The Wild Stallion

I've finally come up with the perfect analogy for having children.

No kids. This is the wild stallion. Running free on the plains. Not a care in the world. Bound by nothing.

One kid. The once free stallion has been captured. He has been left out to pasture though. Free to roam, but with in certain boundaries.

Two kids. The stallion has been moved into a stall. He is still left alone, and let out to roam every so often, but his freedom has become so limited.

Three kids. The stallion is now in the stall all the time. He is only out when being led by a person. The term 'free' has left his vocabulary completely. One could almost say, he has been broken.

Four kids. The stallion now gets outfitted with a saddle. He cannot go anywhere without being chained by someone or something.

Five kids. He is ridden. Led everywhere. Even when the stall door is opened, he doesn't care to go out and run free. He is simply too tired.

Six kids. No one has six kids. 

The Final Straw

Matt has been in China for 8 days now. This means, I am left with 4.5 days to go as single mom to 5 kids under age 7. There have been some highs. There have been lots and lots, well, and lots of lows...but mostly it's just been 8 days of extremely, painful in the chest, palpitations, nausea provoking anxiety. Every single one of my minutes, of every single day is occupied. By somebody else, and then some. Between work, school, sports, feedings, laundry, dishes, meetings, broken bones, rotton teeth, poop, pee, baths, beds, books, toys, walks, dogs, cats, finger nails (120 of them to be exact), I have literally no time to even think my own thoughts. 

 

It is all I can do to keep my head above water. In all of my life (and I've done some pretty difficult things, like Med School, Residency, Division I Swimming, etc) the ONLY THING that has even come close to comparing to the brokenness I currently feel, was Christmas training camp at IU. Specifically, my Sophomore and Junior years. Even still, the exhaustion, beat down, and pain that I felt then was 90% physical. What I am experiencing now is 90% mental/emotional. Simply put: MY BRAIN HURTS. I think some people describe this as a headache (not something I routinely experience.) Maybe it's a tumor. You know that popular saying, right now? "I just can't." Well. I can't. 

I. just. CAN. NOT. 

I had been mentally preparing myself (and my family, and friends, and nanny) for the fact that Matt was flying halfway across the world - or is China ALL the way across the world? - for a few weeks prior to his departure. This extensive, good intentioned, but seemingly (at the time) over the top preparation helped me get through, exactly, the first 2.5 days. Then, it happened. I can remember the exact moment that the "I CAN" attitude got squelched. It was like a birthday candle being doused with 2 gallons of water. So over the top. So unnecessary. No. I am not talking about having to find time to repair Brock's broken arm. I am not referencing his dentist appointment. Nor the back to school night that went an hour too long. Nor the changes in work schedule. It was on night 3, when I found out that Brock had been selected to be, THE FIRST, "Student of the Week" in his First Grade class. 

Translation: Oh, you are home? Alone with 5 kids? Taking care of all of their needs, while working full time and trying to keep rodents from taking over your filthy, disgusting, neglected house because your children insist on crumbling crackers and cereal while they eat it walking through the house, and stripping down thereby leaving dirty clothes throughout the house, and the dog pissed the floor again, and your mental health is hanging on by the thinnest of all that is hardly visible thread? Well then, let me hand you our BIGGEST project of the year. You know. That one that is "all about the kid". The one that needs pictures printed. Paper cut and colored. The one that requires you (the most impatient human to ever exist, who has never spent more than 30 seconds on her own homework in her whole life) to try and get your child to sit and write (his least favorite thing EVER, by the way) and think about the things he "loves" while his 3-4 other siblings run a muck. Crying. Laughing. Watching movies. Playing. 

This assignment rocked me to my core, I couldn't even cry OR laugh about it. I simply switched into survival mode...and that is where I have remained. I tried to look at the silver-lining. It will be done. He's the first, therefore NO expectations. I get it. He's the new kid in the class, it's his chance to tell his new classmates all about himself. It all makes sense, but, fuck. The timing is so bad. I told myself, it's ok, technology is extremely advanced. I will simply choose some pictures on my phone, load them online and pick them up from Crick Camera. My favorite locally owned camera shop. An hour and 3 failed attempts later, I gave up on Crick. Screw it. I will just stop in CVS with my USB cord and print some from my phone. Fast forward 4 days later (the day before it's due) and I, to the shock of no one, have not had one second to stop in CVS. I call my mom, asking if I can drop the kids and run in the store for 15 minutes to print photos. 

