Morning Bird

It’s 6:00 am.  I hate 6:00 am.  I hate 5:00 am more.  But 6:00 am is up there.

Tornado E was up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, at 6:00 am, after spending 20 minutes around 2:15 am discussing Skylanders.  There are a few things I’m ok with being awoken at 2:15 for.  A discussion on Skylanders is not one of them.

At 6:30 am, Tornado E was finished with his morning routine except for eating breakfast.

Tornado E: I’m a MORNING BIRD!

Me: (still pretending to be sleeping) Huh?

Tornado E: I’m a MORNING BIRD!

He’s perky.  If it wasn’t for his relation to me and his cuteness, I would say he was f-ing perky and thrown something at him.

Me: (mumbling into the pillow) I know.

Tornado E: I’m the MOST MORNINGEST BIRD because I GOT UP BEFORE EVERYONE ELSE!

Then he jumped on my bed.

And I heard Tornado A’s music box start playing.  I looked up to see Tornado S running with his blanky to join the party on my bed.

God has a sick sense of humor to give me, a night owl, three morning birds.

God, there has to be a law somewhere against perky morning people.  And I have to live with them.

An Easter Take-Home Test with the Answers already filled in

Pop Quiz:

Guess who scolded me as I giggled at the sixth joke of my dad’s as the priest asked us to renounce Satan and all his works.  (For non-Catholics, it’s standard Catholic practice to renew our Confirmation vows.  Not that I ever knew anyone who would say he DIDN’T reject Satan, but I do wonder what would happen if there was a loud no among the mumbled “I do’s”.)

a.    Grandma-The Catholic Matriarch,

b.    My Mom-The Catholic Matriarch in training, who hasn’t stepped inside the church for three months, so is naturally embarrassed that her daughter is going more frequent.

c.    My Aunt- Who hasn’t been to church since my Grandpa’s funeral and thinks she’s a better Catholic for respecting the Church’s rule not to take communion due to her second marriage.

d.   My Husband- The non-Catholic, who worries what other people think.

The answer is below and may just surprise you.

 

An Easter Test with Answers

How many nights of five hours of broken sleep make me slightly delusional in the morning? 5

Does being slightly delusional make my driving impaired? No.  Because I know the penguins aren’t real and they use cross-walks.

How many times did Tornado E ask for more candy in the half an hour before leaving for church? 6

How many candies did I let a three-year-old eat before church? 3

How many times did my husband ask why we were going to sunrise mass? 3

How many times did he ask when sunrise mass was before Sunday morning? 0

Who was the most energetic person at 5:15am? Tornado E

How many tries did it take to get Tornado S out of bed? 3

How long does a shower need to be to wake someone up at 4:45 am? 15 minutes

How many times do I have to tell myself to wake up in the shower? 5 “Come on, wake up.  You can do this.  Wake up.  Remember the night you had two hours of sleep because you had to go see the Rocky Horror Picture Show the night before Easter and THEN wash and curl your hair.  Wake up.  That a girl.  Wake up.  This is nothing.  Wake up.”

When does a mom look cute when she has bags under her eyes? When she is holding an infant, not when she has children big enough to stand on their own.

Which loud toys should you never bring to church?  All toys as they are instantly made loud when handed to  a child, especially when Tornado S has a matchbox car.

Who should never ever sit by when you’re slightly delusional? My dad because he loves an audience.

 

The answer to the pop quiz is D, my husband.  As the priest drenched us with holy water, as my dad cracked jokes, as I was about to say, “People three persons deep from the edge will get wet,” my husband whispered sternly in my ear, “If you don’t take this seriously, than neither will your boys.”  He’s just lucky I didn’t dissolve in a fit of mad laughter.

It was a beautiful service though my dad and I don’t remember what was said.

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Hello, it’s 5am. This is your wake up call.

Sean is my early riser.  When he was in his crib, he would chill out, playing his aquarium, reading the book he insisted on taking with him to bed the night before, and I was able to sleep longer than he.  And the Mom said it was good.  Now that Sean is in a real bed, he can get up when he wants, but he’s lonely and wants to be with the person he loves most in the world.  And the Mom said it was not good.  So for your amusement, and because I’m sleep-deprived and this sounds f-ing hilarious to me, the many wake up calls of Sean.

