Trash Eyes is Happy

The air is crisp, the sun is beating down, and the kids are holding hands running across the playground in their clothes that are just a little too small. At any moment, Joey will pull her hair or she'll trip and sail into a mud puddle, and the moment will be over. But for that moment, life is perfect.

Here's what I had to say about life one year ago:


Momentum


In the midst of the mundane and insane that has been our life lately, I have had breath-taking moments of quiet clarity: Life is brilliant!


In a average day, I will be called “Poop Eyes” and “Trash Butt.” I will pull the baby away from the toilet, off the steps, out from under Jack. I will yell about bad behavior, rotten eating habits, and messes. I’ll take the nuk away because she’s too damn old to have it, but I’ll give it back the minute she whines. I’ll yell at the baby for spilling the dog’s water dish on his head, threaten to throw away toys, and holler, all the while longing for cocktail hour. Each day is a frenzy, intense and chaotic, bursting with paint spills and milk spills and poop, barf, and sand. There is pinching, screaming, and tears, more bad television than any self-respecting mom cares to admit, and mealtime battles that would make anyone crack.


But then it happens, in a flash: Jack asks if he can give the baby a bottle. Sylvie crawls into the bed and nuzzles against my neck, like a boa. Joey’s fingers clutch my own as I nurse him in the earliest morning hours. Jack tells me he loves me “1,000 percent” because I am so beautiful. They tell jokes and laugh and eat their dinner. Joey takes his first steps, shaky but proud. Syl and Jack curl up on the couch together. They surprise me with politeness and silliness and smarts. I ache.


Norman Rockwell must have painted very fast, because those idyllic moments are fleeting, though. They pepper the day. Sometimes whole days pass where you wonder what the hell the point is. But as time passes, I notice more of the good stuff. “Trash Eyes” is happy.


The chaos has maintained it's staggering pace, although now it's different bad television, less spills, more hair-pulling, more nudity. I am constantly rummaging through clothes to find stuff that they haven't outgrown yet, and I wonder who took my babies and replaced them with these big kids! But I can't reflect too long on it because I can't find my keys, my wallet, Jack's shoes, Syl's undies, etc. I am likely to find them in one of Jack's many briefcases, if only I could find them, but before I do that I need to put a diaper on the naked baby, start the fifth load of laundry, and feed the dog, who is watching this drama unfold with total disgust, remembering the glory days when we had time to dote on him.

It is a madhouse here, and if you're crazy enough, you might find yourself embracing the insanity. I am not sure I am quite there yet, but I DO see that the moments that are good are really, really good. Amazing even.

CEO

I have never held a position of authority professionally, but I am the CEO of this family. It is a lonely and daunting place to be. Maybe it's because my "employees" are all under five, or maybe it's because I NEVER feel like the decisions I make are right or good. I worked in a restaurant for 10 years and thought that insanity like that couldn't be duplicated. Wrong. Even without the sexual overtures, this household would bring any busy business to it's knees in noncompliance, drama, and disorderly conduct.
Like any good CEO, I will be specific. Let's talk about the potty. We have, on the one hand, the five-year-old that will not, under any circumstances, wipe his own ass, even if that means sitting on the toilet and hollering for an hour. On the other hand, we have the not-quite-two-year-old who adores the potty and everything that goes into it. "PEE-PEE," he screams (because he screams everything), while splashing it around.
Or maybe the behavioral issues would resonate better with you. We have, in Cubicle A, the best employee ever. She is coachable, independent (but not TOO independent), mild-mannered, and sweet. In Cubicle B, we have the Mid-Level Manager, the guy who loves rules and loves fucking with the little guys. In Cubicle C, we have the Party Animal, the guy who might steal your lunch, punch a hole through your computer, or poop on the desk, just to shake things up. You can see where the CEO might struggle, right?
Anyhoo, I am looking forward to the day that this horrible power structure becomes a nice, peaceful democracy. Until then, I am going to withhold pay and yell as much as I can.

CHOO-CHOO!

This winter we took the kids to Chicago on the train. We visited the Lego store, American Girl, Michigan Avenue, Watertower Place, and Millenium Park, but really, we could have just taken the train back and forth and the kids would have been equally stoked.
The kids had their choice of any type of lunch they wanted. Yep, you guessed it, they chose McDonalds, where we um, er...enjoyed a $30 lunch. Wha?! Chad assures me that the prices are the same in Chicago as in Milwaukee but I beg to differ. Whoever heard of a $8 "value" meal?! Still, that was the only money we spent while there, and I imagine we are unlikely to get away with that again. Sylvie was drooling over the dolls, and Jack found a $400 Lego set that caught his fancy.
My Gramzie lived and breathed for her Chicago, and Chicago breathes life back into her for me. I can't visit there without thinking about her. So while the kids enjoyed the rhythmic rocking of the train and the Most Expensive Burgers Ever, I enjoyed reconnection to Gramzie.

Carnival Music Intermission

For those of you who enjoy hearing our trials and tribulations, this post will disappoint. Despite the hair-pulling and penchant for nudity from Joey, life is pretty sweet. Here's the thing: everything is relative, and one year ago we were a family of five (plus smelly old Oscar) living in 1000 square feet, trying to sell our house by owner, working three jobs between the two of us, and oh, the baby was still nursing 472 times a day.

Here are all the ways life doesn't suck:

• Oscar channels his inner kitten when milk gets spilled.
• We sleep all night, every night.
• No one lives in nor receives nutrients from my body.
• Nothing hurts.

The bar is pretty low, and the antidepressants are clearly doing their job, but WOW, life is sweet. Once the hubby goes back to work and Jack is out of school, the carnival music will resume at full throttle, I am sure. CHEERS! to a little break in the insanity.