BACK IN THE SADDLE AGAIN

This past weekend, Chris and I went away with friends to Indianapolis. It was great to have some time with just the "grown-ups." It was great to take a trip where I was able to:

- sleep in

- not have to visit a children's museum

- only have to cut up my own meat at the table

- only visit the restroom when I needed to go

- have a conversation with adults without being interrupted every 30 seconds

- try on clothes in a dressing room without two other people being present who are making crazy faces in the mirror and fighting to sit on the little seat with each other

- visit a local artisan's fair without having to worry about my little whirling dervish taking out half the display

Of course, I was very happy to be back with my kiddos last night, and I could tell that even though they very much enjoyed their weekend at Grandma & Papa's house, they too were very happy to be back home with us. We collected them right after supper last night, and they were pretty tired. After baths and books, they were more than ready for bed.

Whatever lingering separation I felt from shifting from "grownup" to "mommy" came to a screeching halt this morning. I went into both of the kids' rooms to wake them up and get them stirring. Maggie made it up and to the toilet first, leaving Aleita bouncing around the bathroom, holding her bottom, telling her to "hurry up and get off the potty before the pee comes out!" I left them to it and went downstairs to make myself a cup of hot tea. Within two minutes, Aleita had joined me in kitchen, saying to me, "Guess what I'm missing!"

"Your tooth?" I asked.

"Nope." she replied with a grin.

"A holder from one of your braids?"

Again, she answered, "No!" with a silly smile on her face.

"I give up," I said to her.

With that, she lifted up her nightgown over her head and yelled, "UNDERPANTS!!" and then laughed like a fiend.

"Maggie took too long on the potty," she began to explain as she lowered her nightgown back down so I could again see her face.

With a sigh (anticipating cleaning up a mess) I asked, "Did you pee your pants?"

"No!" she said indignantly. "I just dribbled a little bit."

With that, she headed back up the stairs, all the while singing into her new light-up Hannah Montana sing-a-long microphone that she brought home from her grandparent's house this weekend.

Ah yes - - definitely back in the mommy role.

QUIT WHILE YOU'RE STILL AHEAD

There was a time when Chris and I had contemplated the possibility of increasing the size of our brood. A few years back, we had a long discussion about whether or not we wanted to have one more child. We ultimately decided that two was a good number for us, and as such, there will be no more niños becoming part of this Hale household. I knew I had finally come to peace with the idea when I was able to bring myself to getting rid of baby stuff. I wil admit that I have hung on to a lot of the girls' clothes from when they were little babies because I just can't bear to part with many of them. However, as my friends and relatives have had their babies, I have offered up high chairs, the swing, carseats, strollers, the playpen, Exersaucer, bouncer, etc. to those without. It was kind of difficult because to me it signified a definite end to a period of our lives - - no more rocking babies, giving bottles, hearing first words, seeing first smiles and steps....it was hard at first, but I knew it was the right thing for us. Before long, I felt peace with it. (Besides, I was amazed and excited when I saw how much room it freed up in the basement.)

As Chris tends to remind me, I would probably totally surrender if we had three kids. At least with two, we are even - - one more, and we would be outnumbered. What he is referring to though is the fact that my resistance has significantly weakened between child #1 and child #2. When Maggie was younger, I was much more apt to correct her conduct or give a stricter punishment for misbehavior. With Aleita, there are things that I find amusing that I used to hand out punishments for - - I know - - life is so unfair for the oldest child. I used to be able to control my laughter, but I think I have just gotten worn down.

Case in point - - a few nights ago, we had just finished having dinner. I was cleaning up the dishes, and Chris got up from the table and started to head downstairs to change the laundry from the washer to the dryer. He was about two steps out of the kitchen when Aleita let out a belch loud enough to wake the neighbors. There was a few seconds of silence that followed, which she broke with, “Whoa…that was a good one!”

Chris hightailed it back up the stairs to remind her that we say “excuse me” when we burp, and not “that was a good one,” as well as the fact that we don’t belch at the table. He arrived just in time to see me head into the bathroom, dirty plate and spatula still in hand. I had tried just turning my back to her, but I knew I was shaking uncontrollably with laughter and didn’t want her to figure out that her comment totally cracked me up. I was very close to letting out audible laughter, so I headed into the bathroom and set the plate and spatula down and flushed the toilet to cover the sound. After about a minute, I regained enough composure to rejoin them in the kitchen. Chris just looked at me somewhat disgustedly and shook his head and said, “You are so weak.”