 

 

The “Hell-oooo, are you awake now; how about now” call – Sean stands next to me and waves his hand in front of my face until I open my eyes and acknowledge him.

 

 

The “I’m up and it’s dark and where are you if I’m up” call – Holding a blankie in each hand, Sean stands in his door way yelling “MMMMMOOOOOOMMMMMMYYYYYYYY!   MMMMMMOOOOOOOOOMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!” until I come because he can’t follow the night lights into our room.

 

 

The “Hi, MOMMY, IT’S A BEAUTUFUL DAY; ARE YOU UP?” call – Sean stands next to my head staring, where I can only see his big brown eyes and his nose peaking over the mattress.  (I’ll admit it’s probably my favorite, and I can’t get too upset.)

 

 

The “Evan’s in bed with you; can I join you and can I hit him and Daddy awake” call – Sean stands at my side of the bed, holding his blankets, saying “uh-uh, uh-uh” as he reaches towards me.

 

 

The “I’m hungry; come make me breakfast, woman” call – Sean takes my hand and tries to drag me out of bed.

 

 

The “I’m thirsty; where’s my juice, woman?” call – Sean takes my hand and tries to drag me out of bed, saying “Pease, juice, pease.”

 

 

 

 

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Just an Average Day with a Bi-Polar Three-year-old Tornado

Waking up to a tiny voice asking me if he can sleep with me, I looked up to check that it was indeed 6 am and that it was Thursday.  As I tried to keep my hand away from Evan who wanted to pull at the loose skin and mangle it, I made a list of everything needed to be done.  As this was an other day, it meant to empty the dishwasher during the boys’ breakfast, doing the morning exercises, and where did my husband leave the remote.  Since I made French toast yesterday, all I had to do was pop it in the microwave.  I love easy breakfast.  As I tried to return to my dream where Ben Affleck, Harrison Ford, and I saved the world from aliens (It WAS a good story in my mind.  Too bad I’m not a script writer), I heard the crib music from Sean’s room and his babbling.  I stretched and went to retrieve the baby, who yelled “Mama” as soon as he saw me.  Today was going to be a good day.

 

As it was Thursday, I realized today was the preschool story time at the library.  As I buttered the French toast and liberally sprinkled the powder sugar, I debated whether to stay home or not because Evan was trying to stay up later the last few days (with I need my blinds open {what crazy kid sleeps with their blinds open?}, I need water, it’s cold, can I sleep with you, can you take my pillow and put it in your room), and I wondered if it had to do with the late naps he’s been getting.  Well, I had to discuss this possibility with my advisors, but I waited for a more decent hour, though they are now an hour ahead and it’s cooler in Arizona so they probably wouldn’t have minded an interrupting call in the early morning.

 

My advisors assured me that late naps weren’t the issue.  My mom insisted that I should wake Evan up at 2 or 2:30, not letting him sleep more than two and half hours.  I watched my already behind blog reading disappear as I remembered that I was suppose to make some calls for my husband today (Hmm, I wonder if I could push those back to Friday).  My dad pointed out that we kids did the same thing off and on for weeks and that this could possibly be a phase.  Thanks, Dad.  So story time it was.

 

But when it was time to get the boys dressed, I met with some resistance.  As I tried to get Evan to choose a shirt, he ran around naked yelling, “I’m a pink chocolate skeleton!”  Um, well, then pick a shirt, Mr. Pink Chocolate Skeleton.  “I can’t.  I’m going to be a cotton candy skeleton, and those shirts are not cotton candy.”  You’ve got me there.  Since I couldn’t catch Evan, I caught Sean instead, quickly dressing him.

 

With the pouncing skills of a lion, I grabbed Evan and wrestled to get some underwear on him.  I swear I could enter the rodeo for hog tying.  Threatening to choose the shirt if he didn’t, I wrestled a pair of shorts on Evan.  I wonder if girls are different because nine times out of ten I can’t get Evan to pick a shirt much less put one on.  The only person that can get Evan to dress himself is my Mom, but I think Evan just wants to impress her on how big a boy he is.  So I chose the shirt and threw it on, and I lost Evan when I got the toothbrushes ready.  Let’s just say that fifteen minutes later, Evan’s face was washed, teeth were brushed, and hair was combed, which led us to the battle of making the bed.

