Morning Rituals
Every morning Evan appears in our room first. He crawls into my side of the bed, smothers me with kisses and we cuddle until Madalyn appears. Madalyn then says one of two things: a) "Feed me. Will you feed me, mommy? Get out of your bed." b) "Can I go see Jacky? Evan, come see Jacky with me?" Or, as often is the case, she starts with a and when that's shut down moves on to option b.
Shaun snores and I lie and there and try to determine if I can go back to sleep on a full bladder until someone hurts someone else and the wailing on the monitor will not taper; that's when I roll out of bed and reach in an uncoordinated, exhausted fashion for my glasses (if Madalyn has not already brought them to me,) and retrieve the children. Breakfast commences.
Peanut butter toast and cereal are the staples, and often bananas for Jack. Lately, he insists- (and by "insists" I mean protests with the volume and tenacity of the UAW)- on using a fork. He is undoubtedly soon to start a Union called "United Utensil Users of America," which would conveniently suit his limited vocabulary as UUUA might be something he could babble.
The problem with this for us is that he's utensily challenged. It's that horrible phase where you know you have to let them have the weapons or how will they ever learn to use them, but should we really give weapons to a baby and do we really have to clean up Ground Zero after every meal now? I mean, my hands are so weak in the morning I can hardly hold my coffee cup and certainly couldn't tie a shoelace to save my life... should I, then, really be expected to pick banana goo off the tile with my thumbnail?
This particular morning we went through all of these rituals and got to phase 4, where Shaun and I sit like Zombies on the couch, staring vacantly at the Mickey Mouse Club and clutching our coffee with Whipped Cream (to help us escape,) when we hear a clank on the floor and wailing to follow. The baby has dropped his fork... again.
I get the fork and push the baby back to the table as he has pushed himself away. When my rump hits the couch another clank sounds. Shaun yells something Homer Simpsonesque and takes his turn retrieving the fork. After about 20 more rounds and scoldings of this, we debate taking the fork away. (And I know what you're thinking- really- it took 20 rounds before you even thought about confiscating it?) But please keep in mind that Jack is a United Utensil User of America. His career and every ounce of his being hinge on using that fork, stabbing that banana, and getting that thing to his mouth. If you could see the half moon of one stuck to his forehead and the concentration in his eyes, you would understand. Taking it away is simply not an option. We simply can not take away the very pinnacle of his self-worth.
So Shaun offered up another solution: I'll go look for some string and we'll tie it to his wrist.
Now, the enablers of the Pacifier Users of America came up with the leash idea a long time ago, so it was only a matter of time before the enablers of the UUUA did the same. And the very exciting part of all of this is that when Shaun gets it patented we will be rich, people. Rich like Henry Ford. And then I might hire somebody to make breakfast for us, to bring ME my coffee and clean up the poop in the crib.
