Only Jesus Could Wipe Away My Suckiness

All I can say is I suck, yet again. I totally forgot that we had Daisy Day yesterday. What kinda crazy mom am I? Busy? Sick? I had absolutely no voice at all. I had to answer in a whisper when Mom called to see when she should come to watch Ethan for the Easter Vigil Mass. Uh..can I text you? I missed about four phone calls. I just don't have the voice. So, I still feel just awful. I am hoping it went okay without me.

I laid around to rest, took a nap (so NOT the same thing), gave the kids a bath, rolled Mary Claire's hair, ironed their clothes, had continued indecision on my clothes (my planned outfit included a hot pink pair of linen pants that were cutting off circulation), then Ches decided at 4:30 that we should run to Olive Garden in Rogers for dinner before Mass. Umm..okay. Do I ever refuse Olive Garden? And I had no voice (I don't mean gravelly, I mean NO voice) to chastise naughty children, so what the heck? It'd be all Ches' job. I have to say, as far as being silent can be, it was okay. I had to whisper my order (and I'm sure the waiter thought I was mute or weird, but he was nice to me), and Ethan crawled from my side of the table to Ches' repeatedly. It was fine somehow. It's like I just let it go (yes, rare.) but good. We got home, rushed to get dressed in our Easter clothes (you don't Seriously think I'd let them wear their EASTER clothes to eat spaghetti, do you?), and Mom came a little early to take our pictures. We went ahead and dressed Ethan in his little matching shirt, you know, so in years when he sees the pictures, he'll know he was included, and not left out. For his BEHAVIOR. And his inablilty to sit and be good (read: quiet) in church. We won't let him in on that little tidbit till he's... oh, 30 or so with kids of his own! : ) Anyway, we got a few good pictures, so I'll try to post them over to the right. And we left the house with one more grass stain than is appropriate for NEW Easter dress pants.

Church: Excellent candle service (kids' favorite part, Clay even licked his fingers and touched the fire-thanks for that lesson, Gigi) two hours of kids' comments and requests, and some precious words by Father John about plain water, bread, wine, and oil being changed by faith into sacraments (Really Good Part).
(Begin theme music here.)
Cliff's Notes: Need a drink, Bathroom (gotta go bad!), return with front of shirt untucked (at least he really went), drink (again), thirty (high bs maybe?), where's meter?, text Mom, Ches gone to get meter, tell Jen what the hullabaloo is about, Clay chastizes me for whispering in church, try not to get candle wax on hymnal, text Ches to bring back Propel for Thirsty Queen, Mary Claire chastizes me for having my phone on in church, sleepy, can't see, sit on lap, drawing in notebook, notes to Mommy, notes back, Ches back with meter, check bs-high, insulin, thirsty, bother fellow pew-mates again to get out, remember that I forgot the envelopes, write a check, get out money for kids (no envelopes for them either), kids take up envelopes, bother 'mates for kids to get out again (they reassure me that they had young kids once-I say, please remember what it was like), more laying down and sleepy, baptisms and confirmations-very good, renewing our baptismal vows-more good, Fr. John sprinkles us with holy water from the aisles, Mary Claire gets missed, so I rub some of my sprinkles on her, she doesn't "feel them", so she licks at my hands and arms to get some water (yes, insert creepy here), communion (Most Holiest at Easter!) and Mary Claire is Goofy/Crazy/Noisy/Bad, so I check her bs again-high, again, give her more insulin, sing (lip sync), pray with my babies, sing some more (in my most brilliant whispery voice), and then it's over. Did I miss it? It's already over? Oh, my. Thank you, God for your gift to us all. Your son on the cross, dying for US, the absolute Sinners. And I didn't even cry this year. Was it all the hullabaloo? I'm sorry, I hope I fully understand and appreciate you this year as much as all the other years. Will it be this way from now on? Tell me there's life (and Life) after kids. I know you sent these precious gifts (named Clay, Mary Claire, and Ethan), but please help me not miss out on life. And your gift named Jesus. Again.

