A Simpler Time? Really?

So this one is about me. Not my exciting, ridiculously cute kids. Sometimes we all need a break.

I had to take a walk in the rain yesterday just to escape the walls of our house and the whining, crying and constant "Mamaaaa." I thought about how much I had to do: laundry, dinner, shopping, cleaning, baths... the usual. I began to think of my grandma who is the sweetest, strong, most religious woman I know. She raised five kids amidst numerous moves and frequent uncertainty. My dad occasionally brings up with a chuckle the day that my grandma walked out. She packed a suitcase and said she had had enough. (I don't think my grandma will be reading this blog. I hope not, because she got very angry and upset the one time my dad brought it up.) She ended up staying away just for the night.
I contemplated that it was good to know that even my saintly grandma sometimes had a hard time. It seems like most moms (including myself) try and project this "everything is perfect" aura about their household and motherly responsibilities. In reality, some days find me much less charitable and more cranky than others.
On the other hand, I also thought about how much more I had to be thankful for... in contrast to my grandmother and her responsibilities as a young mother. Dishwashers, washing machines, dryers, crockpots, microwaves, frozen pizza... the list goes on and on. She had to deal with gardening, washing diapers and clothes by hand, nasty weather when you really needed to hang out your laundry, making meals truly from scratch are just a few things I envision. So was it really a simpler time for a housewife?
I walked back into my house a bit wet, but with better perspective. Now, if I can just remember to think about this when the laundry is piled on the floor of my dirty kitchen and the kids are crying, I'll be golden!

My Little Ghosty

Gone are the days of Dead or Alive and Halo. Not just because of the content around the kids (Sophia pulls enough moves on Matthew Jr without them) but I just don't need them anymore. I'm working my catlike reflexes in other ways.

For instance... when I swept the floor the other day. Matthew has a fascination with brooms and the stuff that they magically gather. Every pile of dirt is a like a goldmine just begging to be sifted by his little hands. I have to be very quick about not only sweeping, but also in pulling the pile with me.

The whole situation reminded me of PacMan. Remember those pesky ghosties that chase PacMan? Even when you temporarily elude them, they just keep trying to get you. That's what Baby Matthew reminded me of: a ghosty chasing my little piles of dirt, following me and my broom all over the house. And we all knows what eventually happens to PacMan (at least when I played). The ghosties get what they want.

Yes...he'll just keep getting faster.... and someday he'll sink his little hands into my beautiful pile of dirt. I've got to keep working on my reflex time. Hmmm... maybe I do need to start playing video games again.

Sprinkles of Happy

Sophia has been very interested in how things work and what I'm doing lately. "Whatcha doin' Mama?" is what she asks whenever I'm not down on the floor, playing. Thankfully, I have been spared the "Why?" litany so far. I know. It's only a matter of time.

So today, to spare her the breath of asking, I began to explain to her what I was doing as I ironed Matthew's shirts. "This is an iron. It's hot. Yes, there is steam. Here, touch where I put the iron. It's hot. Mommy is getting the wrinkles out of Daddy's shirt with the hot iron. See the wrinkle? No more wrinkles. Mommy ironed it out." Once I finished my monologue, she was quiet awhile... just watching. Then she says. "Sprinkles all gone." She loves cookies and sprinkles and I racked my brain for about 15 seconds, wondering if I had rambled about sprinkles earlier or where she got this idea that we ran out. Then it hits me. "Oooh! You mean wrinkles! Yes. It sounds like sprinkles, honey. WRinkles are all gone!"

The Remnants of Groundhogs Past

It occurred to me this morning (as it has on other mornings) that I need a new wardrobe. No, I've not lost weight or ruined any clothes lately. I just realized that about a quarter of my favorite shirts - mostly from college - have some reference to beer, drunkenness or feature a groundhog holding a frosty pint. Hmm.
I guess I could hold out until Sophia learns to read, but sometimes I feel weird toting the kids to the grocery store with "Everyone needs to believe in something. I believe I'll have another beer" emblazoned across my back. Maybe they'll just chalk me up as a lush. I should tell them my kids' names are "Chardonnay" and "Jack Daniel."

Breaking News: HE'S ON THE MOVE!!

Look out, Sophia's dolls and Mommy's magazines! Things are about to get slimy. Two-tooth Matthew is on the move. It looks like a slug has been circumnavigating my living room... but fortunately, I can forgive the wet trail since it means my little Matthew is CRAWLING!
He's been doing a lot of rocking, belly-flopping, and face-planting, but now he's actually going places. I think he's pretty pleased with himself, as evidenced in his animated baby babble which now ends in squeals and/or satisfied grunts when he gets to where he wants to go... all... by... himself!