Stream of Mom-ness

Warning: I'm winging it with the post. All I have to offer at the moment is a sloppy stream of consciousness. Hang in there if you will.

Seventy-three balmy degrees surround me as I type in a not so tidy corner of the playroom. I'm basking in the sunlight washing over me from a tiny handprint smudged sliding glass window. The stubborn, lingering bunk-stink of a recently changed diaper (not mine, you sickos) steals a stitch of joy from the moment, but not enough to ruin it. After three kids in four years, I'm not phased much by bodily functions and their various scents.

How is it that I've only been writing for one minute and I'm already hopping down the diaper trail like Peter Poopy-tail? I really need to grow up and get my mind out of the gutter. That's not an easy task, considering the fact that I'm constantly surrounded by elbow height people who look like me, only cuter and with better skin, who break out in fits of laughter at words like "underwear," "toot" and "poopies." How long will it be before they graduate to more sophisticated humor like South Park and The Simpsons? Hmmmm. Regressive and crude sells better in these United States anyhow.

See? I warned you that I would fail to reach a point? Still, there's something indulgent and rewarding about rambling?

Without wanting to delve back into the infuriating topic of yesterday's last post, I'll take you on a brief tour of how the kids are faring, if you'll have me.

First is the Maestro of Mouth, The Lawyer, whatever else I call my 6-year-old since I can't commit to a blog nickname for him: He woke up this morning bleary eyed and not wanting to go to school. His cough makes him sound like he's smoked a pack a day since he was in utero. Bad visual. I took him to school without his sibs in tow this morning for reasons I'd rather not detail right now. He enjoyed having a little special time with mama in papa's car. Beats the dented, crumb-filled donut (minivan) any day. I kissed him on his blonde-whisp covered forehead, hugged him and told him to have the school CALL ME if his cold symptoms worsened throughout the day. I'm on the verge of buying him a kiddie cell phone that only has the capability of calling me or his father. Doing so would break the bank right now but might be worth it.

Next we have Cheeks. My little Moody Cheeks has grown impressively, both physically and behaviorly, in the past few weeks. Suddenly a bunch of pairs of pants look like high-waters on him and his trademark chipmunk cheeks are paring down. I don't want to see them go. They are so very kissable and pinch-er-ific. He's really into playing with his sister, only 15 months his junior, for the virtually for the first time ever. With his idol, his big kindergarten-going brother, gone all day, he has no choice but to forge peace with his former enemy. Strong words but I kid you not. I'm really happy with Cheeks. He's my little bud. What more can I say?

Last but not least (in birth order and otherwise) is Pigtails, who refuses to wear sport pigtails any longer (and might deserve a new nickname as a result). She reminds me of a menopausal woman in a two-year-old's body. Either she's exceedingly happy, even euphoric at times, or she's wickedly pissed. One or two major blowout fits are becoming her daily norm and mama ain't having it. (I hate the word "ain't"! Shocked that I stooped to it here but this IS stream of consciousness.) Pigtails insists on wearing tripping hazard hot pink flip flops that are a million sizes to big. She sometimes even wears them to sleep. She is a serious shoe ho. Geez. I don't know where she gets that? Um, allow me to stop worshiping my eggplant colored beaded satin flip flops right now...

Again the time has come for the two school kid shuffle, when I zip across the city from one school to the next picking up my sons and watching my daughter shove whatever "glovebox gourmet" food I toss back to her into her hungry from a long nap mouth.

Into the rush zone I dive once again.