Saturday, February 23, 2013

Roles of a Mother

This morning, I woke up as a princess, as David and Eddie brought me breakfast in bed!  It wasn't Mother's Day or my birthday or anything.  What sweeties they are (can I say that about boys?  I just did.).

The royal feeling didn't last long, as I found myself in the kitchen as a combination short-order cook and waitress, trying to make a suitable breakfast for the little ones.  I don't make different breakfasts to accommodate differing tastes.  I just don't.  But breakfast with two two-and-a-half-year-olds and a four-year old has an awful lot of "more toast, please," and can I have some honey?" and "I want a straw!" and "No, I get the pink cup," and "Oh, I spilled!" that keeps a mom hopping.  Then I was the bus boy, clearing the dishes off the bar (and not finding any tips, I might add.).

Then I became an anger management coach, working with Freddie who had a sour face.  "Are you sad?" I prodded.  "No!" he growled, "I mad!"  We had to work through that with him before he threw something.  He's into throwing things.

I got a wild spell (maybe it was an onslaught of PMS?) and decided to move the red rug from the living room into the family room.  Interior decorators do that all the time.

But before I could actually move the rug, I had to call in the maid to give it a good vacuuming (don't want to carry dust from one end of the house to the other.  Tremendously unsanitary.).  And then the moving guy had to come and actually roll up said rug and heft it into the other room.  Real interior decorators can't get their fingernails chipped, you know.

Georgie came into the room, and I morphed into a linguistics expert as he excitedly yelled, "Mommy so nuddah wup?"  Turns out that he wanted to show me "another rug" that he had found in front of the kitchen sink.  I guess he is following in my <ahem> interior decorator footsteps.

I wasn't being a very good child care worker while the interior decorator was working, so I had to become a grief counselor to deal with the aftermath of the twins getting into Angel's no-longer-hidden stash of Valentine conversation hearts.  He hearts were stolen and eaten, and her real hear was just about broken.  At least that's the story I got.

I was a sanitation engineer and took out the garbage.  Then the recreation manager in me helped three little ones to find warm weather gear, encouraged outdoor play, and suggested snowman-building.  Success!  And momentary quiet.

It didn't last, long, as they came rushing back in with cold toes and frosty fingers.  I was a mediator, trying to settle the warm dispute about who got to sit where in front of the fireplace.

I became an alarm clock, waking all three of the teenagers up.  I know, I used to sleep in on Saturdays when I was a teenager, too.  But that doesn't mean that, as the parent, I have to let them sleep all day.  So there. (sticking out tongue)

I tuned into my motivational speaker wavelength to encourage David and Eddie to get their bedroom clean and finished.  They are almost there - it has been quite a job and they have something to be proud of.

I even operated as a home health aid, offering dressing and toileting assistance.  There may have been some runny noses in there, too, but I can't discuss details due to HIPAA privacy policies.

All before 11 o'clock in the morning.  And if you'll excuse me, now I need a nap.

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