 

When all was said and done and both boys were presentable to the world, I had two little tornadoes cruising and crashing through the house.  When I asked if Evan wanted to go to the library, with visions of trying to control two boys who would be railing against their quiet fate with body heaving from The Exercise as I murmur bribes and threats in their ears, Evan yelled, “NO!”  and ran off.  Fine, I didn’t want to go anyway, so there.

 

So as any mother with young tornadoes, I threw open the doors so that they could reek destruction on the land and not my home. 

 

But as I got ready to make lunch, Evan demanded to go to the library.  Excuse me?  Yup, he wanted to go to the library, and he had the tears to prove it.  Are you kidding?  And I did the rookie mistake of trying to reason with a three-year-old, explaining how he didn’t want to go earlier and story time was over and we’ll go to the library next week.  (Good job, Mom; is this your first?)  All of this was met with a building temper tantrum.  Usually I just throw him in his room until he calmed down, but Sean had passed out playing with toys and was now sleeping in his crib.  Ok, fine, what do you want to do at the library?  He *sob* wanted *hick-up* to read *sniffle* boooooooks.  Fine, we can do that.  *Whine*  But we can’t go to the library *sob* right now because Sean is sleeping *sniffle* and it’s lunch time.  *so- “Ok, Mommy, can I have a peanut butter sandwich?”

 

So this is how it feels to live with Sybil.  Awesome.

 

 

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A doughnut morning

It was a beautiful day in Arizona, as I snuggled down in the bed realizing that six, six-thirty, and seven o’ clock in the morning had slipped away and my boys still slept.  Of course, all good things come to an end, but it was nice to stay in bed until 7:30, even if I would have liked another hour.  Besides my brother was already awake, waiting, like a good uncle, to play with the boys.

 

With a cooing and a laugh, I went into the room to find the boys awake, and on hearing my voice, my brother came in to steal all my morning hugs from the boys.  My brother grabbed Evan and hugged him.  Evan jumped back, yelling “Don’t hug me!  I’m dangerous!”  He went on to try and prove his point by attempting to hit my brother, who lazily slipped away from the attempts to hug Sean.  Sean quickly learned he could get a laugh if he fell on his bottom, bouncing on the bed.  It didn’t take long for Evan to climb up and try to steal the attention.

 

Then my dad entered the room, delighting the boys, and I became nothing more than a shadow in the room. 

 

Papi: Do you want doughnuts?

 

Evan: (with pacifier in his mouth.  I know I’m a bad mom.)  Yes!

 

Papi: (mumbling like he has something in his mouth) Do you want doughnuts?

 

Evan: (still with pacifier in his mouth) Papi, I can’t hear you!  (pause)  Oh, yes, I can hear you now.

 

Papi: Take the pacifier out of your mouth.  Do you want doughnuts?

 

Evan: (takes it out) Yes! (Puts it back in.  I yank the pacifier out of Evan’s mouth.)

 

Papi: Do you want doughnuts or pumpkin bread?

 

Evan: We have pumpkin bread at our house!  Do you want to go and get it?!

 

Papi:  We have pumpkin bread here.

 

Evan: (looks out the window) I can’t see my house!  It’s too far away!

 

Papi: Do you want doughnuts?

 

Evan: Yes!

 

Papi: Do you want sprinkles?

 

Evan: Yes!

 

Papi: Really?

 

Evan: Yes!

 

Papi: I’m going to go get them.

 

Evan: Boys are hungry.  Dogs are hungry.  We need to eat.  We need to eat doughnuts.

 

So begins the whirlwind day at Grandma and Papi’s house.  With non-stop playing, games, and treats, it is the best place to bed.  When my mom mentioned making caramel apples and popcorn balls, my brother and I looked at each, remembering that it had been years since my mom had made these things.  Even if we aren’t the reasons, it’s nice to get the spill over.  She has to make more than two, right?