ONE HOUR LATER, I have prints in hand. One hour. An hour I simply did NOT have to offer. If I was going to get an hour, free of children, it should have been to work out. You know. Release some endorphins. Or eat a decent meal, not another meal of hot dogs and potato chips. Or get a pedicure. Or sit and have my own thoughts again for a minute. This particular Kodak Kiosk, would not recognize my device. I needed to download the App. But apparently my App store had disappeared. I thought the App Store app couldn't be deleted!!?? Those kids have managed to find yet, another way to ruin my life. I can't even go to the App Store to find and download another App Store. I had 3 other iPhone users completely stumped. Gone. 20 minutes later, thanks to Google, I found it. Matt had turned off my "in-App" purchasing, thereby, "hiding" the App store all together. I had to call him in China (1am his time) to find out the random password he decided to use, instead of the usual 4-digit codes each of us have used all of our lives. The Kiosk then shut down. Just decided, you know what, I don't feel like functioning properly. I feel your day has not yet had enough obstacles. It had to be rebooted. This takes 8 minutes. Never, in my life, have I ever cussed to random people. (Not AT. But TO.) That streak ended today.

I'm really not sure I can handle anything else. The simplest requests feel like 135 pound weights on my chest. I used my precious child nap time to help Brock compile all the components of his board. Laundry which should have been folded (or, who are we kidding, at least sorted) remains untouched. Unwashed even. The mice are probably having a party with all the unvacuumed crumbs. My sanity has been chipped away at, yet again. But, the project is complete. It's ready to hand in on Monday. He might not have a uniform to wear, but his (my) homework is finished. 

That is, until Wednesday, when the PARENT'S are assigned to write a note. At least this time, it is appropriately titled. I mean, let's be honest. This entire project, along with almost all of grade school, is really just parent homework, right? I don't really know this for sure. Brock is my oldest, so I am just now experiencing this whole "school thing" from the other side. I don't remember doing homework, at all. I definitely don't remember my mom helping me with it. And now, I am a doctor. So, maybe I just leave them be? 

Who knows. What I do know, is:

Four. More. Days.

I. can. not.

Why having FOUR older brothers is THE WORST.

They drag you to the pool. The freezing cold pool. They run around, laughing, shooting water guns, and eventually, they splash you in the face. Why must they be so wreckless?

When your mother wants a family picture, you fear for your life. Every. Single. Time.

Your "pretty boy" brother wears pigtails better than you do. Not right.


No. Just no.


As if tummy time was not bad enough, you rarely make it 5 minutes without getting hugged, kissed, stepped on or kicked. 
Can they not just leave me be!?


You rarely fall asleep and wake up in the same condition. And their accessories simply do not go with the outfit.


They insist that power tools are fun. Please.

You can't even enjoy your brand new, adorable chair, in your newly finished nursery, without, again, fearing for your life.

They seem incapable of understanding the concept of personal space.

They have even convinced your parents that tractors are fun. You have GOT to be kidding me!!!
They are always hogging the iPad. And playing really dumb boy games at that.

I repeat. No. Personal. Space.

Always wondering if you will survive. Just curious. Will I make it another minute? Why are they all surrounding me?
Nothing, not even your adorable girly accessories are safe from boy cooties.

Do you see this!?

Mom, please, please get me out of this madness. What are they even doing? Why do they think that is fun?

Dirty, grimy fingers. In the mouth. In the eyes. In the ears. Eww. Just eww!!!

They just don't get it. I am crying BECAUSE of you. Please don't try to cheer me up. Ugh, boys.

They insist on filling my crib, when I'm only a few days old...have they not heard of SIDS? No stuffed animals in the baby's bed!!

Daylight {for days?}

I think the boys' internal clocks have finally switched into 'Summer mode'. Their once easy and succinct 8pm bedtime has slowly become 9pm. Blame the daylight. Blame the "sleeping in" {ha!! yeah right} because of no school. Blame the heat of the 3rd floor (and that short 2 week stint of a broken AC). Blame moving a 4th boy upstairs (even though he's still in bed by 8pm). Blame whatever you want...but it's time to succumb, or better yet, embrace it.

We fought the new bedtime for a while. A couple weeks even. Refusing to believe the 8pm reprieve from child craziness had truly left us. We even tried herding the boys upstairs much earlier than 8 o'clock in an attempt to get them into "bedtime mode" sooner. All our efforts did, was turn a usually 15 minute bedtime routine into a 1.5 hour long routine!

