The Universe: providing character building

After the universe provided some fencing for me on Thursday afternoon, it provided some character building exercises on Thursday evening.

When I spotted the fencing, I was on my way home from music playgroup and a trip to the grocery store. I'd bought supplies to make green enchiladas from scratch.

I got the boys fed and down for naps by 1:40 p.m., and thought, "I'm going to eat lunch and then start making my enchiladas while they sleep."

Ready to relax, I ate some spaghetti while reading my romance novel. I finished lunch and started chopping. I chopped tomatillos, onions, garlic, jalapenos. I cooked chicken. My good mood had carried over from my fencing find. It was a very pleasant afternoon. Then the boys woke up.

First, Little Boy insisted on being held. Big Boy was still sleeping, so I held Little Boy so he wouldn't wake Big Boy. I also was trying to finish cooking chicken and then shred it. That's hard, one-handed. Then, Big Boy woke up. He wanted to watch a movie, so I let him so I could cook. But Little Boy was fussing and fussing and fussing, so I was having a hard time cooking. I put him in the front pack and then had to fight against him grabbing for the knife, the cheese, the tortilla wrapper, you name it. I still had cheese to shred, and roasted vegetables to puree to make the sauce. I still had to fill the enchiladas and roll them up in the pans. I started the rice.

Big Boy decided he wanted a snack. He came to sit on the barstool while I was cooking. Then he stood up on the barstool, and said, "I am not going to sit down, yet." I said, "Why not?" He said, "Because I'm poopin'. I can't poop while I'm sitting down." I said, "Oh, too squishy on your bottom?" He said, "Yeah. I'm just going to sit on my knees for now."

I finished making the sauce and took Big Boy downstairs to the diaper changing station. I pulled off his pants, and dragged poopies down the front of his left leg. I cringed. I took off his diaper. Never, NEVER have I seen such a huge poopie. "Wow," I said, "This is a HUGE poopie!" He said, "Wow! I'm gonna have to show THIS one to grandma!" I got him cleaned up and put a clean diaper on him. All this time, Little Boy was screaming and screaming, laying on the futon. Big Boy wanted to put sweatpants on, but of course did not want my help. So we carried his sweatpants upstairs. On the way upstairs, though, he said, "What's this poopie doing on the stairs?"

Yes, his poopie had come out of his diaper on the way downstairs. And he found two more poopies in the hallway. "Are these cat poopies?" "No, they're Logan poopies." "Whoa, that was a HUGE poopie."

Big Boy decided he was ready for dinner -- and of course my enchiladas were taking WAY longer than I anticipated. He wanted frozen spinach so he got back on the barstool and started eating frozen spinach. He got down and took off his diaper. "I want to eat naked," he said. Climbed back on the barstool. Dropped spinach all over the floor and all over the kitchen counter. Asked for shredded cheese. "The cheese is getting on my pee pee," he said, adding, "Silly cheese." Cheese everywhere.

Funny smell. Rice burning. Totally hard and stuck to pot. I swear I followed directions. LittleBoy screaming. Rice pot in sink, filled with water. Filling enchiladas. Running out of chicken. Thawing out beef. Beef leaking beef juice all over microwave. Little Boy screaming. Big Boy wanting hot dog. Heating up hot dog. Hot dog too hot. Big Boy spitting it out. Big Boy eating spinach. Uh oh, Big Boy spitting spinach on counter. Hot dog and spinach in garbage ("We don't spit our food out. You must not be hungry."). Big Boy crying.

Enchiladas filled up. In pans. In oven. Bath time. Little Boy tipping over. Face in water. No reaction (thank goodness). Time to get out (thank goodness). Little Boy in bed (thank goodness). Fighting with Big Boy to get jammies on ("I'm struggling with my jammies," he said, because he read in his Curious George book about the ostrich struggling with the bugle he swallowed). Reading books with Big Boy. Big Boy in bed (THANK GOODNESS!).

Enchiladas done. Don't even want the damn enchiladas. Kitchen a disaster. Disaster. Eight loads of laundry done and waiting to be folded.

I don't know how some stay-at-home spouses do it. They spend all day with the kids and then manage to have dinner on the table when their spouses come home from work. They have kids screaming, pooping, spitting, eating, wanting milk, wanting dinner, wanting attention, wanting food. It's amazing. This is why we usually eat leftovers during the week. MrDartt isn't usually home for dinner and it's just too darn character building to cook every night.