Super Sundays and Janitors

I just love Sundays. I hate the waking up, the getting dressed, and the riga-mu-row of keeping kids clean for the duration of prep time before church, but once I’m AT church I love that I went through the impossible and survived. I’ve learned a few tricks to ease my stress on Sunday mornings. #1 I do NOT wake up my kids until we are about to walk out the door. The whole, “Let me get my kids up and ready and lazily eat breakfast early…” does NOT work for our family. Every now and again I’ll get the urge to be an over achiever and I’ll attempt getting the kids dressed say… thirty minutes before we leave. Well, without FAIL, disaster strikes. I have NEVER experienced a Sunday that didn’t cause my heart to stop and a few gray hairs to sprout. Some examples- Two Sundays ago: Everyone is ready for church and I just have to put on my hills and we are going to be out the door. I say, “Honey can you take Brighton to the..” but I don’t finish because I am staring at Brighton. “WHAT THE HECK!!! WHY is BRIGHTON SOAKING WET??” And little Brooklyn pipes up, also DRENCHED, “We are drinking water out of my tea set!” Or rather BATHING in it! Another Sunday: Brighton exploded his diaper and khaki pants became khaki MUD puddle. Another Sunday: Brooklyn decided to eat spaghetti o’s in her Sunday dress.


But today was great. I totally had NO idea that Daylights Savings time reverted to Steal an Hour today so Starling nearly pushed me out of the bed yelling, “We gotta be at church in thirty minutes.” Well. I bought a new dress but couldn’t wear it because I didn’t have time to shave my legs and- trust me-cactus legs wouldn’t compliment the dress at all. And it is a dress that has to be ironed. (I usually don’t even BUY dresses that require work but… it was the only thing that even FIT me at the Great American Thrift Store that has NO dressing rooms. After stripping down to my underwear in front of a mirror in the back of the store covered only by a divider that was for sale, I was determined I’d have something to show for all my work. And the little red number was five bucks. I also stripped a manikin of her outfit and bought it because I was too lazy to redress her. Plus I was certain I’d knock her over because she almost passed out on me like four times while I was taking off her skirt). So I had to wear old faithful. A long skirt. I wear old faithful a little too often. But anyway… I got dressed, deodorized, and war painted in like fifteen minutes and laid out the kids clothes, yelled to Starling, “GOOD LUCK! Gotta GO!” and left him to dress both children and him. He even fixed Brooklyn’s hair. (If fix is what you would call it…). I got to church and RAN to the front to lead the music except I didn’t know what page I was leading so I started waving my hand and singing Water-mel-on while trying to look up the song. Finally, my dear friend playing the piano whisper-shouted, “52! Page 52!” Thank goodness for her. Starling and the kids showed up, late but halfway presentable. I redid Brooklyn’s hair after I praised Starling for doing such a great job fixing it. Then, when I led the intermediate song I forgot to tell people to stand up so in the middle of us starting the song I yell, “Oh! Stand up! Stand up!” and we had to start the song over and it was horrible and Starling told me I’ll be out of that calling by next week. But… he’s been telling me that for a year so we’ll see. Sister Pack is back from serving a mission in Chili and she’s actually MUSICAL so he could be right. THEN the closing song actually went normal until Brighton saw me. He got SO excited that he started laughing HYSTERICALLY and trying to copy me by waving his hands frantically. He got louder. And LOUDER. And was bouncing HIGHER and HIGHER. And waving his hands FASTER and FASTER. And it was all I could do keep singing through my grin.

Anyway- we had a great day at church. I taught the Gospel Principles class on Prayer, which I have LOTS of experience with and we all know WHY, and the class had a super discussion. Relief society was terrific PLUS we had cake and ice cream. Best day EVER.

We came home and it was SO beautiful that I insisted we have a picnic. So we took a bunch of food that I didn’t have to cook outside and we ate in the back yard. My neighbor came outside and said, “Hey Brooklyn!” Brooklyn said, “Oh look! Mrs. Nancy has a picnic just like US!” A bowl of cereal in Nancy’s hands. You can tell I suck at feeding my kid.

But the entire reason I even BLOGGED was to make the announcement that Brighton took his first steps. Well his first bunch of steps in a row. It happened Thursday at the Discovery Center on the coast. I handed him a cup and, thinking he was holding onto something stable, he walked across the room. Starling and I both got to witness his first steps which is miraculous in and of its self. But he wasn’t fooled when I tried to get him to do it again. Everything I put in his chubby little fingers would get slung across the room. So his crawling has become really intense and he’s a quick little booger. I don’t know if he’ll start walking soon or not. He’s so fat and clumsy I just don’t see how he can balance. But he’s stubborn if he’s anything so his determination may win over his wobbly little coordination problem.

Brooklyn is really proud of Brighton. She shows it by head locks of love and kisses that send him tumbling onto the ground. But, he doesn’t seem to mind her intense love. He usually responds with a kiss full of TEETH and a hug full of punch. And if one of them comes away crying, it’s usually Brooklyn.