It was making me grumpy. It was making Matt grumpy. We were getting irritated at the kids for repeatedly coming downstairs asking for a drink, to pee, a hug, a kiss, a snack, another book. We were yelling, threatening punishment. Instead of having an extra hour of time to relax, we had added an hour of all out war (I'm exaggerating quite a bit here...but that feeling in your chest when you hear little pitter patter of feet coming down the stairs 25 minutes after you thought they were in bed!? Well, it's anger. And I sincerely dislike feeling anger toward anyone, especially my children.)

Until it dawned on me. Why not embrace it? Why not use that extra hour to play, sing, hang out with our little guys? So, it's taken us 3 months to get through half a season of OITNB. So, I rarely get to enjoy an entire glass of wine. So, I never get to blog anymore. I'm enjoying my children and snuggling my teeny, growing way too fast, baby. This last week has been great! 

Last night, we stayed up late enough to play with sparklers in the dark. Everyone had a blast. I spent most of that time nursing Diana and getting her settled in for the night. Mitch spent most of that time clinging to his father's leg in terror at the fireworks. The rest of us were in hog heaven. The boys might remember that night as fun, magical, special, different. 

An added perk? The bedtime routine is back down to 15 minutes, and relatively stress free. Instead of 4-7 irritated individuals, we have 5-7 happy ones! (Obviously, with that many humans in one house, someone is bound to still be grumpy).

Parenting, child-rearing; it's constantly changing. Moods change. There is so much growing, learning, maturing going on in our house at all times. The animals that survive are the ones that adapt. The same goes for parents. If you don't change, adjust, mold and accept things, parenting will kill you. 

I'm so glad I figured ALL of this out, just in time for the schedule to change again in 2 weeks. School time!!!!

Stink Face

George was the first one up this morning. He walked in our room, I checked his diaper, as sometimes it's overflowing, requiring immediate attention. This morning? It was so so. Could be changed, but could withstand another urination if required. I stayed in bed. Eventually, Matt got up, showered, dressed, and left for work. I assumed he had attended to George's needs at some point in that process. You know what they say about the word "assume". By this point, all the brothers were up and at 'em. Well, except for Mitch. I'd heard a few noises over the monitor, but none that lead me to believe he wanted out of the crib as of yet. I nursed the baby. I found Brock and Curtis engrossed in a cartoon on the iPad. I didn't not find George. "Boys, where is George?" Two shoulder shrugs.

 I started off just listening. Listening at the top of the stairs, into the kitchen, living room and dining room areas - silence. Then I listened at the bottom of the 3rd floor stairs into the bedrooms and bathroom - silence. It has always been a somewhat silent fear of mine that a child would decide to go out the door and go "exploring" in the wee hours of the morning, without Matt or I hearing or knowing, so a bit of panic started to well up in my chest. But there were still LOTS of options as to where he could be, so I'll keep my wits about me for the moment.

"George? George!? Where are you?" No answer. I keep calling him, as I begin a much more thorough and detailed search. I actually go downstairs and walk through all the rooms. Then upstairs. Then the 3rd floor. No sight of George. I finally give in, and disturb Mitch by going into the nursery to check. No George.

Panic increases, I pick up the pace and the volume. "GEORGE!!! Where are you!!?? Get out here now! George??" I am now opening every closet. Looking through clothes, under blankets, in hampers, behind curtains. No George. Damnit. If a kid ever were to wander off, it WOULD be George. I am still calling his name while heading back into my room to find my phone in order to ask Matt when he left. I needed to know the exact last time the child had been spotted for my "Amber Alert" phone call to the police. As well as what he was wearing, in case Matt had changed his pajamas.

In my heart, I am sure he is somewhere in the house, but seriously, I had looked everywhere, and by now, it's been at the very least 10 minutes, but probably closer to 15. Hell, maybe even 20. I had been in and out of every room AT LEAST 3 times. Just as I get ready to turn into my room, I hear some pitter patters behind me, I turn to look, "SURPRISE!!!!" George has bounded into the hallway, completely and utterly naked, with the largest, most satisfied with himself smile he has ever mustered up, repeating, "I skeerd mommy." He is now doing some kind of jig as I just look at him. He could not contain his pride, so proud, so very very proud of his accomplishment. I just watch for a moment, completely unsure of my current emotional state. Was I mad? Relieved? Amused. Ugh, I was definitely amused. I had to hold back a smile, and try to act serious as I tried to explain to him why his {actually very funny and impressive prank} is not so funny as he is only 3 and should NEVER disappear from mommy for extended periods of time. He told me sorry, in an obviously non-remorseful way. We hugged. I got him dressed. We continued with the morning as if nothing happened. I, of course, called the grandmothers, Matt, and Leah to tell them of his shenanigans. Nothing like starting off the day with a laugh and a heart attack.

