If You Give GQ a Toothbrush...

... he will steal a million more.

When I got married I declared that I would never share my toothpaste with my husband.  "Ew, Gross."  I think those were my words.  My friend Elisa - choosing to make fun of me in a good-natured way - bought me two tubes of toothpaste and labeled them with my name and Justin's name.

A few years into it I realized that - at least with Justin - I didn't have to worry.  He is more OCD about his toothpaste than I am.

Then, I had GQ.

GQ loves toothbrushes.  He loves brushing his teeth.  He loved it when he had no teeth.

This is the thing about GQ.  He knows which tooth brush belongs to which person.  He often tells me as he points them out.

As he points them out and puts them in his mouth.

"Eddie's toot-brush."  Chomp-Chomp
"Me-ed's toot-brush."  Chomp-Chomp
"Mommy's toot-brush."  Chomp-Chomp

Oh yes, he did.

Ew, gross.

I now hide my toothbrush (like a certain brother-in-law I know who puts his on the top of the door frame) but after GQ found my most recent toothbrush (the 4th in just a month) I had to just give up, wash it off, and use it anyway.

D-I-S-G-U-S-T-I-N-G

And yes, he is the one who got all those toothbrushes out and put them on the counter.

Soccer

I suppose I am officially onto my second child because I completely forgot to take the camera to M's first night at soccer on Monday.  And when I tried to take pictures with my phone, my battery died.

And that is just too bad, because it was hilarious.

It was rainy and cold and even though I called several times, the hotline never said the games were cancelled.  Because if there's anything I know, it's that 3 year olds - who probably shouldn't be playing soccer anyway - should definitely be playing in the rain.

All those little marshmallow bodies - wrapped in coats and hats, and their "soccer shirts," running around aimlessly on the fields.

*Please ignore the rant below*

(Of course, that's when you could actually see them.  Quite a few parents were obviously not on the second child.  They had brought their cameras and their camcorders, and they did not find it necessary to leave the field because they wanted to be taking pictures.  This drove me bonkers because I couldn't see M for all the parents on the field.  Justin thought I was being a little crazy.  But seriously, if there is anything I've learned from teaching ballet to little 2 1/2 year olds it is that the parents should just leave already.  Once I even had to go get M and pull her past the parents to where the coaches were.  They had boxed her out in their helicopter insanity.)

*End of rant*

M was typically M.  She enjoyed the drills - where she had her own ball.  But when they began the game, she planted herself by my side and refused to budge.  R-E-F-U-S-E-D.  I should have sent GQ in for her.

*****

Speaking of GQ, on Monday I had help reining in the crazy critter.  But on Wednesday, we went to E's game without Dad. 

Heaven help me!!!!!!!  For real.

Last Fall, we played at different fields - and I could take the stroller to strap him down and keep him off the field.

Not so easy here.

And let me tell you, GQ is insistent that he be on the field.  He is insistent he is on the team.

We spent a good 10 minutes with him writhing/thrashing/screaming in my arms.  Then, when I put him down, he would stay on the sidelines for a little while before looking at me - with a grin - and kicking his ball out into the field.

What is sad is that GQ is better at soccer than me.  He easily dribbled the ball past me several times as I tried to catch him.

I was just lucky there was a lot of mud.  I usually only caught him after he had fallen down.

*****

Now I have mud-covered clothes.  And since I am in the remedial laundry class I cannot get the stains out.  You'll all have to teach me pretty quick or my kids are going to look pre-mud-stained next week.

Check!

Somehow it still does not occur to me that as the mother I am the one that is supposed to remember all those fun holiday traditions.  In fact, this Easter Sunday we ate Lentil Soup, because that was the last meal I had before we needed to go to the store again, and I forgot that we maybe should have had an Easter Meal.  Oh well.  I like Lentil Soup, and I hate ham.  So, that turned out well. 

Still, E kept bringing up how last year Aunt Jessica and Uncle Danny helped her and M decorate eggs.  (Oh... decorate eggs.... I remember.)  So, yesterday afternoon (yes, that is the day AFTER Easter) we finally decorated our eggs.

E was very concerned we were doing it the day after, but I told her it didn't matter - we could eat the eggs anyway. 

M was very confused because she was sure it was just Easter again.  And, she also was concerned about us doing something with "dying Eggs."  I tried to explain that they wouldn't be dead, that we were just making them a new color, but I don't think that sunk in until we actually did it.

GQ just tried his best to dip his hands into the dye, and spent the rest of the time dropping all the eggs until they were dented on most sides.

Still, we had fun and we miraculously did not dye anyone's clothes/hair/skin etc.

Do You Need Teeth for That?

Today I had a meeting to look over the theatre we're using for our performance.  GQ was really, really enjoying it.  He was enjoying it so much that he could not help writhing and screaming in his stroller.  Luckily, I had a sucker.  So, I gave it to him.

Later, he gave me back a sucker stick that was approximately 1/2 inch long.  I found no vestiges of sucker stick anywhere around him.  I am pretty certain he ate it.

