Monday morning.
5:30 a.m. dragged me out of sweet stupor with a little voice calling "Mommy! (Cough.) Help me! (Cough. Cough.)"
I contemplated for a hazy second if I had to answer the plea. It was cold outside the blankets. My two year old coughed again, and I trudged into the boys' room, laying my hand on a hot cheek. I snuggled him back under his disheveled blanket and offered his water cup, hoping it would be so easy. No. "Mommy!" He wailed plaintively. "Help me!"
"Medicine?" I whispered, hoping the baby wouldn't roll over and notice my presence. The smallest ones seem to feel it when Mommy's heartbeat speeds up in the morning to climb out of bed.
He coughed and moaned loudly, and I hurried out to find a bottle of Tylenol. Often a little dose of honey works to soothe their throats, but I didn't have any. I couldn't remember the last time he'd had a dropper of anything, or if he'd even take it. Was he the kid who was 20 pounds or 40 pounds, and where was that little paper that told me the right dose? Through the dark and my foggy brain, I couldn't compute.
In the cold kitchen, I found the dropper and remembered his approximate weight.
He sucked it down. The baby wriggled, eyes closed, and pulled a burp cloth over his eyes. (He's slept like that for months, since he was able to coordinate the movement and I was convinced he could get it off again easily.)
Good. Less likely he'd notice me.
I crept furtively out of the room. Pausing indecisively at the top of the stairs, I knew it would be wise to stay up. But it seemed unfair to have been woken in the middle of a delicious sleep cycle. Maybe I could just finish it and wake back up in a few minutes when I was at a better stopping point. I voted for the latter.
An hour later, much later than I ever get up, two of the boys were downstairs fighting over sofa cushions. The other two, snuggly helpless in their cribs, were calling for me. They should have all still been quiet in their room.
I nudged my husband, wishing he would feel a sudden urge to attend to the children and so I could justify finishing the good sleep that had eluded me since 5:30. I'm getting used to sleeping more now that I don't have an infant. I'm growing soft and spoiled. Probably means I'll be pregnant again soon. Keeps me selfless.
Downstairs was cold. The big boys helped me with the priorities, since I was off to a late start, and they weren't even supposed to be up yet.
We made coffee.
We poured them some milk.
We wiped the spilled milk off the floor.
We started the fire.
We opened the kitchen window to let the smoke out so Daddy upstairs wouldn't smell Mommy's fire-starting-smokey-ineptitude.
We dove together into the couch blankets while the cool morning air sucked out the smoke and the little heat that had been in the kitchen.
I smelled the coffee.
I got up, poured some, and closed the window. The plants on the windowsill looked dry. I'd water them later. Maybe. If they were lucky.
The baby was still calling. I barged in. The tired two year old had rolled back over to catch up on his sleep. Ben was glad to see me, though, and waved his leg joyfully. He came downstairs with me, grinning at the bigger brothers foot-fighting under the blanket. I nudged them ungraciously apart and sat on the sofa between them.
Ben nursed. I contemplated the coffee cup just beyond my reach.
Need to add coffee to the grocery list.
Should go tomorrow. But we're almost out of milk. We must go today.
What's for supper tonight? I still haven't made a meal plan for the week. I really am a slacker.
I ran up for a quick shower. The baby had pushed himself backwards over to the toy cupboard and set to work emptying it while the bigger boys read picture books. Showers are short quiet moments for prayer. I often feel cleaner and fresher in more ways than one afterwards. The garlic smell was still on my hands from a day ago, though.
We made scrambled eggs for breakfast. Several helpers cracked the eggs for me. I wiped the counter. A few of them wanted bacon too. The baby edged closer to the stove, pushing his way backwards on his backside. Gavin noticed, and grabbed him from behind around his ample tummy. "Mom, here's the baby!" he staggered under the heavy load. I rushed over. Ben grinned at me while stuck up to his armpits in his captor's embrace, blowing spit bubbles at all the attention. I stuck him in the high chair and pushed it behind me where he could watch us cook. He reached for the calendar and pulled off all the velcro dates he could reach. I ignored him.
The boys ate, kicking each other under the table. Henry called through the monitor that he was awake. He was docile and cuddly from the extra sleep. Is that what I'd be like if I slept in? We'll never know.
The older brothers were sent to get dressed while I changed the unwilling baby. You can't sit upright while I change you, child! He fussed and soaked my hand. Boys will do that. Don't bite the hand that feeds you - and don't do that to the hand that changes you. The new diaper secured, I went to wash my hands while he rolled off to a new adventure. Before he got there, he hollered at me to free him from under the sofa that had attacked and caught his legs. Yep, I'll save you. He continued right over to the toy cupboard to finish emptying it. I grabbed the pile of pajamas and went to start a laundry load before we dove into school.
"Grab the math lessons off the shelf." I hollered to my oldest, and met, expectedly, with, "But Mo-om...!" Always makes my blood pressure rise a bit. I fought the urge to reason with my offspring.
"Now."
"Can I have an Easter peep first?"
"No."
"After math?"
"Maybe."
We need to do Bible first."
"Get your math. I have to finish picking up breakfast."
"Can I help?"
I cringed, he knows how to play me. How could I say no? Ugh.
"Get your math finished so we have time to go to the library later. I'm cleaning up."
Daddy appeared, fresh from the shower. I handed him a warm coffee mug and asked sweetly if he would like to do math with the bigger boys.
"If I can have a bacon-egg-cheese-bagel." He countered.
Sure. Anything to keep me in the kitchen where I live, I thought ruefully, but agreed.
Homeschool is so much easier with a husband. Too bad everyday isn't his day off. Baby on my hip, I switched the laundry into the dryer. The two year old climbed a stool to the pencil sharpener with some colored pencils he'd stolen from his brothers. The sharpener - the old fashioned kind; it came from my grandparent's house - has a container for the shavings, which was full. It fell off. Henry jumped down from his stool and landed squarely in the little pile of pencil leftovers. The little pile became a big mess.
The baby heard the noise and began scooting himself into the room to see if he could help. He fussed when I scooted him back. As soon as I turned to grab the broom, he began pushing toward the excitement again.
The math book was lying dejectedly on the dining room table. The big boys were under the table, constructing a raceway by lining up crayons to make long paths. I noticed some milk splatters on the table leg. Old dried ones. I need to wipe those. Maybe I can just add that to the spring cleaning list. I'll start that tomorrow. (Not the cleaning, just the list.)
Milk - that reminded me I needed to get some. I like to go before noon; the stores are less busy and the kids behave better. Maybe Daddy could stay with the kids and I could make it a significantly faster trip alone? He was by the computer, bills scattered around him. He looked up at me grimly. I decided not to ask for anything for the moment. In fact, it probably would be better if I took everyone so he could think. There aren't many quiet corners in our house.
I went to gather them up.
Henry was lying on the living room floor, sucking his thumb and sounding snuffly. He saw me and reached for a hug. I gathered him up and settled on the sofa. "You've grown since the last time I held you." I murmured, gathering his lanky little frame into my lap. He snuggled into me. I felt some of the sickness stress drain out of his relaxing muscles. Moments like these are fewer as they grow. I leaned back and savored the moment. School could wait. And groceries. These precious moments are the perks of Mommyhood.
But why was the baby being quiet?
I peeked around the corner to check the kitchen.
Ah. Found him. So much for that plant.
That is just how mornings go sometimes.
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