They are both rotten to the core. Brooklyn is so grown up with her OCD bossiness. Today when Starling was “fixing” her hair, he sprayed it with his water bottle. Brooklyn said with as much drama as a two year old can muster, “DAD-DEE! WHY did you make a MESS on ME!?” And she flipped out on me because I didn’t put her shoe basket back on the shelf perfectly straight. I don’t know where our child is, the baby that got switched in the hospital, but the poor OCD parents having to deal with our messy, crazy child that snacks on dirt and boogers is probably looking for Brooklyn. I, of course, have no idea how to relate to her. And don’t you LAUGH at her life crises or that REALLY releases the drama queen inside her.

She came inside and told me that she didn’t feel good. “I’m NOT tired and I DON’T need to lay down. I just need to SIT on THIS couch.” Trying not to smile, I said, “Ok.” She then went on, “And I am NOT a baby!” Okay… “Brighton told me I’m not a baby.” This got my attention. “He did?” She nodded. “With his Super Powers he told me that. Because he can’t talk.” Alright. The neighbor girls, who had been playing with her earlier before she came inside and revealed all of this to me knocked on the door to see if she would come back out. “Um. Well… I don’t need to because I am just needing to be inside right now. Inside of this house that is my mommy’s.” Then she sat back on the couch and said, “They told me I had to lay down in my tree house and I do NOT need to lay down.” Ah. The root of her revelation.

Yesterday we went four wheeler riding and Brooklyn and Layla were singing. It made me feel like a great parent to hear my two year old blaring in the most country voice imaginable, “red solo cup, You feel me UP, PRO-CEED to par-teee! Lets go to the partay!” I don’t even listen to country so I blame Starling. (Even though I know every word to that song somehow and can’t get it out of my big head). I told him, “I can’t wait for her to be offered alcohol for the first time and THAT song come readily to her mind.” So much for all the primary songs I’m trying to teach her. Of course she and Layla were also running around the parking lot shouting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” If that wasn’t couth, when they started LICKING the ice cream freezer… the PICTURES of ice cream on the ice cream freezer at Fox’s Pizza… that was the pudding on the vanilla wafer. And Brooklyn is my EASY one.

Brighton… His obsession with janitorial supplies is beginning to worry me. His favorite toys include my BROOM, MOP, VACCUME, PLUNGER, TOILET BRUSH, and just plain toilet! Every time I go to pee I have to fish out tennis balls or rubber ducks. You would THINK we could keep the TOILET seat down! (Yeah. I seem to be the only one who can manage that PLUS remember to close the bathroom door). BUT I still love my husband! Toilet seat up, clothes BY the dirty laundry basket, tools on the kitchen table husband. Yesterday Brighton found some more cleaning supplies. I guess he was bored of his favorites. Brooklyn said, “MOM-MAY… LOOK at what our BRY BRY is do-ING!” I didn’t look. I said, “Brooklyn, he’s fine.” She put her hand on her hip and said, “MOM-MAY… Bry Bry is making a REALLY big mess in here.” As opposed to when? The only time that child isn’t DESTrOYING my house is when he’s asleep or GONE. But after she all but yanked me off the couch where I was folding laundry, I went to the kitchen to find Brighton in a HUGE puddle of something… some carpet cleaner stuff and spread all around him was Ajax powder and every cleaner that was under my sink was on the kitchen floor. I’m seriously going to be completely gray before I turn thirty. I threw him into the bathtub and looked to the sky and screamed, “WHYYYY???” for a minute, then TRUDGED into the kitchen I’d JUST cleaned and CLEANED it again. And when I got Brighton OUT of the tub and he dumped CEREAL all over the kitchen rug I sounded like a rabid animal… maybe a tiger-bear combo. I seriously growled. My house is a lost cause until Brighton turns 19 and we ship him off on his mission. Yet, I can’t even be annoyed with the little human tornado because he is so PROUD of his destructive accomplishments and I don’t have the heart to crush his little spirit. I’ll have a crush heart in a year tops. Unless he keeps up that giggle when I throw my hands up and scream. His utter disregard for any emotion other than sheer glee is contagious. That’s why a masquito on the wall will see me yelling and hopping around the kitchen EVERYDAY covered in green globs of baby food that Brighton THROWS and SPITS all over my face, hair, and shirt instead of watching me stare down a skinny baby. He just thinks ripping the spoon from my hand and slinging it splattering against the cabinet is hysterical. And he thinks I’m having SO MUCH FUN playing FETCH. He really does. He CLAPS for me when I RETRIEVE his spoon. It’s INSANE. Mothering is INSANE. How do people DO IT? Like- there are moms that have time to wear make-up and look cute and have a life OUTSIDE of their home. HOW?? TAKE A SHOWER is on my To Do List.