So, did he just get it so wet and soggy with slobber that it went right down?
Did he chew it with his few and far between teeth?
Was it really so boring hanging out with me that eating cardboard seemed like a reasonable thing to do?

Yum.

(I suppose it was better than when we were cleaning the Church on Saturday and M was feeding him chewed gum from the garbage cans.)

Egg Hunt

GQ's favorite part of the egg hunt was... the balls.  In fact he threw a knock-down fight when I dragged him away to the actual egg hunt.  I had to cheat and find him an egg before they started so that he would get that something fun was going on.

And while he did look for eggs, and did enjoy eating the treats... he was very happy to get back to the balls.

E had fun rolling down the hill and picking dandelions.

GQ, in addition

This is what you get when you invite GQ to coloring time.  Coloring?  Not so much.  Throwing crayons all over the kitchen?  Yes, that sounds like a fine idea.

This is GQ saying:  "no."  He also like to say - over and over - "Bumby, bumby, bumby."  What does this mean?  I haven't a clue.  And if I keep asking him to do something despite the "no"?  He takes out his finger, points it at me, and makes a light saber noise.  As in, just you wait, I will get you with my light saber.

Aida

One of the songs on my playlist at home is the following from Aida.  Sometimes, it makes me laugh.  Especially when I'm serving lunch and I hear the following words:

Aida! Aida!

All we ask of you
Is a lifetime of service, wisdom, courage
To ask more would be selfish
But nothing less will do

I don't know, something about that stanza just strikes me as downright hilarious when I'm involved in the "I want water/a spoon/a fork/a napkin/more/less/something else" tasks of mealtimes.

But, when I'm not laughing, the following stanzas remind me that my responses to my children's all encompassing needs/desires/want should probably be addressed a bit more differently than I currently deal with them.

Sometimes it confuses me.  I am supposed to serve others, but dealing with home-life can exhaust me by the end of the day, it keeps me from stepping outside and acknowledging that other people exist. 

People?  There's people out there?

And home-life, despite being for "them" - all those people in my house - is also intrinsically selfish.  I mean, children in these years are almost appendages to their mothers.  They are me.  So taking care of them is really just taking care of myself.  Doing their hair, dressing them.  And so many of the other things I choose to do are not completely necessary. They are things I like to do, but they do not save any souls or solve any world evils.  My house does not need to be as picked up as I have it, it's just that I go slightly crazy if it's messy.  I do not have to teach ballet, but I choose to.  And the girls hair does not have to be done, or - gasp - their teeth brushed. 

And somehow, suddenly, even those other things that are "service" to the people in my home are also somewhat selfish.  So there I am - tired by my "selfish" homegrown tasks - unable to serve those outside my home.  And yet, didn't I just spend the day doing things that I seriously would never have done in my pre-family truly self-centered college life?  You know: diapers, wet-sheets, breakfasts/lunches/dinners (meals are a hate for me... I mean, I'd rather starve than cook or do all those dishes every day - and I'm completely serious).

The never-ending question of what I should be doing is exhausting in and of itself.  What is necessary?  What is good?  What is service?  What is fitting?  What is productive?  What is the needful thing now?

I am supposed to know this?

Says Aida:


It's knowing what they want of me that scares me

It's knowing having followed that I must lead
It's knowing that each person there compares me
To those in my past whom I now succeed
But how can whatever I do for them now
Be enough
Be enough

But, these are not really questions I find myself capable of answering presently, and so it all wanders 'round and 'round my head as I go on, task by task.  I think, however, I should be thinking a little more about the last stanza.  That somehow the energy in it, the purpose in it would help the rest fall into place. 

I know expectations are wild and almost
Beyond my fulfillment but they won't hear
A word of a doubt or see signs of weakness
My nigh on impossible duty is clear
If I can rekindle my ancestors' dreams
It's enough
It's enough

At least, in the magical world of musicals where problems appearing at the beginning of songs can calmly be solved by the end.

Reasons to Hyperventilate

If there is anything that really bothers my mother about me, it is that I think too much.

I could give you a list of the things I think too much about, but then I would start thinking about them again.  And then my whole morning would go down the drain.

Because one result of me thinking too much is me hyperventilating.

When it is after 10:00 pm and I start doing this, things get really ugly.  This is when Justin tells me to go to bed.

But sometimes it does not have to be after 10:00 pm for this to  happen.

Like when I was pregnant with E, and they took my blood, and I saw all those vials stacked up, and I was pretty certain I was going to die because they took all my blood away, and I had to sit on the couch and watch an Anne of Green Gables marathon to keep myself from thinking about the blood anymore (or the fact that the hole in my arm might start squirting blood all over if I took the band-aid off).

Yes, this is how it goes.

Which is why when E told me her tooth was loose yesterday I knew I was in for an all-out fit.

Can I just say that I still have recurring nightmares about losing teeth?

You know that moment when one string remains attached between tooth and gum, and you can twist the tooth and pull it upward off your gum, but the string doesn't snap?

Or when it does come out and it won't stop bleeding?

Or that horrible feeling of empty, squishy, wet, cool gum?

Heaven help me, I am NOT ready for this.