Not that I know what normal is. At All. But we can pretend can't we.
Last week, I somehow found myself home alone. With the just the babies. I can't remember how I let that happen. I feel like such a spoiled lightweight. I mean when the big kids were little, I did it everyday. Meaning I packed them up and we went to my mother-in-laws. Every day. I'd call Shane and tell him where he should come if he wanted dinner. I remember at one point he said to me,
"You do know we have our own house. Where we live. Right?"
I knew we did. But I also knew there was no one there to talk to whose diaper I didn't have to change. Or who could make me a cup of coffee and a scone. So down the road to Grandma and Grandpa's we would go. And that was how I survived the early years of being the sole toilet-trained person at home.
Maybe not the most impressive parenting strategy, but the early years are just a survival game. And I think it was a great strategy everyone should be able to have. I would ask Audrey what she wanted to be when she grew up and she was answer , " A Grandma!" It was a good time for everyone.
But back to my Lone Survivor Day. Actually it was only a few hours, but it felt like I'd been sliding down rocky cliffs and suffering constant ambushes without backup for a week. It started with Shane taking Cyril to an appointment. Which Malachi was very upset about . Having none of it, he broke through the gate Shane installed to keep him from escaping and headed right after them. Cyril noticed and jumped out of the truck to walk him back up the driveway where I was just headed with crying Fi, who also does not like to be left out of any social excursion beyond the confines of our house. I don't know who has been telling her tales of the great big beyond the front door, but she is into it and will take any opportunity of attempting to get there. Fortunately she has not been successful in breaching the gate though I'm sure its just a matter of time before Muffin gives her lessons.
I wrestled them back behind the defensive zone, if that works. Shane did not marry me for my love, or knowledge of anything sporty. Though, him being as big a fan as I am, I think I can say whatever I want. Then, being the clever wife that he may, or may not, have married me for, I picked up a scarf and tied the gate shut. Malachi was again upset at being thwarted and quickly went on the offensive by suggesting we foam sword fight. Somehow he had left his sword on the back porch so I would of course have to unlock the back door for him to get it. I couldn't carry both kids and either kid would bolt once the door was opened so I, naïvely, opened the door and told him to go get it, while I held wiggly Fi back. And of course he went out the door with no intention of ever coming back. Peacefully. Or any other way. Eventually I bribed him with some promise of something to come back in. And quickly locked the door.
I searched my mental data base of things to do when the only thing both kids are capable of doing together is destroying the house and came up with this:
It worked for about 30 min, during which I had to remember the protocols for de-tubbing and dressing two kids both of which have the singular life goal of discovering just how much a toilet is capable of sucking down in one flush. Bing turned up no results to said query so I winged it by letting them air dry a bit and then offering another bribe to let me get close enough to throw a diaper and some bit of clothing on them both.
And then I thanked the parenting gods when I heard the doorbell, heralding the return of the three older kids from their lessons. Again, thanks to Grandma Trudy for ferrying them.
If you can use a laugh, Shane took Cyprian shoe shopping but nothing in the store was his size so they ordered some through the store. Two days later, this arrived:
At first I thought these little ones were like a hood ornament for his tennis shoes box. But realized they had sent a little kids 4, instead of a big kids 4. Cyprian was not so amused.
Fiona, on the other hand, was thoroughly amused when Shane and I took her to dinner last night for a final Harrah!
Is that water really for ME?
Ok, Fiona. I think you've had enough.
Everyone's pants were wet by the end of dinner. We did discover in addition to the feel of cold water dribbling down her chin, she also likes beets, limabeans, mahi mahi, and raspberry sorbet. Not so much panna cotta. Hey, more for mom. She also does not like nursing quietly and discreetly while not exposing mom to a room full of strangers. Not that knowing them would make it any less annoying or difficult to attempt while eating. That is where the Last Harrah comes in. Until she can use a steak knife. Which will probably also be soon, courtesy of Malachi.