Friday, October 30, 2009

makes the heart grow fonder. usually.

The incessant pleas for "someping" have ceased for the day. In the dimly lit, dragon fly themed bedroom, you smile at your husband. He leans down to kiss his sleeping child once more before the two of you quietly begin your exit from her room. Suddenly her eyes pop open. She smiles widely and mutters something incoherent before rolling over and closing her eyes.

In unison, your hands fly to your mouth as you struggle to stifle an upwelling batch of "not here, not now" giggles. You know that if your eyes meet his, you will totally lose it so you intentionally avoid his gaze. After softly closing the door, you find his hand, give it a squeeze and whisper,

"Isn't she the best?" And before you know it, you're headed downstairs to look at the pictures you took of them earlier that day.

Fawning over our children is easily done once their in bed for the night. Frequently, we'll plant ourselves in front of the laptop and view recent video or scroll through images of our two children; both of whom, we'd felt eager to see off to bed less than an hour before. It's as if you're saying,

"Hurry up and go to bed so we can go downstairs and miss you."

Between t.v. commercials (keeping.it.real.) I search my brain for Eliza's one-liners, share the latest entries into Henry's spoken vocabulary and express my day's greatest, "You've got to be kidding me" moments. It's not even noon yet and I have a solid list already.
  • 10 minutes after dressing in a pair of khaki pants, Henry, who had recently dumped a cup of water onto the lower half of his jammies sits himself in my lap. Like a sponge, I involuntarily soaked in all of that refreshing goodness.
  • Eliza cut a chunk of her hair off this morning with a pair of child friendly scissors. I bagged it for Andrew's viewing pleasure.
  • Earlier this morning, I pulled a popcorn kernel out of Henry's footie. I'm impressed that it traveled down his form fitting sleeper where it finally made it's way to the bottom of his foot.
Everyday there are moments of crazy. I'm sure that I'm not the only Mom who feels that their childrens combined laughter seems to harmonize; while their whines and whimpers sound totally off-pitch. I find myself flushing my sanity down the toilet when the bathroom, aka a mother's last refuge, is invaded by their uninvited presence. Despite the daily toddler storm, it's amazing that following a quiet (long) moment of pause that I find myself longing to touch their cheek, hear them laugh and inhale their definable scent (...ali said what?).

It's true. I find happiness in the way Henry smells after retrieving him from his crib. Kissing the top of his head, my lips linger as I draw in his scent a second time. Andrew thinks it's total crazy sauce and kind of gross that I will casually smell his and Eliza's blankets when gathering them at bed time.

As a child, I'd cry when my Mom washed my own blanket. It erased that intangible piece of comfort. But like my kids blankets, the' smell that is them' quickly reproduces itself after a recent washing. I have this video to thank for that recent conversation: video

Despite the adorable nature of these videos, nothing warrant a sense of longing to see ones child in the dead of night when your body is DEMANDING sleep. However, true distress of dear child serves as motivation and can help add an increase of patience. But still... all of that lovey dovey sentiment is out the window (for me anyway) once I've said "goodnight' to the world.

Last night, as we waited for sleep to come, Andrew and I hear a big "thud" come from Eliza's room. The loud noise was followed by a series of confused whimpers.

"Eliza just rolled off her bed." I knew he was right as I climbed out of bed. Mustering up a tone of sensitivity, I helped her back into bed. I left her room, touched by her vulnerability.

"She's so sweet." I murmured to Andrew as I snuggled back into bed. Later, after an hour and a half of sleep, I wake to hear her crying. This is odd coming from a child who consistently sleeps through the night. I try to copy my previous attitude as I round the corner to her room.

"Mom!" she squeals between her distressed sobs.

"What is it, honey?" is my concerned reply. "Did you have a bad dream?" Holding her sippy cup into the air, she exclaims,

"My ice is all gone!!"

"Huh?"

"I want an icy cold! Mom. I need ice in here." She shakes the cup. "NOW!" After refusing her request, I kindly telling her to "deal with it" as I return to bed. As I climb in, I hear Andrew mutter a,

"was-suh-matter..."

"She's a diva. That's what's the matter." Wrapping up this insanely long post, here's my diva performing the holiday hit, 'Five little pumpkins'
video

5 comments:

Jessi W said...

You nailed it when you said, "Hurry up and go to bed so we can go downstairs and miss you". What a great way to articulate it. That's the story at our house too. :)

Audra said...

I love it when Kate is asleep. I have to admit though, that I don't miss her. She gives me enough to deal with during the day! I think it is cute that her ice melted and she was so concerned about it! It is weird that you smell their blankets!

Ali said...

Audra, I love your honesty! You're probably right about it being totally weird that I like to smell their blankets.

*Jess* said...

Jayce loved watching Eliza :)

Michelle said...

It's okay to smell your kids...but their blankets? I only smell them to see if it is time for them to be washed. It usually isn't a pleasent smell.