Day in the Life

Nothing is going as planned this morning . . .

Mid-way through washing the breakfast dishes, I hear Zeke crying hysterically. Hurriedly I dry my hands, thinking this can't be good, and rush to the bathroom, to find an upset little boy standing by the toilet, with very, very soiled underwear, shorts, legs, bottom, and hands. He's even managed to spread it onto the toilet seat somehow, although none actually made it into the bowl. I use about 8 wipes to clean up the mess, telling him over and over again how disappointed and sad he's made Mommy. I rinse out his clothes and throw them into the washing machine, then bolt up the stairs to break up a fight between Rachel and Karis and to help Zekers find the one pair of Spiderman undies that will make his life complete.

The phone rings. I answer it as I fish 2 Polly Pocket shoes out of Kari's mouth and motion for Rachel to keep her Pollies on the table where her sister can't get to them. I chat for a few minutes as I finish the dishes, then look over to see that Rach, Zekers and Karis have brought out almost every stuffed animal they own and scattered them around the living room, along with the pieces from about 9 different puzzles, all of Rachel's Polly Pocket things, and some dress-up clothes. Oh well, I think. At least they're keeping themselves harmlessly occupied. I make a couple of calls to schedule various things: an appointment for Rachel's shots so she can enter kindergarten in the fall; a long overdue appointment to get my hair cut; a call to the pharmacist for a refill on prenatals.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of Zekers running for the bathroom, crying, clutching his shorts. Surely this time he has to make it, I think. But no - it's a repeat performance of the scenario from 20 minutes ago. I clean him (and the bathroom) up a second time, and reassure him that Mommy isn't angry (maybe a little frustrated . . ). He's so unsettled by the whole thing he refuses to budge from the toilet for 45 minutes. I realize we're going to have to cancel the errands I had planned for the morning. Meanwhile, Rachel informs me she has to go. What to do? I send her out to the back yard to relieve herself, which she thinks is the coolest thing ever. Karis takes advantage of the now-unlocked screen door and bolts for the street; fortunately I catch her in time. While I try to clear a path through the living room, Karis sits and "talks" with Zekers in the bathroom and tries to peek into the toilet to see what's going on.

When Rachel comes back in, we spend some time working on writing capital letters, since the only letters she knows how to write are the ones that appear in the words Rachel, Wright, Thank you, I love you, Mommy, Daddy. She traces and writes out long lines of A, B, C, D, E, F, G, then gets tired of it and doodles all over the paper. (There are a few things she's inherited from me: really bad penmanship and a tendancy to doodle.) Karis proudly yells, "I draw too!" as she scribbles all over a page from her cat & dog coloring book.

I pull out my guitar and attempt to play through a couple of songs to keep up my hand strength; Karis, however, has other plans. She grabs at the strings and pulls on the strap - she wants to play, too. I finally end up playing "Na na na na na na na" while the 3 of them dance around the living room, and "Twinke, Twinkle" (to put all the dolls to sleep) and hanging up the guitar for the day. So much for the pipe dream of improving what small skill I've managed to muster these past several years.

"Can we eat lunch now, Mommy?" Though I have nothing to show for it, an entire morning has come and gone. I run down to throw the clothes in the dryer, trip over the sleeping bags we set up for their sleepover last weekend that haven't been put away yet, and then divide a pan of split pea soup among 3 bowls and dish out fresh watermelon and strawberries. It takes 10 minutes to round the kids up, position all the little dolls and animals required to "watch them eat" and get Kari Bou to sit still enough to put on a bib. While the girls are eating I help Zekers finish in the bathroom, wash his hands and come to the table. In the midst of this, Karis manages to put all of her watermelon and strawberries into her pea soup and delightedly plays in the concoction, not at all intending to eat any of it. She does request a diaper change, though. Sure enough - the third poopy bottom of the day requires my immediate attention. I finally persuade all 3 of them to finish their lunch by bribing them with My Little Pony and Toy Story 'fruit flavored snacks', which they all love to call 'fruit chews'.

As we finish lunch, a gentle rain starts to fall, enticing us outside. I sit on the porch swing watching Zekers run in circles with his frog umbrella, and Rachel sing and dance with her butterfly umbrella. Karis just runs along behind them, trying to keep up and looking so small and cute in her bare feet and baggy shorts. The rain makes Rachel's hair hang in perfect little ringlets. She smiles at me from her "stage" on the sidewalk and signs I love you. Karis climbs up next to me, grasping her baby doll, and lays her head in my lap. Soon the other 2 put down their umbrellas, go into the house and bring out many, many stuffed animals and dolls. The 50 of us snuggle together in one big heap, the rhythmic creak of the swing blending with the rain's steady cadence.

All the unimportant things are forgotten. The laundry in the dryer. The lunch dishes in the sink. The chaotic mess inside the house. The dozens of scrapbook pages waiting to be created. The unplayed guitar. The unfiled bills. The unreturned phone calls. All of it will still be there in 15 minutes, and will continue to demand my attention for the next 18 years. But this moment cannot be recreated or replaced - reading books together and watching the rain and rocking back and forth in soggy contentment on the porch swing.

Some moments are too special to photograph . . .