...Delusional

I obviously have an unrealistic expectation of what a summer should be like for a family of five. I just knew the freedom of no schedule and the weather would inspire me to get up every morning to make waffles from scratch, enjoy my French Press coffee while reading a devotional, go for a jog, sit on my porch and listen to the birds. My children would wake up and skip to me with wonderful stories of dreams they had the previous night that consisted of lollipops and rainbows. My clean house would smell of honeysuckles and all of the beauty would guide me into a day full of happiness and bliss.

Instead, I rise at 7 am and tip toe around the house praying my footsteps would not wake my angelic beasts. I ignore the toys, flip flops, crayons, and markers that decorate my bedroom floor. I pray "Dear Lord...please give me just one hour to myself before the madness embarks". The anticipation of their awakening results into a stress that causes me to crawl back to bed with my coffee and I fall asleep. A deep wonderful comatose sleep then BAM...

"My booty itches" screams my little one. "Fix it mama." I muster up enough brain power to question whether she just touched me with her fingers that I am sure have scratched her ass. I quickly search for the remote to find a television show that will distract her from needing anything from me. Remarks of being bored and hungry and questions regarding our schedule for the day fill the room like my alarm clock except this awful sound has no snooze. I scramble to the kitchen and serve up pop tarts and OJ.......atta girl! Yesterday, I let my 4 year old eat a cookie for breakfast just so I could visit the bathroom by myself. I am improving. Just for ten more minutes of nothingness, I allow this child to eat a Poptart in our bed. Hell, I'll just vacuum the sheets later. I am not ready to start the day full of unmet needs and desires. I want to relax. How selfish of me to not want to make every part of my day about my children.

Brooklyn chooses Soul Surfer to watch for the 945th time. I should probably be concerned with her obsession with this movie which has sparked numerous conversations on whether sharks exist not only in oceans, but bathtubs, lakes, ponds, and rain puddles. I wrestle with trying to find a cold spot in the bed among three little girls. My dear Brooklyn rubs her legs back and forth across mine and yells that my legs are "scratchy". "Bite me" is what I think to myself. If this child would not insist on sitting in the bathroom with me and demanding a conversation about where Santa goes in the summertime maybe...just maybe I would take the time to shave my legs. If she would not insist on me wiping the glass, so she can see me better...I think I would remember to shave both legs. One day I will discuss the unnatural obsession this child has with me. Her need for skin on skin contact and smelling me causes me to reconsider the notion that breastfeeding the first year is a good thing. Anyway, I give up sleep and relaxation and find myself watching Soul Surfer...Holy hell, am I crying? I have watched this movie 945 times also and I know the story. So, why am I crying...is it sleep deprivation? Did I miss a dose of medication? Is it the anxiety I am feeling about the oldest two going to camp for an entire week just next week? Will they be overtaken by sharks in the pool at camp? I giggle at the nonsense...the torture of being a mother. The constant back and forth game that we play with our psyche. "I need just 10 minutes by myself." "They are too quiet. Where are they? Is someone sick?" "I can't wait until my youngest goes to college." "Wait...she can't go to college yet. She barely knows her colors. Who will break the crust off her Poptarts just the way she likes it?" Yep, this is the constant conversation going through my head at all times.

I find myself in the kitchen now, fixing my second cup of coffee and adding a little Bailey's to take the edge off and what do I hear coming from my bedroom. I hear my middle child, Farryn, giggling. It's the most dysfunctional, annoying yet beautiful laugh I have ever encountered. It is so pure, so sincere, so jolly that it causes you to laugh. The pitch of her laugh increases and I can't resist but to enter my bedroom to investigate....



I try not to gag at the fact that they are sharing a lollipop. I look past the drool slowly trickling down their arms. I don't worry about the fact they are for sure eating Halloween candy. They are laughing. They are happy. They are sisters. I silently raise my coffee to the nonsense I am witnessing. I guess this is as close as I will get to dreams of lollipops this summer.