Voulez vous couchez avec moi....?

I love my bed. I do. For multitude of reasons. First, it is my respite at the end of my always hectic day. My reward for making it to the finish line with four and sometimes five still living and breathing and relatively unscathed. Also, I am really good at sleeping. It is kind of a talent of mine. I love to sleep. If it were an Olympic event I would be an undisputed gold medalist. My bed is my well worn favorite pair of running sneakers.

After my husband left the bed was kind of strange. For one thing, it's really big. King sized, big for two people, enormous for one. At first I would only sleep on "my side", the other side of the bed belonged to him, and he was gone. Then one day I decided to be a rebel. It was finally becoming clear to me that he wasn't coming back, and so I slept on the other side - marking it as mine! As time went by I started exorcising all traces of his ever having lived there, cleaning out the drawers and closets and eventually painting the walls and completely redecorating the whole room. It was a big part of my healing, that room. I chased all the ghosts of my marriage away and created a place all for me, the new me. I painted it a rich dark purple and treated myself to an indulgent bedding set in deep red and gold and even splurged on all the accent pillows. Everyday I wake up and make my bed. Even if the rest of the house is a disaster, which it usually is. I love to walk by my bedroom and see that glorious fluffy bed waiting for me. It makes me feel so good, like I have it all together, which I so do not!

Each night after I wrestle the cherubs to bed I retire to my glorious bed! I kid myself that my bed is the one place in the house that is all mine, and I love it. I fall asleep square in the middle of the bed, kicking my legs around anyway I want.

The real reason I love my bed? Almost every morning, although I fall asleep with 76" all to myself, I find myself waking up balanced delicately on about 6", with tiny bodies glued to either side of me. My back aches as I cannot move in either direction, I am hot and sweaty from way too much body heat, and there's a crick in my neck! Some nights I send the little buggers back to their own bed. I almost always make them fall asleep in their own beds at the start of the evening. I make exceptions though, like when someone seems particularly needy. Usually this is one of the big kids, who have their own stresses in life and sometimes need the closeness of mom and the comfort of those 76" to help re-charge their batteries. Sometimes I am just too darned tired to get up myself, much less carry a heavy sleepy baby. I know that I shouldn't let my kids sleep in my bed for all kinds of expert reasons. The way I figure it though, they aren't going to be little forever. Soon enough they will be slamming their doors on me claiming their need for privacy! The fact that Firstson is now in fourth grade when just yesterday he was in diapers has me certain that by next week he will be graduating college - and he certainly won't want me cuddling him then! Our lives are busy, insanely busy. Sometimes the days fly by so fast and we don't have much time together. So, when they crawl into my bed in the middle of the night, I cherish them rather than chase them. Someday my house will be very clean, and very quiet and I shall be very lonely. When that day comes my bed shall be truly mine. Until then, I am happy to have my sweet cherubs kicking me in the ribs!

On my own

Back when I had a "husband in residence" I would get my panties quite ruffled whenever he would have to go out of town for business. I dreaded the inevitable chaos of being alone 24 hours a day with four tiny kids. Now I look back at those times and chuckle. For the past two years I have been doing this on my own. In truth, I have been doing a lot of it on my own for even longer than that. When people find out that I am a single Mom of four young kids they usually respond with awe, I often hear things like - "I can barely handle two (or one), how do you do it with four -and all alone!" Well, I probably don't have to tell you it's hard. Really hard. Being a Mom is a challenge no matter what your circumstances.

In the beginning, when I not only had 4, but four including a difficult two year old (that would seem redundant unless you actually knew Paddy boy at age two, in which case you know it's a huge understatement), and a 15 month old baby, I was running on empty all the time. I was determined to be the best mother I could be, to do all that I could do to protect my sweet cherubs from the inevitable pain of their parents' divorce. I did the one thing that has for all my life been the most difficult, I reached out and asked for help. I humbled myself enough to see that I had to accept help from others. I have so many to whom I am eternally and perpetually grateful (you know who you are). Let me tell you, Hillary was right, it does take a village.

