Shades of grey

While I was brushing my teeth today I found it. The very dreaded thing that a late-30s person has nightmares about. I found my first grey hair. I swear you would have thought I was in was an episode of CSI -- I'm all crouched up in the mirror with tweezers plucking every strand of hair in the vicinity of this ONE, in order to get it out, then I place it on the vanity and stare angrily at it before I throw it in the trash with Mia's snotty Kleenexes. This piece of hair - the symbol of my old-agedness. Nearing 38 is getting depressing. I mean come on! Just yesterday I was a flaky college co-ed tossing this luxurious chestnut hair around so carefree at parties, sipping on my Boones (don't judge - it wasn't mine). Some people will say, don't sweat it - "it's earned!"
I say, how quickly can I get in for a color appointment at the salon?

As life races on, I try and think each day what I want to remember about the kids, and what I think they will remember when they are older. I was distressed seeing something on the Internet that said something like, "if you want to know how your child will turn out, just look in the mirror." Ok crap. I'm in trouble, and so are the kids.One of my daughter's first words was the F one (no, I did not write that in her baby book).  
I keep telling myself not to hurry them, and not to wish these days away but that 8 p.m. bedtime is like the light at the end of a tunnel - a stinky, hot tunnel I've been in most every day - a tunnel of drama, tantrums, screams, crying, messes in the kitchen, laundry piles and butt wiping. Is Motherhood an Olympic sport yet? 

I've discovered that when you are the mother of young children it is a given that at the precise moment your butt hits the toilet seat, it's as if a dog whistle for toddlers and babies has sounded and they are all immediately at your service in the 2 foot-wide bathroom. "You going pee momma? Good girl!" "You need toilet paper?" "Momma are you going to wash your hands when you're done?"
Same thing goes for the shower. Literally I have counted from the second I turn on the faucet -- it's never been more than 15 seconds before all the children I've birthed are standing at the shower door watching my naked butt with scrutiny.
"Are you in there momma?" "Mom, what's on your butt?" (A bruise from smacking into the kitchen counter while rushing to a screaming baby the day before). "Are those your boobies? Why are they long, mom?"

I want to scream "Get out!" and I usually do but I just have to laugh at other times because it's pretty much routine at this point. I almost fell over laughing yesterday when Téa came in and asked me, "Mommy my butt hurts, can you put some whipped cream on it?" (She meant butt cream -- which is what I call the baby's diaper rash medicine).

 Siesta Key, October 2013
Mia is a firecracker and I have a hard time keeping up with her and her mood swings and tantrums which are a daily thing. Matthew says she is her mother's daughter. We attended the twins' preschool "meet the teacher night" a couple weeks ago and listened to the teacher go on and on about how great Mia is in class and that she is attentive and listens to directions and is a delight.
Matthew and I looked at each other like, "who the hell's kid is she talking about!?"
I know I need to be more positive but I'm thinking I've got a real Jekyl and Hyde in this house.

Brayden cracks us up all the time. He's nearly 7 and eating us out of house and home already. He's never out of energy. We have him in indoor soccer this fall and winter and he loves it. The soccer net in the basement is seeing serious play as he begs anyone - even the 1-year-old to try and score on him as goalie. He's taking piano lessons too, which I'm hoping will pay off one day --as in he'll be the next Billy Joel or some great pianist or musician.

Payton will do anything the other kids are doing, and she can wrestle any of them to the ground. She is fierce and fiesty and it makes me cringe at the thought of yet another Mia in this house. At nearly 18 months, she doesn't really talk much. She has started to laugh really hard and she grunts and growls - literally. She wakes up in the middle of the night and will just growl and grunt to herself in the crib. She says momma, dada, doggy, but that's it. I get worried that she's not making too much of an effort to speak much more than that. I remember Brayden at that age almost speaking in full sentences. I've been told between myself and the kids she really has no need to talk - ever. So I will continue to delight in her silly faces and evil grunty laugh and that crazy, curly hair bouncing all over that head of hers.

It's almost Thanksgiving now, but the kids already want the Christmas tree up. This will be our first Christmas in the new house. I'm excited about the new traditions and activities we have yet to enjoy in this home, it's just too bad I have to share it with the stink bugs. Seriously what the hell? I was told they would die off at the first cold night. I must have super resistant stink bugs because they are crawling all over this place. They are at every door, every window, coming in through the fireplaces, at the basement doors, the garage doors. I can't get away from them and I can't kill them. I have a canine sense of smell, so even when nobody else can smell them, I lift my chin to the air and it's there. That smell. It's terrible and disgusting. Yes, I tried pesticides, hornet spray and Dawn dish soap. I've sprayed them with Febreze and Airwicks scents. Even Mr. Clean couldn't do crap for me. So as many people enjoy chestnuts roasting on an open fire this season, I will be listening to the snap, crackle pop of the disgusting stink bug toasting in my stone fireplace. Aggggh! Fa la la la la!

My time's up here. The kids are in bed, but another stress awaits. Those tweezers are calling. Where there's one, there's sure to be another. Just another thing to keep up with in this Olympic sport called Motherhood.


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