Ridiculous.
As I lay there with my eyes closed, trying to think of something on my To Do list for today that I actually want to do, it dawns on me.
BLOG!
Yeah... so it's been a year... but that doesn't really count in cyberspace, does it? Anyway, here I am, cursing my sudden sleeplessness but kind of excited to rejoin the land of the blogging.
Let me start by saying that whoever made up that stupid adage about having three kids not being much different than having two should be kicked in the teeth. It wears me out. Ethan is 7 now, a lover of all that is rule-following and orderly. I did have to write him out of my will last night because he said that his daddy is the smartest person in the house.I chalked it up to him being 7 and ignorant as to what "smart" means, but he certainly is not getting any of my boundless teacher wealth until he figures out which end is up.
Laney, the diva, is now 4 years old, and just as full of her princess power as ever. She lives to torment E, who in turn lives to make sure she follows every rule ever written in the history of man. She loves him, loves him, loves him, but sometimes, she just can't help herself. She has to break a rule... or seventy... and E just cannot abide the lawlessness.
She drives him absolutely nuts.
(Incidentally, I also wrote her out of the will because she said I was 3rd smartest -- Daddy, then Ethan, and then me. Absurd.)
Between the two of them, I have my hands full most days... but wait! I've got a great idea!! Let's throw in a third kid, disguised as a sweet child for the first 15 months of his life, and see how that goes.
Sweet baby Sam... oh where did you go? Sam has hit the Terrible Two stage early... by about 9 months. No one really believes me... with his cheek-pinching little grin and his frat boy curls, he pulls the women just like his older brother, but let me tell you -- he is, as of this point in his life, the devil in disguise.
Just ask the elderly lady he kicked whilst throwing a tantrum in CVS this morning.
(I had not written him out of the
will up until that point because he has yet to voice a ridiculous opinion about the intelligence ranks in this household, but I'm in the process after he showed his rear this morning.)This summer, for example, has been much like I think a summer with the circus would be. I fondly remember summers past when I was able to relax at the beach with a book or browse the local farmer's market or bookstore without much of a scene.
I should mention that those days are gone.
Recently, while on a trip to the grocery store, I ran into a friend. We stopped to chat for a few seconds, and when I turned around, Sam had emptied the entire endcap of Hot Wheels cars into the buggy.
All 47 of them -- in 4.2 seconds flat.
He, of course, smiles that sweet-Sam smile and starts his favorite chant (besides "Mommeee. Mommee. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy." -- which I'm convinced is really his way of cursing): "Mine. Mine. Mine."
This chant is vaguely reminiscient of the sea gulls in "The Little Mermaid." Drives me insane because whatever he has usually is NOT his.
And so begins the processional of the mortified mommy (that'd be me) pushing the screaming meanie (that'd be Sam) through the rest of the store (because I refuse to make another trip) while other customers curse me, scurry from my path, and murmur things like, "Bless his heart! His mommy must've hurt his feelings!"
My bad. Sorry for not buying 47 Hot Wheels for the kid when the safety warning clearly states, "Small parts. Not intended for children under 3." He's not even 2!
We, of course, had prayer meeting once we (quickly) got to the car.
Should I mention that Sam stopped crying right after we exited the store? Par for the course, people.
Through all of this, I have one recurring thought: I am pretty sure that none of this was really covered in "What to Expect When You're Expecting."
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