Love Is A Battlefield

Ah, parenthood. It saps your energy. For example, the human body has over 600 muscles and it takes every one to put a pair of socks on a toddler. It drives you mad. There's much screaming and gnashing of the teeth (and the kids cry a lot too.) But no matter how crazy your little ones make you, they always redeem themselves with a grin, a hug, or a "Mommy, I love you." Here's a little sampling of the madness that goes on in our lives:

3:30 a.m. A little hand gives me a shake and leads me back to her bed. The sheets are splattered in black with small chunks of . . . something. Nosebleed? I look at Micada’s nose and face. Nope, too clean. Just to be sure I bend over and sniff. Definitely not blood. Probably chocolate. The chunks must be the cherries she had near bedtime. I cover the mess with a thick towel and put her back to bed.

6:30 a.m. A forty-pound cat leaps onto my bed, crushes her body next to mine, and demands milk. No, it’s not Sidney or Jesse, it’s Sedona-cat. She pulls me down the stairs, but alas, Micada wakes up. Sedona wails that it’s NOT FAIR! She wanted me to go downstairs with just her first. Micada starts crying too. I pick her up. Sedona attacks. The actual cats decide now is the time to wind themselves under my feet and meow for their breakfast. Somehow I get both kids down the stairs along with several blankies and stuffed toys.

8:30 a.m. I’m screaming, for the fifth time, “PUT ON YOUR SHOES!” Somehow, during the fifteen minutes before departure for school, the air in our household takes on a magical translative property. My daughters hear something like, “Please, continue playing with your Barbies. I really don’t mind if we’re late, again.”

9:00 a.m. If the planets align correctly, if no one is sick, or out for a holiday, then I can write, or blog, check email, clean litter boxes or whatever the heck I want to do. Much of that time is spent reading with a pair of cats underfoot in need of brushing and cat treats.

3:00 p.m I’m standing at the back door of Sedona’s school with Micada. She’s already furious that I failed to bring her stuffed rabbit. She pulls on the door. It’s locked as a security measure. She stamps her foot. I suggest we walk around to the front. She glares at me as if I suggested we walk through fire. I start to walk away. She screams. I offer to pick her up and carry her. She declines. I look at my wrist and realize that, along with Lavender the essential rabbit, I’ve left my watch at home. I pick Micada up and try to duck her blows. I know if Sedona doesn’t find me in the cafeteria at pick-up time, she’ll have a cow. But I’m screwed anyway because I forgot to grab a snack.

4:00 p.m. Sedona is stuck on her math homework. I’m not allowed to show her how to do it. If I try, she will bellow like a bull and rip up any paper I might dare jot a hint on. Once upon a time, her preschool teacher told me she needed to learn how to be more assertive. Well, put a big check next to that, friends and neighbors. By George, I think she's got it!

I stick to the dishes while she screams that the only thing more stupid than her mother is math. Micada asks me if I can play a game. I tell her I’m playing the dish-washing game now, soon to be followed by the laundry-game. After that, I really need to play the disinfect-the-bathrooms-cause-they-haven’t-been-cleaned-in-two-weeks-game. If cleanliness is next to Godliness, Satan would be quite comfortable in my house. In fact, I suspect he’s moved into my basement.

8:00 p.m. Desert is done, books have been read, teeth are brushed and Micada’s had all her meds for her arthritis. As I tuck my two sweeties into their beds, we say our traditional good nights. For Micada, this is, “I love you to the moon and back with all my bunnies and carrots.” For Sedona it ends—for some reason I’ve long forgotten—“with all my chickens and Jello.” They give me fierce hugs and exuberant kisses that melt my heart. Sedona tells me if there was a contest for best mom in the world, she would vote for me. Then I run downstairs for a relaxing hour of reading time or TV.

But first, I must feed the cats.

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