I love being a Mom, in fact, it is the only thing I ever wanted to be. I was dealt a huge blow. My heart was broken and my world was turned upside down and I needed to pick myself up and take care of me so that I could take care of my kids. Kind of like when you listen to the safety instructions on an airplane (you do listen to the safety instructions pre-flight, right?) and they tell you that you need to put on your oxygen mask before helping someone else with theirs. I call it the oxygen mask theory of parenting. I had to take care of me as a means to take care of my kids. I was careful. I got myself a therapist, a spiritual director and a prescription. I steered clear of alcohol. I took my time and tried not to get overwhelmed. I admitted my weaknesses in order that I might be able to turn them into strengths. I became determined. While I admitted my need to accept help, I also realized that my goal was to be able to do it all, on my own. Even if I didn't have to do it alone, I wanted to know that I could. With time I was able to cut down my therapy appointments to every other week, sweep my own floor, cook my own dinners and even enjoy an occasional glass of wine without fear of it spawning an all out addiction. I learned that where the kids are involved I need to choose my battles, decide what I can let slide and what is non-negotiable.

So, as I said it's been just about two years now, and last week my need to be super mom peaked when I took four kids on vacation by myself. To an amusement park. We all survived. I only lost one kid, and only for about 5 minutes. We even had fun. Actually, we had a blast. We trashed a hotel room -ordered movies, junk food wrappers everywhere, bed jumping and diving and we were probably even a little loud. (can you say - "understatement"?) We met Elmo, Cookie Monster and Big Bird (although Dexter kept referring to him as the Big Chicken, making me suspicious that 24hrs of Disney Channel and Nick Jr. programming may be lessening the iconic effects of PBS). We managed to do it on a budget by eating breakfast and lunch in the hotel picnic style, and by stocking up on glow ropes at the local party store before we left. We made memories to last a lifetime and we did it on our own. We are a team, my cherubs and I.

Now then, I seriously need a vacation from my vacation. Four kids are exhausting.

Post script - I am never really on my own. I have the most amazing family helping me all the time in all kinds of ways, wonderful friends, and of course the never ending love and protection of the Lord! Thank you all.

Get On it

The tooth fairy sucks. At least in my house she does. When First Son lost his first tooth the tooth fairy was "on it". She was so excited. She anxiously awaited the moment when true slumber would set in, then she set about her business. Her intended purpose. Her raison d'etre! She slipped quietly between the pillow and mattress, extracted the precious gem, leaving in it's place a selection of golden coins. On the bedside, a personal letter to the newly toothless kindergartener extolling the virtues of his excellent dental hygiene which had of course produced such an awesome specimen for her collection. Said letter was printed prettily in a fairy-esqe font on a wispy ethereal slice of vellum and tied with a gorgeous silver ribbon. The next morning was filled with the delirious cacophony that comes when children discover something magical. On it. The tooth fairy was on it.

Last week first son had two baby teeth extracted by Dr. Dentist for reasons which fall under the category of unfortunate genetics. They were set in an adorable little plastic treasure chest that first son placed delicately under his pillow. Tooth fairy? She was off on a bender apparently. No note, no gold coins. Just a puddle of drool on the pillow and a look of disappointment and shrug of the shoulders from the now third grader. That damn tooth fairy is really blowing it. In the recent past I have found myself making all manner of excuses for her dropping the ball. "Fairies can't fly in the rain" " Maybe she caught that flu that's been going around." " The tooth dropped on the floor and she couldn't find it" I mean seriously. How hard is it to set your damn alarm get your ass up undetected in the middle of the night Miss Tooth Fairy? What happened to your "raison d'etre"? It is your job. Your only job. Leave a special little something for the newly toothless cherubs. What kind of mythical creature are you anyway?

By my count there are more than 60 deciduous little teeth yet to loosen themselves from the mouths of my cherubs....setting my alarm.