seconds later, my neighbor is scooping up the poop and holding the poop and coffee in one hand, (the same hand) and trying to wrestle the leash from the tenacious grasp of this obstinate three year old. I offer to hold the coffee, then she passes me the poop bag instead as she untangles her ankles from the twisted leash that temporarily renders her immobile. My son continues to protest.
I wish I would have had a video camera. I was not laughing at the time, it was actually quite a tense moment and I even questioned her at one point about minding that she was sipping her cappucino as the bag of crap hung from her pinkie. I really don´t think she even realized the repulsiveness (is this a word) of the combination in her grip at that second.
You see, what is so hilarious in retrospect, is that when anybody enters into ¨our world¨ be it for conversation, stopping by to borrow something, bring something or just spend time, they end up behaving like they are suffering from Alzheimer´s. Upon interacting with us that fateful morning, this poor dog-walking woman did not even have the mental capacity to recognize that drinking coffee with bacteria infested feces inches from her mouth was not a good situation to be in. Likewise, my mother stops by all the time and always, without fail, ends up leaving her purse, forgetting why she came, leaving the door wide open, essentially completely disabled to accomplish the task she had intended prior to arrival.
I have no idea what to name this phenomenon or what part of the brain appears to shut down. I live in this environment and I would imagine that inadvertently this experience is helping me develop some sort of skill set that has yet to be determined. Hopefully one day I will be able to define it, put it on a job application and get hired exclusively based upon having mastered whatever this is!
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