We're Going to Miss This?

Tom Walsh Super Genius and I have this little inside joke going between the two of us.

Just like all couples, shuttling between work,  kids' school functions, and other daily responsibilities, by the end of the week, we are filled with physical and mental exhaustion,  I call it hitting the wall.

I'm either loading the washing machine with the twins smelly work out gear, or am unloading the dishwasher to prepare for the next day.  While Tom is sorting through recycling, or mail, or a stack of accumulating bills.

And that, my friends,  is when it happens.

One of us, like a helium balloon that has a slow leak, releases this loud and exasperated sigh.

"The sigh" speaks volumes without saying a word.  "The sigh" communicates simply: "Put a fork in me, I'm done.  I'm not sure I can handle another day like this one.  Why, oh why, did we have 5 kids? How will I find the strength to this again tomorrow?"

Tom will look at me, twinkle in his eye, his grin reassuring me in only the way that he can.  And he says as if on cue, "Babe, someday we're going to miss this."  

And it makes me laugh every single time.

And then there are moments, and I know it sounds silly, but when I feel like I'm in a tug of war with Time.  You know, trying to like make it stop.

As I observe Charlotte confidently rolling into Transitional Kindergarten, Cosette devouring chapter books like the grown up 4th grader she is, Emma running Cross Country in 100 degree heat (true story: stay tuned), and the twins entering their Sophomore year in High School...I ask myself, when did this become my life?

And the tug of war against Time ensues.

I stand firm, holding one end of the rope: head centered, my shoulders strong and broad, heels digging into the Earth,  all my weight is thrown backwards.

Time decides to make direct eye contact with me, and plants itself firmly into the ground on the other end.  What an arrogant SOB.  I cling to the rope with weathered hands, in what proceeds to be an extremely futile attempt, to stop Time.

I did not see this coming.

Unbeknownst to me, Time has totally been to the gym lifting weights, and uproots me from the dirt, slowly at first, inch by inch.  But Time is gaining momentum, and soon, I'm being dragged foot over foot, until finally, Time yanks me off my balance.  I falter, as the rope slips from my grip, and Time drags me over the line, securing Victory.

 I can't win, I just can't win.

I surrender Time!  I get it Time!  You will continue moving forward, taking me, and everyone I love, with you.

Sigh.  Sniff.  Whimper.

As of late, Emma is emulating a college kid living in a dorm, even though she's still in 8th grade. When she showers in the evening, she has a make shift shower caddy, that has become like a trusted companion.  I guess my Dove soap doesn't cut it, because Emma brings 'her' Bath and Body Works shower gel, 'her' Neutrogena Deep Clean facial wash, and 'her' L'oreal shampoo and conditioner.

When she exits the bathroom, all squeaky clean and fresh smelling,  she takes all of 'her' bathing necessities back to her dorm room.  It is almost as if, well, as if she doesn't trust us.

But I can't say that I blame her.  Try living with 5 other females in the same house.  It's like, we have a terminal condition where we just can't get enough of all that Bath and Body works shower gel/lotion/body butter.  And it makes no matter, if we have smelled "Weekend Getaway" shower gel 100 times, we must sniff it up again!

Innocently, if we notice a "new" bottle of that deliciousness in the shower, (code for: that shower gel isn't yours because you did not buy that shit at the mall with your best friend, with your birthday money), we literally, just cannot help ourselves.

And God help you if you leave it unattended.

Flash forward 24 hours, and I can almost guarantee, that brand new bottle filled to the brim (that in most households, with a normal number of females, would last an entire month), will be empty.

It's like the Hunger Games, but with Bath and Body works shower gel.

The shower gel struggle is real, for Emma.  In fact, Emma probably sleeps with one eye open, keeping watch of her shower gel while she sleeps.  I wouldn't put it past her.

Can you believe that she had a Cross Country meet scheduled for Tuesday in over 100 degree heat?! These adorable 6th, 7th, and 8th grade kids were scheduled to run... a long distance...on a dirt trail...with no shade...at 4 o'clock in the afternoon...in a race.  Thankfully, it got cancelled.

Am I a bad parent if I confess that I was relieved?  I can't imagine anything worse than "watching" your kid run, while entertaining her other 2 sisters, in that kind of hotness.

