Embrace the Race

The light outside is soft but there as I wake up to the sound of Abby crying to get out of her crib. It's intermittent which tells me I have a few more minutes before she cranks it up to communicating with the dolphins in the Atlantic. I scan my bed to find G curled up next to Sadie. They're both snoring. Andy's side has been empty for at least a half an hour I would guess, covers still dogeared like they expected him back any minute. I can't wait to scoop up the warm loaf of bread that is my daughter so I hop out of bed and patter to her room. I love these mornings that start like a slow waltz and curtsy their way into breakfast.

"Mommy? I'm cold."

Uh oh, this is never good. When he's cold it's usually because his diaper is more swollen than a water balloon and has already begun to burst inside his Marvel superhero jammies. If only they were made of steel and able to hold a single gallon of urine in a single bound.

"And I pee pee'd on your bed."

Awesome. I had barely begun to nurse Abby when G arrived with his announcement that changed our soft and azure morning into Scurry-Hurry-Rush-a-Dilly-Square:

Back in my room. Lights on.
Put snuggly baby down and on so very unsnuggly hard floor (I'm so sorry Abs, be back soon).
Bedding stripped and thrown on floor, next to sad baby.
Sad baby crawls to playground otherwise known as dirty bedding.
Mean horrible Mommy moves just recently happy baby two feet away.
Now pissed off baby mourns like she was just about to shake hands with Beyonce at the VMA awards.
Histrionics, tears, back-arching agony, Grayson asking for milkandjuiceandmaxandruby, more tears, Sadie walks in and walks right back out.
It's 6:12.

I was still muttering incoherently to myself about doing laundry before my eyes were opened and isn't this what potties are for when a little boy voice breaks through my rant:

"You wear me out," G says. "Sometimes, Mommy, you wear me out."













"With what? My words?" I ask the middle aged person trapped in a three year old's body.

"Yes, your words. Can I have cheese for breh-fast?"

And so I was once again reminded how unimportant messes are in the life we are so lucky to have with these particular children. In fact, it is because of these many messes I am reminded how lucky we are to love and live with these particular children.

*noontime update*
Lest I forget:

Five minutes into our shopping trip at Target, Abby picks up the latte (I propped next to her "briefly" before finding a trash can) and proceeds to pour the stainable remains all over herself, the diaper bag, and aisle 7. There are not enough wipes in the world to clean up that kind of motherly stupidity.