You Know You're a Mom...

I should be cleaning.  I really should be.  But we all know how that goes for me.  I knew this was how it was going to happen... I'd procrastinate and delay and make excuses until I'm facing a crunch that'll be fueled by 3 cans of Coke at 11 pm and I'll whip the house into shape after everyone goes to bed.  It's like being in college again, but with Lysol and poop smears instead of FDR and the New Deal and my highlighters and note cards.

But my kids are being absurdly cute.  And they're sitting in their highchairs and we're singing songs while I blog.  And I don't really want to be anywhere else.  The simplicity of talking about where our noses are and playing peekaboo behind the laptop screen between sentences is so peaceful.

Before they woke up this morning I was looking at some of our pictures from the weekend and they made me miss my kiddos.  So I woke them up instead of squeezing in a few toilet cleanings.

I think I'm truly a nut case... I go between being so frustrated that I can't accomplish housework because they're mini tornadoes and being so enamored with them that I don't want to waste a single second with them by scrubbing soap scum.

Though, I guess I'm a little entitled to having a bit of a split personality since I'm fairly certain all kids are at least mildly schizophrenic, right?  One second (like, two paragraphs ago) they were being cute and babbling at me about noses and asking about their other facial features and now they're throwing french toast sticks at me and thumping their be-Tinkerbell'ed chests like wee monkeys because they're apparently quite finished with breakfast.

Geez, girls.

Crazy is just part of my life now.  I've kinda accepted it, totally embraced it, and freely admit to it.  It makes it a little easier to laugh when I find the twins pretending to be little Monet's by "painting" the couch cushions with their bottles of milk or systematically crushing animal crackers and dropping them down the air ducts while I'm busy cleaning up the "soup" Jack made by mixing cream of tartar with salt and green sprinkles in a bowl full of water and then spilled when he tasted it and violently recoiled with disgust.

I mean, what kind of lunatic gleefully flounces out the door at 9 pm to go to the grocery store, sans offspring, and feels like she's been granted the vacation of the century as she peacefully picks produce and compares prices in silence, meandering down aisles that even contain toys and candy with reckless abandon because, unencumbered, she knows she does not have to barter, bargain, bribe or plead in order to escape without either a fight or an acquiescence.

A mom... that's what kind.

Hit up my girl Arizona Mamma's blog for more camaraderie!