I'm still not really sure how  I am supposed to "watch" Emma run.  At the start, she darts off in a pack of kids, running off into the distance of what I assume to be hills, and rocks, and dirt.  I am not exactly certain of the terrain, because the spectators can't see anything.  The kids, like any well executed magic trick, disappear, leaving only a cloud of dust in their wake.  Then about 20 minutes later, they return to the same exact place, trickling in, looking rather exhausted and flushed.

 Maybe I could put a Go Pro camera on her shoulder, named Mom.  It would be like my clone.

Then you would find me, relaxing in a comfy massage chair, getting a pedicure.

Which I did yesterday, by the way!

Like most moms, I had in my possession, an unused pedicure gift certificate that was given to me by a very sweet friend, circa 1999...maybe for the twins baby shower?   Well anyways, I finally got a chance to use it!

How incredible it felt, to have another human being slough off my dead feet skin!

These miracle workers even massaged my legs and feet (which, I will confess, I  feel a bit guilty about, mainly, because my legs are  super duper long, and my feet are a size 12, so it usually requires like 3 women, and a power hose to complete the process).

As I reached to put on my flip flops, I noticed that the woman who painted my toes, was visibly worried.  She stood up with a start, and spoke these words with conviction, "I DO.  I DO FOR YOU.  YOU NO DO," motioning to my shoes.

"Okay," I said surrendering, "You do it for me," picking up on her impending anxiety that I was going to completely wreck all of her very good work.

Which I did, about 5 minutes after I walked out.  Completely smudged by big toe...Murphy's Law.

Charlotte, who has started Transitional Kindergarten, is just loving life.  At the hour long TK orientation on the first day, I looked around the classroom, and recognized something pretty scary:  I was a solid 10-15 years older than most of these parents.

I guess most people, who find reliable birth control, stop having babies after age 38.  Not us...we love the Rhythm Method.  It's so reliable...

These 30 something, younger, wrinkle-free, adorable parents appeared all fresh and dewy.  They had also actually gotten a shower before 10 AM because they still had the energy to do so.

 Then there was me...sweaty, raunchy work out clothes, pony tail, and very tired.  So very tired.  They probably thought that Tom and I were Charlie's grandparents.

So many Walk A Thons lay ahead of me.  So many,

Charlotte has taken quite well to a little ritual we started about a month ago, before bedtime.  After stories, but right before she climbs in for slumber, she lays on the floor, and I give her a little leg massage with lavender lotion.

Her eyes usually sorta roll back in her head, and she says, "This is so relaaaaxing, Mama."  I tell her I'm glad she likes it, and I hope one day she will do the same for me when I'm old and gray.  "Don't worry Mama.  I'll massage your feet, just like you did for Nana."

Sniff.  Snort.

And  just like that, those twins think they can be all 15 and everything.  They completed Volleyball try outs, but this being only their second season,  were not  quite convinced they would make the team.

Well, they made it!  While Bella is playing for JV team, Abby got pulled up to Varsity,

This is the difficult stuff that isn't in the parenting manual: act proud, (but not too proud), that one twin got moved up, while the other stayed on JV.  I mean, it's so tricky.  I feel so proud of both of them.

When I explained this to my family in an email, it read: "So if you would like to see both twins play, just plan on living at Notre Dame for 5 hours.  And please bring me wine."

As always, my family has been nothing but supportive!  Everyone took time out to send their congratulations to both girls.

But I won't lie when I say that it created a bit of friction between the two.  They started bickering more, getting short with each other, pushing each other's buttons.  This behavior is very unlike them.

Finally, one morning at the breakfast table, Abby gently approached Bella, and said, "Bella, I think we both really need to work on our tone when we communicate.  We need to do a better job of supporting one another."

Those twins did not see me, sitting on the corner of the couch, as this took place.  I wasn't lurking, but also couldn't help but eavesdrop on their conversation.  And I felt a surge of Mama pride, as I observed Abby being courageous enough to communicate her truth to her sister.  Not out of spite or malice.  But rather, out of love.

And TWSG's words rang loud and true: I AM going to miss this.


*I would like to give a special shout out to Aparna, the giver of the Pedicure certificate. Next time, my friend, let's go together! Maybe you can even put my flip flops on for me, since I can't be trusted.