November 17, 2011 by themommahen
I don’t know about you, but in our house (okay, technically my parents’ house now) all hell breaks loose roughly between 4:30 and 6:30, with mayhem continuing until the last bedtime. I say the last bedtime because there are days that each Hatchling gets their own bedtime. No, I don’t plan it that way, and yes, I understand that if I could just move up the bedtime of H#1 and #2 and stretch the time for #3 to make them meet in the middle, it would work out perfectly. Well folks, perfect don’t live here anymore.
What we have here is real world, which means some most evenings, after H#3 has showered me with compliments on my cooking, (and by showered me with compliments, I mean thrown all his food and milk at me and on the floor) he begins scream-honking from his high chair around 6:00. What’s that? You don’t know what I mean by scream-honking? I mean exactly that. He makes a noise like a car honking, but he screams it. And if we’re lucky, he holds the tone/note/noise out and trills it up the scale so high it makes our ears stop up. Of course, this begins smack-dab in the middle of H#1 and #2’s supper, aka table playtime. What’s that? You don’t know what I mean by table playtime? Well, it’s technically called supper (In the South. Dinner if you’re north of the Mason-Dixon line.) but for a 5yo and 3yo who haven’t seen each other for most of the day, it’s play time.
“Do you know what I learned today?”
“Superheroes? When they come to a brick wall like this?” (Getting up to touch the wall for those who don’t know what a wall is.) “They can just go THROUGH it like THIS!” (Slapping said wall with her hand covered in whatever is on her plate.)
“Mommy? Mommy? Mommmmmyyyyyyyy!!!”
“Do you know what she learned today?”
“Superheroes? When they come to a brick wall like this?” (Getting up to touch the wall in case I STILL don’t know what a wall is.) “They can just go THROUGH it like THIS!” (Slapping aforementioned wall with his hand covered in whatever is on his plate.)
Invariably it’s this point that the scream-honking has commenced, which means the other two Hatchlings, not to be outdone, start yell-talking, and since they can’t hear me over both the scream-honking and their own yell-talking, they have to get up to be closer to me while continuing to yell-talk louder and louder. Also invariably, it is this point that The Husband walks in, exhausted from his day, infuriated by his one-hour-each-way-unless-there’s-an-accident-and-there-always-is-so-let’s call-it-an-hour-and-a-half commute, and excited to see his family. Until he sees his family. Two yell-talking, wall-slapping, standing-up, food-in-their-mouths crazed kids; one scream-honking, food-throwing, head-banging, tear-spurting crazed baby (the tears start when he’s not allowed to grab The Husband’s tie with his grubby hands), and one patience-losing, stern-talking, food-and-milk-wearing, shower-and-makeup-needing wife. I swear he thinks I’ve lost all control, he assumes I’ve lost my ever-loving mind and I know he wonders what the HELL I do all day that allows things to get to this point.
To his credit, he hasn’t walked back out the door. Yet.