The morning begins at 4 AM when #1 son enters the room wailing that he wants his father. I groggily respond that he is "right here," referring to the place where our 90lb. dog is resting comfortably in my husbands spot, head on pillow, convinced that she is human.
My son SHRIEKS in a volume that would rival a stadium loudspeaker that "Daddy is NOT here, that is Jersey!?!?! "
I calm this child as my alarm sounds that it is time for me to wake up and start the day.
Fat chance. I was robbed of 17 minutes of sleep and I intend to get them back. I slam the snooze.
Enter a curly, little beauty who appears at the side of my bed and hands me a holiday themed pencil eraser. "Can I have this "punkman?" she asks sweetly, referring to the pumpkin shaped novelty item.
Sure. Why not?
I scoop up my baby girl and snuggle her into the bed, determined to salvage my 15 minutes of sleep.
My back up alarm alerts me that I should be in the shower by now.
No dice, little alarm friend. I still have time.
Child # 3 shuffles in a few minutes later and requests that I remember to bring his banana to school today.
Yes. I'll take care of it. In about 11 minutes.
When our crazy white dog begins running wind sprints up and down three flights of stairs signalling that if she is not allowed out to relieve herself, she will do so all over my carpet, I finally accept that my sleeping minutes are numbered. I roll out of my warm bed, and descend the stairs to the frosty lower level. I feed the dogs, make the coffee, prepare the milk cups and aforementioned banana. I have just finished pouring my beloved coffee when the screaming begins.
I make my way back up the stairs to begin my day.
The "Daddy Misser" is now in hysterics because the only pants that are clean are the kind that will make him slip off the swings and kill himself.
"Is that what you want, Mommy?!?! Do you want me to break my neck because of these pants?!?!?!" He is referring to a pair of smooth, nylon, Adidas pants, which apparently when worn while swinging can cause bodily injury. I guess this is what they are teaching him at school.
Middle man is also upset about his selection of clothing for the day. He is demanding to know why "handsome clothes" have been picked out for him when Friday is "Kid's Choice."
I assure both boys that they are free to wear ANYTHING their heart desires today because it is Friday and I ran out of energy to care two days ago.
In the mean time, my littlest monkey has joined me in the bathroom and I am thrilled to have at least one child who is not crying!
From the top of her beautiful blond head to the bottom of her tiny fairy feet, she is all girl. Wearing her finest princess pajamas, complete with a blue tulle skirt, she applies imaginary blush with delicate hand.
We share conversation about the make-up that we are applying and she asks me, "Mommy, why you need this makeup?"
For a moment I question the message that I might be sending, wondering if it is wrong to tell her that Mommy needs make up because it makes her feel good.
I ponder a more profound answer, something that will help her understand that beauty is only skin deep, true value comes from within. Crap like that.
But...I think better of it and continue our discussion about the benefits of "eyestick" and "brush" which Mommy's use to help them feel more awake.
It occurs to me that the last time I shared a bathroom mirror with a girlfriend, I was a sophomore in college. It was part of our "going out routine" to get ready together, everyone sharing gossip, giggles and make-up tips. Talking excitedly about what the evening might bring.
I am worlds away from my college days, about 30 lbs and at least 4 pant sizes, and although the college days were fun they do nothing to rival my new routine.
In my new world I have found the best use yet for a double sink vanity. Here in my bathroom, I see my future.
As I share the blow dryer with my little girl and listen to the musical sounds of her laugh, I see what lies ahead. Days when she will fight me because she wants to wear real make-up, and times when she will run to her room and slam the door. I see her tears fall as she finds out that not all friends are true, I can picture us sitting on her bed as I tell her the story of how I fell in love with her Daddy.