October 3, 2013
I wake up. It’s blurry o’ clock in the morning. The bright numbers on my phone tell me it’s 5:12 a.m. The hallway is dark gray, or maybe it’s that my eyes aren’t open enough. I bump into the vacuum cleaner. I have to remember to vacuum my room today, I think to myself. I get to Silas’, room open the door and see him standing in his crib whining for me. He’s yelling ma-ma-ma, while stomping his feet.
“Okay, okay, I’m here.” I soothe him.
I sit in the big white chair in his room and put my feet up. I nurse him and fall back asleep in the chair. My neck is sore, I pull it to the left while I am in that lucid state of barely awake and barely asleep. It starts to tingle, so I switch sides, and pull it to the right. My neck is a rubber band. It is a pair of Spanx filled with rocks. It is my constant source of pain and tension. It makes noises when I move. It effects my right shoulder and my upper back. It gives me migraines. And it makes me cry. But for now I put all that aside, and take care of my baby.
10 minutes pass and I lay him back in his crib. I say a silent prayer to Jesus asking to let Silas sleep for another 2 hours, so that I can sleep for another 2 hours. I get back to bed as my husband’s alarm is going off, and jostle him awake. Then I crawl into the warm covers he left for me.
This is how my days usually start. The mornings are bumpy and awkward. By 7:00 one or both of my big kids come into my room to stand next to my face until I open my eyes and scream, “CHILDREN OF THE CORN!”
It happens to be crazy hair day at school for Berlyn today, and Bible study for me and Hudson and Silas. I pop up quickly out of bed and start gathering hair spray and bobbi pins to do Berlyn’s hair. Last year she looked like a living breathing My Little Pony doll with her hair all pulled up at the sides adorned with frilly bows and it was awesome. But we soon noticed all the other kids had spray color in their hair, so this year we bought some. That stuff is basically poison in a can, so instead of spraying it directly on my child’s head and possibly giving her cancer, I decided to spray it on some old extensions I had tucked away from when I was a professional dancer. I kid. But really, I could have been a professional dancer. Have you seen my moves? I’m especially proud of my Sloppy Swish. Google it.
Because I couldn’t be bothered with putting on pants, I was out in my side yard, pants-less, spraying neon pink powder on fake hair that was laying on top of a Free People catalogue while wearing an old concert t-shirt that barely covered my giant cotton sleeping underwear. If you could have seen me, you would have agreed, it was one of my finer, crowning mom moments.
After putting on the finishing touches on Berlyn’s hair, which included no less than 6 peacock feathers I was convinced she’d win best hair in her class. It’s a competition. She wins something, I’m not sure what, because I’ve, er, I mean she’s never won before. It’s probably a piece of sour candy and the approval of the entire class. But it being a competition means my crazy psychotic competitive streak comes out and I MUST WIN, er, I mean, she must win!
I walked Berlyn to school and took mental notes of the other kids in her class and noticed that although they did a excellent job, it wasn’t peacock feathers excellent, and then a text to my husband was sent saying, “It’s in the bag.”
Later in the day I would discover that it was in fact, not in the bag, and that my daughter lost to a girl who’s mother stuck every available hair clip in her child’s hair haphazardly.
After I returned from dropping Berlyn off at school, I realized Silas was in desperate need of a nap, and I’d have to skip my Bible study group. I don’t put Silas in the nursery because…
“Dis my baby. Yur turn to hold hims is neber.”
Joking. But not really. So he comes to the group with me and I let him crawl around beneath the table to eat the things that get caught in lady’s shoes and it’s fine. But today we would skip it in leu of a nap, which also meant I didn’t have to do my hair or put on mascara, and furthermore it meant that while Silas napped, Hudson could watch 3 Handy Mannys in a row, and eat crackers on the couch. It’s basically Christmas morning.
But I did take pictures, er had Hudson take pictures of me, so you guys would know what I was wearing on Wednesday.
Stretchy pants, the shirt I wore last Wednesday, and purple running shoes that I have no intention of running in. Because I don’t run.
I have asthma.
And a running allergy.
The night before I made a terrible mistake. I baked pumpkin loaf with freshly grated pumpkin and toasted pumpkin seeds. It sounded good in theory. Plus, it was an Alton Brown recipe and he’s seems trustworthy, so I went with it. So after I dropped Berlyn off a school, I cut into the loaf for the first time and popped the generous slice of bread in the toaster oven and it toasted while the Handy Manny theme song started. I was excited to sit down at the table with my steaming cup of coffee and my freshly baked nob of pumpkinny warmth. But then I bit into it and SEEDS! Blechh, chewy, stringy seeds were all over the loaf, and they ruined my beautiful taste of the fall.
Lesson learned: Don’t put pumpkin seeds in your loaf. Even though it seems resourceful and like it would be a nice addition, but it’s not. It’s crap.
UPDATE: apparently I was supposed to shell the seeds. Duh, and also I ain’t got no time for dat. Next time I’m using walnuts.