The Things We Do for Love...

Last night was N's chorus concert. She has been excited all week, because she loves to perform and be on stage. I was also excited all week, not only because I couldn't wait to see her on stage, but because, after the performance, chorus would be over, and I would no longer have to get three kids up and out of the house an hour earlier every Tuesday to get her to practice. I am not a morning person. This part means more to me than you will ever know.

They performed a concert for the students yesterday during the school day, so they needed to wear their class t-shirt for both performances. The school was incredibly helpful in sending a note home to advise of this. It would have been more helpful, however, if it had included the following:

When stopping at Chic-Fil-A to get an early dinner since you won't have time to cook between school letting out and the concert, do NOT get Polynesian sauce with your kids nuggets. It will end up all over the t-shirt, though you will not notice this until half an hour before you need to leave, at which point it will be dry and very noticeable.

Yeah.
And this, while I am trying to dress two squirmy, screeching boys who are, well, squirming and screeching. I grab the shirt, spray it with the first thing I find in the laundry cabinet (hoping its stain remover and not mildew remover or flea spray), and throw it in with the load of laundry that's already on the rinse cycle. As I put it in the dryer a few minutes later, I know it won't possibly be dry in time. I start to go back upstairs, and feel something whizz by my head and hear a clunk. O is at the top of the stairs, scaling the baby gate, and laughing. He has a can of corn in his hand. I realize that it was a can of baked beans that narrowly avoided my head seconds earlier. He throws the corn, I duck. He stops to reload and I see a can of spaghettios hurtling toward me. I am being attacked by canned goods in my own home. What has my life come to?

To my surprise, the shirt is "almost" dry, but also still wrinkled. I wonder if I have time to iron. I wonder if I own an iron. I tell N to put the shirt on and follow me, and I get most of the wrinkles out with the hairdryer. I may not be a domestic goddess, but I am the queen of improvising.

The concert is beautiful. Well, what I see of it. Jimmy, Caca, and I take turns chasing B and O around the school while N sings. But I do see some of it, and they rock. I wonder if I will always start to cry when one of my children does something like this, or if I will someday outgrow it. Afterward, we trudge through the mud back to our car, and B decides he's tired of waiting for me to open the car door. So he throws himself on the ground, in the mud, and declares that he is staying there. For once, we are in full agreement. When we finally get home, B and O are in bed before you can say "If these children are not in bed in five minutes, I am going to drink an entire bottle of vodka. By myself."

N, on the other hand, has a hard time going to sleep. She is sad that chorus is over. She is crying. And crying. Poor girl, I think. So sweet. She loved chorus so much. She is still crying. Ok, lets just move on and think about all the other fun stuff we get to do. She is sobbing. Really? Get a grip. It's chorus. It's first grade. Move on! No, I didn't actually say most any of this out loud.

I am so happy to see my own bed, and think how well I will sleep tonight.
And I do.
For some of the night.
Until B wakes up crying, and I go into his room, and he asks me to lay down with him.
"Mommy, I'm scared because I forgot to brush my teeth".
Hmmm...fears of gingivitis keeping you up at night?
Some things are better off not being explored, at least in the middle of the night. I know that laying down with him is not going to solve his apparent worries about gum disease. But it will keep me from listening to him scream.

So I lay down next to him, in his toddler bed, which is made for...well, toddlers, which I am not. I try to get comfortable. We fight over the covers. I get up and get my own blanket. And my own pillow. And really wish I was in my own bed. He tells me he loves me and turns over, clearly comfy and ready to go back to sleep. I lay on my eight inches  side of the bed and notice that my arm is falling asleep, and my foot is falling asleep, and even my head feels like its falling asleep (is that possible?), but somehow, I am still awake.

This bed is too small, this room is too light, and I am getting really irritated that I am here and not in my own big, roomy, comfy bed. I try to sneak away, and he wakes up and grabs me "I love you mommy. Please stay with me. I'm scared.".

I still don't know what he's scared of, and I wonder if I have been over zealous with my warnings about what happens if you don't brush your teeth (Duh. They fall out. Yeah, I know. They do that anyway. Whatever). But how can I resist this sweet boy? I lay there for another hour, thinking of how tired I will be in the morning, but hey, at least I don't have to get up and take N to chorus! I wonder if I would be more comfortable on the floor, but don't really have the energy to try something new at this point. Eventually, I feel myself start to fall asleep, and I think maybe I can get a little sleep in his bed after all. And then B nudges me, and says,
"Mommy, my nose is leaking".
At least he's not worried about his teeth falling out.

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