Ahh, where to go from there?
By last night, my voice was starting to come back. We got some ice cream, since it was about 9:30, and the kids were hungry again. They came in and went right to bed. Wish that was the end of the story. They came in at 1am (only about 20 minutes after Ches went to bed), then again at 4:30am. This time it was about the baskets again (the general can-we-play-with them, can-we-stay-up, can-we-eat-the-candy), and seeing people under Mary Claire's blanket (?). I did the Proper Mommy thing, and prayed with them that the things were cast out in Jesus' name, that they be protected and covered with the blood of Jesus (which can be scary to little ones in the dark), and that they go back to bed and sleep peacefully until daylight. Now, whether or not they saw things is totally arbitrary, but it's happened before, and if not dealt with, comes back in 20-30 minutes to bite my behind. So, nuff said. My kids need prayer.

So...I appreciate each and every sin Jesus has wiped off my slate. The biggies, and all those little I-knew-betters. He lives for each of us every day, we need only to ask him to heal the bumped heads, open our ears to the homily, and to drive out the weird people at all hours. Don't we all need Jesus with us?

Ok, last little thing. Wanna laugh?
Me: What were you doing in there (Hearth Room)?
Ches: I'm looking for places to hide the kids' baskets.
Holly: What? We've never hidden them before.
Ches: The Easter Bunny used to hide my basket, and I had always had to find it.
Holly: We've never done that, but you've never been up on Easter to see their baskets.
Ches: Huh. Guess not.

my note: maybe next year.

Yelling Prevents Botox, Didn't Ya Know?

I have a crazy house. Or was that rhetorical? Or can a statement be rhetorical? I have now wikipedia-ed it, and can't tell. Stuff for you to ponder to get smarter. I don't have time to get smarter.

We have henceforth made eggs (and colored and stamped and stickered, and put on hats and bases) and packed them back up to live in the fridge till tomorrow. We've washed and cut and stacked our fresh fruit in a glass trifle dish. We have cut, rolled, and baked our sugar cookies, and they are awaiting various colors of frosting and a myriad of sprinkle shapes and colors. And then we've had spoons of peanut butter and learned that it's a wonderful *moisturizer* for my wood table. You know, since I was looking for a new conditioner for the wood and all. And then I learned that it is not-so-conditioning in clothes! Ethan (minus the paci) is quite the talker now! He came running to me and said, "Pea-n-butter, wet!" on his sleeve. I guess he'd wiped his mouth (FACE!) on his sleeve, 'cause it was up and down his entire left arm. That was the first shirt change. (The second was after he'd had a bath with Mary Claire, was diapered and dressed, and ran into Clay's room, and soaked his shirt/pants in water trying to get in the bath with Clay while Clay fought him off.) This was definitely NOT in the mothering manuals.

Oh, and did I mention I have absolutely no voice? In all the chaos? I have to clap a couple times to get attention, or click my tongue, then get them to come to me, have them turn their ear to me, and listen as I whisper in their ears, then tell them to Do It! while I can muster no real intensity except with my facial expressions (I am so going to need Botox when my voice comes back, and I can call out. On the phone). Try answering the phone. Or notifying everyone that lunch is ready. Or requesting dirty clothes. Or to tell one child to give the other the toy that is causing much screaming (that I'm jealous of), or telling the smallest kid to get down off the play kitchen (as he's hanging half over the rail since he's higher now), because he's about to hurtle down a good 15 feet. (Mom, no freaking out. Clay took the kitchen to Ethan's room, so it's no longer on the landing. And I can't defend their actions on the phone, so we'll debrief when I can show verbal exasperation.) I'm doing all I can. With no verbal weapons.

Did I mention that Ethan slammed my ceramic Easter basket on the floor and broke it? Or that now we have plastic eggs all over our house? That are hidden? And that I'll be finding them in July? and December?

And then there's the Easter Bunny. Clay asked me this morning if I dress up and bring baskets (why would I need to dress up? In case he wakes up and sees me?) at Easter. Umm..I said I don't ever dress up. When should I tell him? What should I tell him? Then, of course he'll tell Sissy. And she' s only 6 and three quarters. It'd save me a lot of stress (and sleep!) if I told them today, gave them their baskets, because then they'd SLeeP IN in the morning! Well, a little more than they will if they think they are waking up to prizes! So, we let the question hang one more year? And then will they associate it with Santa? Is that a bad thing? Then they'd sleep "in" on Christmas. NOT a bad deal. When is the right time? See, I can get a real rhetorical conversation going. When I get going. It just takes me some time to warm up.