This is George.

I missed writing about him for his 3rd birthday. I've missed writing about a lot. But, this one story captures so much that is this hilarious, hard-headed, independent little boy. As my sister said, "I guess this is what you get when you combine Matt's love of a good prank and your (my) persistence." A three-year-old, willing to hide, naked, in a small box that is normally home to all the stuffed animals in the nursery, for no less than 15 minutes, without making a peep. Not a sound. To this day, I find myself wondering and curious as to what was going through that little brain while he heard me calling for him. Frantically searching the house, coming within inches of finding him.

Since that time. George has also taken it upon himself to walk around the block. Alone. (Causing a woman to abandon her running car, in the middle of the street to go escort him home.) He has forced us to lock the "candy cabinet" as well as the pantry door. He has forced me to store all cups, or toys, or items that could potentially store liquids up as high as possible. He has sampled nearly every pill and chemical that is within reach. If something can make a mess, and there is not an adult in sight, he will find this item, and make that mess. He is potty-trained, in that he knows when he has to pee or poop, he can hold it, and he can use the toilet independently. He is not potty-trained, in that he only chooses to use this skill about 50% of the time. He likes to get dressed on his own, and almost never gets the clothing on right. He will eventually stop putting his pants back on, usually by about noon.

The inability to take anything seriously appears to be extremely exhausting, as the child still naps almost 3 hours (sometimes nearly 4) everyday. In fact, his most common "disappearing act" is to find ZeeZee and just walk all the way up to the 3rd floor and put himself to bed. As much as he likes to get into shit, he doesn't when he naps. He simply sleeps, wakes up, comes directly back down the stairs, finds us and says, " I had good nap?". I know, buddy. I know you did.

His favorite song is "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star". But it's more like, "Qwinkle, qwinkle little star, how I wonder what you are, up above the so high world, like a hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm, qwinkle, qwinkle little star." His heart swells with joy when he gets some mom time. Or Mimi time. Or Magra time. Or, well, time with just about anyone without his big brothers. Most of the day, he hides his sensitivity behind his comedic act, but I see it in there. He is a very sweet, sensitive and extremely lovable little boy. He is not overly aggressive. He rarely, if ever hits. He has been known to bite a time or two. He loves, loves, loves, "baby seester, Di-eena". He's never met a stranger. He loves an audience.

Of all my children, I find him the hardest to fully understand and predict. He will have the same teacher as his previous two brothers, and when she asked about his personality, I didn't know what to say. I have no idea how he will behave in a school setting. A little piece of him loves to please, to follow the rules, to be praised. But another, slightly larger piece, loves to push limits, find boundaries, create new borders, stand out, and be himself. If I can find the patience to let him, George will be an artist of some sort, some day. He has a huge head, with a huge brain. His intelligence is NOT in question, but I sincerely believe him to be right-brained. Or maybe he's just ADHD. Time will tell. He is my 3rd child to become a 3-year-old, yet my first to make me aware of it. I am looking forward to the fours with this one. He went from talking like a caveman to talking non-stop, so I don't see how 4's could get any worse (as my least favorite part of a 4-year-old is the questions!!!)

As I write this, I cannot say I am surprised. This child made us laugh from day one. That 7 month photo-shoot where he publicly debuted his "stink face" serves as a pivotal moment in his comedic career. Life without George? Seems it would be so dull, so stereotypical. His interesting, aggravating, insanely frustrating, hilarious, lovable, sweet personality makes our family just that much better. He is not our biggest. Hovers at 50-75th percentile in everything. He is not our most beautiful (sorry, am I allowed to say that!?) He is not our oldest or youngest. He is rarely the on-looker's favorite. He is smack-dab in the middle. Yet, I think, he stands out the most. And always will.

I may not fully understand what is going on behind those giant, beautiful blue eyes of his, but I love him more than anything. I hope I can foster, and support, and not squelch that fire in him to be unique, while still keeping him safe, polite and grounded. Happiest of happy 3rd years, George Edward.

In the meantime, does anyone know how much a human GPS device costs? Should I just go ahead and get him micro-chipped? Oh, GeoGeo.