Don't Blink

My children drive me bonkers.  It has to be said.  The constant squabbling over toys, the early morning wake-up calls, the constant demands for this and that. "Play with me.  Feed me.  Button my pants."  It's exhausting.  They are exhausting.  I am exhausted.

This sentiment is never more keenly felt than during a blizzard.  We are now 5 days and counting since the boys' schools closed in preparation for Snowzilla.  Five days and counting since the snow began to fall.  And continued to fall for 30 more inches.  Five days and counting since we last got in our car and went somewhere different.  (This is all changing tomorrow when we go to Sky Zone in Gaithersburg -- wanna come?)  It feels like 5 weeks.  (Can I get an "Amen" from any parents out there?)

And yet.  Yet.  Even during this time of heightened cabin fever and exhaustion, I catch myself having that feeling.  Maybe you know the one I mean.  That feeling that it will all be over too soon.  (Not the school closures, God love 'em, those can't be over soon enough!)  But just everything else.  Childhood.  What is it they say?  The days are long, but the years are short.  I can definitely verify this first part, and I am beginning to think there might be some proof in the pudding for that second part too.

So here's what I catch myself doing a lot lately.  I find myself savoring.  Taking inventory.  Breathing.  Absorbing.  Not every moment.  Good Lord, some moments are best forgotten (I really don't think I'll ever miss Deaglan whining for more Paw Patrol or Fionn's angry yelling when he doesn't get his way.  But, hey, what do I know?  Maybe these are the little gems I will miss the most?)

No, these are the moments I mean.  One just happened.  Deaglan woke up in the middle of the night (as he does lately a LOT) and yelled for me.  It's 2 am.  I was totally in Dreamland.  Awful, right?  Right.  Totally.  Couldn't agree more.  But stay with me for a second.  So I go in his room and adjust his blankets.  He seriously has like 200 blankets and he likes them all piled around him.  Just so.  And pillows.  Multiple pillows.  Mariah Carey ain't got nothing on this Diva.

So.  I adjust his blankets and give him a kiss.  Then I go over to the rocking chair where I usually sit for a few minutes until he falls back asleep.  This will not do tonight.  Deaglan sits up and wordlessly pats the little silk pillow beside him.  Pat, pat.  Pat, pat.  The universal toddler language for "Please contort your 5'4" body so that you can fit into my 4x2 toddler bed next to me.  And make it snappy, lady.  I'm missing a REM cycle here."

So I do it.  I arrange myself next to him, my legs hanging off the back of the wooden bed like the worst Goldilocks scenario in history.  I'm also pretty sure one of my butt cheeks is floating in mid-air off the side of the mattress.  It's SO freaking uncomfortable.

Deaglan doesn't know that.  He puts his forehead to mine.  I feel his warm breath which still smells like baby on my face.  He wraps both of his little arms around my head like I'm his favorite stuffed animal.  Just pulling me close.  Nestling in.  Sighing with contentment.  Within seconds, it seems, he is asleep, his mouth gaping open as he breathes.  His arms slowly lose their grip on my head and fall back to his sides.  I am free.  I get up from the bed but not without taking a moment.  I breathe it all in.  I savor it.  And then I get the hell out of there because shit, that's one terrible bed for two.

My day is filled with moments like these.  Irritations that are laced with sweetness.  And, sometimes, just sweetness.  Fionn lately has been asking me to dance with him.  "Mama, can we dance?" he says and holds out his hands.  We are in the middle of the kitchen.  The provoking song is usually either "I Like to Move It" from the Madagascar soundtrack or "Watch Me (Whip/Nae Nae)."  Sometimes the last thing I want to do is dance.  I'm cooking.  I'm tired.  I'm texting.  Pick your poison.  But I never say no.  You just can't say no to a 5-year-old dance partner with a curly mop of blonde hair and Star Wars boxer briefs.  You just DON'T, people.  So I hop up, I grab his hands.  And we whip.  We nae nae.

These are the moments.  Thanks for helping me capture them.