We’re slowly losing our minds around here. I consume vast quantities of coffee and chocolate to make it through the day and lament the lack of wine at night (not because I don’t have any, but because I am all alone since Tony has been going back to work at night AND getting up super early in the morning and it seems foolish to drink more than half a glass when I am solely responsible for the health and well-being of three small people). The children get weirder and weirder as they get more and more bored with mom.
They’ve taken to enumerating their Christmas wish lists, eight months early. Both Charles and Jamie are asking Santa for night vision goggles, jet packs, rocket launchers, and a skateboard this year. Jamie also wants a lightsaber. Charles would like a jacket with a hood that goes over his whole face (whaaa?).
I left the lot of them with a bleary-eyed Tony (he’s always bleary-eyed these days) yesterday and went for a run. Charles shouted after me, “Have a good run, mommy! I hope you don’t get bitten by a raccoon!” Me, too, I guess. I hadn’t thought of it as a risk before now.
Jamie refuses to wear clothes. It’s all footie pajamas, all the time. Sometimes with a cape.
There is constant posing, either with silly faces or like superheroes.
I find myself saying things like, “Don’t lick your shoe!” and “Don’t sit on your brother’s face!”
The baby’s hand smelled like my skin in 6th grade when I finally got the cast off my broken wrist after 6 weeks. Sort of dirty and fermented. Third children aren’t bathed very often.
The mess in our house is indescribable. Oh, April 15. Come soon!
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