When I am with my kids in the pre-dawn hours I feel a wonderous-ness coming from the both of them. I don't know if either of them will one day be president, but they they will be great human beings.
I am just getting to know Tate. She has a very defined sense of humor. Her personality is really starting to blossom. She loves being outside. The two things she clearly adores are the men in our lives, Papa and Turner B.
Turner has so much personality and a caring nature that makes me tear up more often than I like to admit. He genuinely cares for his friends and mine. He is inquisitive, insightful, and and he's my best friend. I love that little boy with all that I am, but he is driving me insane!
How can I, his maker, love him so totally and still have him make me loose my mind? The "Terrible Two's" have nothing on the stubborn, argumentative three's. He has contested every single thing I have said or done for the past week. I know that he is just a preschooler making sense of his world and testing his boundaries, but I am a middle aged mom hanging on to sanity by a thread.
I often wonder what exactly happens to my time. I look up at the end of the day and it's six o'clock and the house is destroyed. By the time Brad gets home I have picked up the living room three times, folded laundry, put laundry away, Turner pulls it all out of his closet and I put it away a second time, feed the kids breakfast, lunch and snack, clean up behind breakfast, lunch and snack, get groceries, iron work clothes, change seven diapers, wipe one big boy poop booty, sanitize the bathroom when someone (who will remain nameless) pees on the wall while not paying attention, wipe snotty noses eight times, make about twenty-seven trips up and down the stairs, change sheets, cook supper, struggle to get some food in Tate's mouth, rock a baby, make up some type of activity for after nap, and all the other things that wear away a day. While all this is going on I answer an on-slot of questions: What do bears eat? Why are you doing that? When will Tate get teeth? Is Pop coming home soon? Can I play with Play-Doh? Why can't we go swimming? Where's Becky? Can we go to Tyna's house? What's Ridge doing? Where is North Carolina, is it far away? Can I call Booyah? Where's my transformer? Are there monsters in my room? And on, and on, and on...
I think that the daily chores and barrage of questions mixed with bouts of crying baby and sleep deprivation are making me insane. Yesterday Turner got up from nap and went to the bathroom. He wanted to put lotion on his face, so he got two huge fist-fulls of Vaseline and proceeded to smear himself with petroleum. Those are the days that the Valium ferry should stop by.
I am torn between holding my children in a loving embrace and running away to join the circus. Why am I guilty about it? I have no clue, but I bet it was in the small print when I decided to be a mom. Maybe I have split personalities. 99.9% of me loves and adores both my children. It's that damn pesky .1% that makes me want to go lock myself in the bathroom and have a moment of peace. But it's just .1%, besides Turner would be screaming questions under the door anyway.
I have so many things to be thankful for this Christmas: Brad, without him I would have no Turner or Tate, he's my love and the only man I could stand to live with(I mean that in the sweetest way possible). I am Thankful for both of my kids. They are why I smile, laugh and breathe. And I am thankful for the Vietnamese lady who put on a strong set of nails for me. With out tough nails I might loose my tenuous grip on sanity and not be able to appreciate all I have.
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