I woke up yesterday morning feeling like I'd been run over by a bicycle. Chet thought that being run over by a bicycle wouldn't be that bad, but I told him I couldn't say that I felt like I'd been run over by a truck because I have felt that way before (two days post-c-section), and I didn't feel that bad, so a bicycle felt more appropriate for this situation.
Anyways, I spent the morning shivering in my long johns, wrapped up in my down comforter, feeling sorry for myself while Chet took over the morning chores, such as changing poop diapers, feeding the starving children and listening to Piper tell the same knock-knock joke over and over again.
Around 9:30am, I forced myself out of bed in hunt of some Nyquil. I found it, popped some and then after I had swallowed it, I remembered that I'm breastfeeding and that I should have researched it first. Oops.
Chet took Avery to Sunday School and I crawled back into bed. He brought home a pizza for lunch so I wouldn't have to cook. What a guy. I think he keeps track of his brownie points somewhere and uses them to buy things or go places.
He took off again to the gas station and by this time, I had settled on the couch. The kids were playing upstairs. The Nyquil was doing its job and I was drifting off to sleep. In the distance, I could hear some crying, along with some giggles so I didn't think much of it. Piper came downstairs, bawling, but unable to tell me what was wrong. She continued to cry and I sat up, about to pick her up when she started walking towards the stairs. I got up to follow her and realized that Avery and Tucker were both crying upstairs, their cries somewhat muffled.
They got locked in their closet again. At least once per day, one kid gets stuck in the closet. I opened up the closet door and they were both red and puffy eyed.
"How long were you in here?" I wondered.
"A really long time!" Avery said, whimpering.
That closet door needs to be taken off its hinges. It's old-school, circa 1970, with one little teeny, tiny knob on the outside. It's impossible to get out of the closet from the inside if someone, such as a little girl named Piper, shuts the door while you're in there. We've tried making rules such as don't play in the closet or don't go in the closet unless you're getting dressed, but when you only have 1200 square feet of living space for six people, sometimes the closet looks tempting. It's like unchartered territory. It's an additional 20 square feet of fun.
I felt well enough to go to evening church, so we packed up the rugrats and headed out the door. Avery used to be the most vocal one in the car, but now Piper has taken over.
"Mom!" she yelled, loud enough for passing vehicles to hear.
"What?"
"Na-na."
"Who's there?"
"Wooo-woo!"
"Boo who?"
"Itsjustjustajustajoke!" she said.
"Funny!"
"Mom!" she yelled again.
"What, Piper?"
"Na-na."
Sigh. "Who's there?"
"Woo!"
"Boo who?"
"Itsjustjustajustajoke!" she said again.
"Funny!"
"Mom!" she yelled, a third time.
"What?!"
"Ah buda woah a mona."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Mom?!"
Chet and I giggled to ourselves, wondering aloud how and when she got so big. It keeps happening; the kids are born and suddenly, they're walking, talking mini-adults, telling knock-knock jokes and locking people in closets. And it doesn't stop. They just keep growing, and growing and growing. I tell each of my babies to stay little for just a while longer, but they don't seem to listen.
Anyways, I spent the morning shivering in my long johns, wrapped up in my down comforter, feeling sorry for myself while Chet took over the morning chores, such as changing poop diapers, feeding the starving children and listening to Piper tell the same knock-knock joke over and over again.
Around 9:30am, I forced myself out of bed in hunt of some Nyquil. I found it, popped some and then after I had swallowed it, I remembered that I'm breastfeeding and that I should have researched it first. Oops.
Chet took Avery to Sunday School and I crawled back into bed. He brought home a pizza for lunch so I wouldn't have to cook. What a guy. I think he keeps track of his brownie points somewhere and uses them to buy things or go places.
He took off again to the gas station and by this time, I had settled on the couch. The kids were playing upstairs. The Nyquil was doing its job and I was drifting off to sleep. In the distance, I could hear some crying, along with some giggles so I didn't think much of it. Piper came downstairs, bawling, but unable to tell me what was wrong. She continued to cry and I sat up, about to pick her up when she started walking towards the stairs. I got up to follow her and realized that Avery and Tucker were both crying upstairs, their cries somewhat muffled.
They got locked in their closet again. At least once per day, one kid gets stuck in the closet. I opened up the closet door and they were both red and puffy eyed.
"How long were you in here?" I wondered.
"A really long time!" Avery said, whimpering.
That closet door needs to be taken off its hinges. It's old-school, circa 1970, with one little teeny, tiny knob on the outside. It's impossible to get out of the closet from the inside if someone, such as a little girl named Piper, shuts the door while you're in there. We've tried making rules such as don't play in the closet or don't go in the closet unless you're getting dressed, but when you only have 1200 square feet of living space for six people, sometimes the closet looks tempting. It's like unchartered territory. It's an additional 20 square feet of fun.
I felt well enough to go to evening church, so we packed up the rugrats and headed out the door. Avery used to be the most vocal one in the car, but now Piper has taken over.
"Mom!" she yelled, loud enough for passing vehicles to hear.
"What?"
"Na-na."
"Who's there?"
"Wooo-woo!"
"Boo who?"
"Itsjustjustajustajoke!" she said.
"Funny!"
"Mom!" she yelled again.
"What, Piper?"
"Na-na."
Sigh. "Who's there?"
"Woo!"
"Boo who?"
"Itsjustjustajustajoke!" she said again.
"Funny!"
"Mom!" she yelled, a third time.
"What?!"
"Ah buda woah a mona."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Mom?!"
Chet and I giggled to ourselves, wondering aloud how and when she got so big. It keeps happening; the kids are born and suddenly, they're walking, talking mini-adults, telling knock-knock jokes and locking people in closets. And it doesn't stop. They just keep growing, and growing and growing. I tell each of my babies to stay little for just a while longer, but they don't seem to listen.
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