My husband, my hero. I’m using my computer again!

*******

Mary still craves skin-to-skin contact with me, particularly between the hours of 1 and 5 AM. She was unhappy with weaning, especially that early morning session. To compensate, she would try to snuggle on my chest and seemed content with my summer weight pajamas and nightgowns. Once I switched to winter wear, she revolted. She especially despised my fleece bathrobe and would pry apart the front to place her sleepy head on my chest.

Eventually she figured out she could lift my pajama top to access my flabby soft, warm abdomen. She likes to put her feet and hands on my stomach while she falls back asleep in her other bed, which would be my bed. Most of the time, I don’t mind this. She’s getting bigger, and this is temporary. As long as I can get back to sleep and she’s not kicking her dad, it’s fine. And now that she is out of the crib and can get herself over to my bed, I might barely notice her presence.

Then there are mornings, like today, where she was wide awake at 4 AM and wanted a drink. We went downstairs to get a drink, and went back upstairs to return to sleep. But she was wide awake and not settling down. Hands and feet were not enough, and she tried sleeping with her head on my stomach. Round and round she went, like a dog trying to find a comfortable spot on a rug. When she started trying to push my shirt all the way off, I decided it was time to get up.

430 AM and I’m brewing coffee. While I waited, I tried sleeping on the sofa. Leather sofas are very cold in the winter time, but they do warm up after a few minutes. Just don’t change position. Mary snuggled next to me with her sippy cup, and I had a glimmer of hope that perhaps we may get a little more snooze time this morning.

Then she started grinding her teeth.

It’s a good thing I like these early morning hours.

*******

Now that my computer is up and running I have two weeks worth of receipts and bills to enter and pay. The two lampshades are officially lost, and we worry that a box or two of books might be with them. If you could ask St. Anthony to inspire someone to be proactive and attempt to return those boxes to us, I would appreciate it. Our name is on the boxes and they have to be somewhere. Somebody just needs to notice that they have boxes that aren’t theirs and call the trucking company who has to call us and redeliver. I know that’s asking a lot of the common man, but I have hope. Surely there are people who will do the right thing, right?

We did a lot of driving yesterday, and Mary was expressing her displeasure by screaming. When she finally said, “Purse! Purse!” I happily handed over my mostly empty bag thinking that since my wallet was not inside it, there was little damage she could do.

Peace descended on the van for about five minutes.

When Mary started to fuss, I assumed, correctly, that Jenny had taken something from her. I sighed inwardly and wondered: why? why does she always have to annoy her younger siblings? Before I had a chance to chastise her, though, she inquired, “Can Mary play with this?”

I glanced back to see Jenny dangling an unwrapped (clean) tampon by the string. Yeah, OK, NO. Thanks, Jenny.

Note to self: clean out car (there is a tampon wrapper in there at a minimum). Clean out purse.

Me: A cow says moo, a sheep says baa…(snip)…it’s quiet now. What do you say?

Mary: More!

Repeat.

Again.

And again.

And again for 7 minutes straight (I estimate the book takes 15 seconds to read).

Finally:

Me: A cow says moo, a sheep says baa…(snip)…it’s quiet now. What do you say?

Mary: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I sat Mary on the counter so I could blow my nose. That’s hard to do with a tot in your arms. Then I left her there and moved about 5 feet way to make the coffee.

“Help! Help!” she called. I continued to make the coffee.

“I’m falling!” she persisted. I turned to confirm what my peripheral vision assured me was true. There she sat, perfectly fine, with her arms outstretched and her face smiling.

I will catch you, little one.

What do you think? Moving the fridge and washing the floor underneath: would you consider that unnecessary, servile work, unsuitable for 730 AM on a Sunday morning? Aren’t Sunday mornings the best times for twice annual cleaning jobs?

If you have (or have ever had) little children, you might know that some chores are necessary or not depending on the situation.

Like when your toddler tries to pull out of the fridge a gallon pitcher nearly full of red Koolaid…and fails, because it’s so heavy…and spills the vast majority of it right there.

And half of it seems to get under the fridge, so that as you wash the floor in front, more seeps out from under in this angry, red puddle as though the refrigerator were hemorrhaging.

And you have to run to your bedroom to change out of your dry clean only church skirt because there’s no way to avoid getting down on your hands and knees to handle this job (and while on your knees you pause to pray, through gritted teeth, for patience).

So, sometimes, a seemingly unnecessary job is really a necessary job. Even for a Sunday morning.