I fully admit it. And as for that belch, she was right….it WAS a good one.

WHEN DID I BECOME ONE OF THE GROWNUPS?

It's kinda hard when you have those "Oh my goodness I am getting really old" moments. I had just such a moment last night. I had gone with some of my girlfriends to dinner and a movie, then back to my friend Barb's house for wedding cake and spiked punch, leftover from her daughter Neysa's wedding this past weekend. After we had eaten, Barb asked if we would like to see some of the pictures that her daughter Kalyn had sent via email from the wedding.

Having attended the wedding, most of the pictures and events from the big day looked familiar to me....that is, until towards the end of the pictures. There were pictures of the bride and groom and guests dancing and wearing crazy hats - - "they were doing the YMCA" noted Barb. I commented that I must have been in the bathroom while that was going on. But as the pictures continued, I realized that I wasn't waiting in line for the restroom when the YMCA dance was taking place. (though admittedly, there is no love lost from having missed this Village People wedding staple.) No, the reason I don't recall the YMCA dance is because we weren't there for it, nor for the following pictures that we saw where the DJ was done for the evening and Neysa's brother, Shay, brought out his keyboard and sang and played for the group. We missed that, along with the dancing and frivolity that ensued into the late hours of the night/early hours of the morning.

By 10:15PM, Chris and I had started yawning and getting tired - - we had both been up since about 6:30AM. By 11PM, Chris and I had headed for home to relieve our babysitter and to get some sleep. Only a few miles away, dancing and drinking and laughing and singing continued while I took off my makeup, brushed my teeth, and went to bed.

Until I saw those pictures last night, I still felt like one of the "young ones" at the wedding. Those pictures very soundly drove home the point to me that I am indeed, getting further removed from "the young group" every minute. Deep breath and a realization - - - we were at that wedding not because we are friends with the bride and groom, but because we are good friends of the bride's PARENTS. We are friends with the bride and groom, don't get me wrong, but we are actually very good friends with Barb and Greg, Neysa's parents.

It doesn't seem that long ago that Chris and I would have been the ones helping close the place down at 2AM. Now the thought of staying awake until 2AM sounds completely foreign to me. The spiked blue punch at the wedding was tasty, but I stopped after a few glasses because I didn't want to feel crappy the next day. I opted to sit out the majority of the dancing in favor of sitting and talking at our table with friends. While many of the party revelers were undoubtedly snoozing the next morning, I was on my way to church to teach Sunday School. Wow....when did this happen? I think adulthood crept up on me when I wasn't looking.

MAMA SAID THERE'D BE DAYS LIKE THIS. . .

As soon as I picked Aleita up from school yesterday, the first thing she told me is that she needed to wash her shoes. She said she had got them dirty while playing outside that day. I glanced at them and thought to myself that they really looked no worse than when I had sent her in them that morning, but getting into a debate with a three year old wasn’t at the top of my list at that given moment. Besides, I thought that maybe she was just meaning that she had wood chips or sand in her shoes from playing outside, which often happens (unfortunately, I almost always seem to forget to sit her down OUTSIDE and dump out her shoes, and then I end up with it all over the kitchen floor when she pulls them off.)

Thinking no more of it, we proceeded home. As soon as we were out of the car, Aleita again started in with the needing to wash her shoes thing. I was actually glad she reminded me, so that for one day, I wouldn’t have sand and/or wood chips all over the floor. I sat her down on the steps in the garage that lead into the house to pull her shoes off, and that is when I realized that she was quite accurate that her shoes, indeed, needed to be washed. I was also reminded that sometimes being a mom is quite literally, a crappy job. As soon as I pulled off her right shoe, it only took a glance at my hand to understand why she felt her shoes needed to be washed. You see, at some point during her day of playing at pre-school, Aleita had apparently stepped in dog poop.

Cleaning dog poop off the bottom of your kids’ shoes is one of those “mom” jobs that ranks right up there with cleaning up vomit or having to put your hand in the toilet to retrieve a dropped object. You go through most of your days, not even really thinking about “being an adult.” For me, the fact that I really am an adult doesn’t hit home when I am working at my job, parenting my kids, or in thinking about the ten years my husband and I have been married. No, adulthood tends to smack me in the face at those moments when I realize that I am the one who has to clean the dog poop off the shoe because that is what a mom does. As kids, we couldn’t wait to grow up so we could be adults and do the exciting things that adults do. If we had only known. . . .