All I Need Now Is a Three-Year-Old

As I sat nursing Joshua I started to laugh, and he giggled along with me as if he knew. I was taking inventory of what was on my plate, marveling at the ridiculous scenarios served up by our current life with a 5yo, 4yo, 2yo, and 1yo. For two weeks we are including an extra little boy in our family as part of the Safe Families for Children movement of Christian compassion and hospitality.

I’d just been discussing with my girlfriend why three years old is our least favorite age of all, so as I rocked Joshua I saw the humor in the irony: At least I don’t have a 3yo.

We celebrated our last day of Indian Summer by packing a picnic for the park. At 10:30 we set out with the two boys in the double jogger and the big kids on their bikes. A good time was had by all.

We got home sometime between 1:15 and 1:30. I don’t really have time to look at clocks at these sort of moments. Lucas had been near falling asleep in the stroller so I knew it was important to get him into bed ASAP. Also on my agenda were Joshua’s nap, a bath for Meredith, a piano lesson for Jacob, and a bowl of leftover curry. And leaving for my haircut at 2:00. Yeah, that was obviously an ambitious list.

I didn’t so much think in terms of what I could get done, just what needed to get done. It’s how I roll. It’s how I have to roll. I do my best and at the end of the day what’s left is left. I was in beast mode.

I started with a diaper change for Lucas where I discovered that what I thought from his whines was a rash turned out to be a diaper FULL of sand. So I carried his naked butt upstair to the tub and got it running. During this moment I learned that Meredith had had a poop accident on our way home and I vaguely noticed Joshua escape out the basement door, followed by Joshua. I left a naked Lucas in the tub and a naked Meredith on the potty and stuck my head out the kitchen door to see the boys playing together. I gravely charged Jacob with the job of staying right beside Joshua every second, and/or carrying him back inside, and then I raced to deal with the sand. I swapped out the bathwater and exchanged the clean boy for the grimy girl and took Lucas to his nap.

While we snuggled with a book Jacob and Joshua appeared at the door of the bedroom and I did my best to shoo them away, but Jacob had his own ideas and Joshua got to me before I could get a closed door between us. So now Joshua, dragged out by Jacob at my instruction, was standing on the other side of the door wailing, and Jacob came in (not at my instruction) to fetch his precious legos before the room was sealed with a napper. Joshua followed, and I did my best to snuggle a standing, weeping 1yo while rocking a drowsy, calming 2yo.

Merry’s unremitting hollers were my cue to tuck Lucas into his crib and I went up to hear her yelling “MOM! I DID A POOP!” with all the fury of a cold, wet 4yo sitting on a toilet feeling ignored. With her back in the tub I finally sat to nurse Joshua to sleep, after arguing with the 5yo once again when his reaction to my instruction to leave the room was to first hoard up all the toys he was playing with in his spilling arms, ignoring my commands to leave them – they were Joshua’s blocks anyway. He finally did my bidding and I went to find Joshua. I found him with his blankie dragging along the wet bathroom floor, watching Merry in the tub, where she was playing with a long section of French drain pipe he’d brought her from where it’d been under his crib. Because obviously. As I tok his hand to lead him to nap he tossed a bath toy into the potty, and I left it there.

There was a moment of peace before Jacob came back with a grin. “Mom, Lucas can open the door now.” We’d known his crib-climbing skills and accounted for them, but I figured if he got out of bed to cry at the door I could leave him five minutes while I put Joshua down. When Jacob explained he’d opened the door, peeked out, and closed it again, I decided to leave things as they stood. I heard no noise of crying or stair-climbing, so Lucas was not the most pressing need.

While I rocked Joshua I had to compete with Jacob’s amused panic and horror upon discovering the bath toy in the potty when I’d told him to go pee and get ready for his piano lesson. I hissed at him to go use the downstairs potty and wondered why a 5yo didn’t feel as calm about toys in the potty as I did.

So that’s when I started to laugh. When Joshua was in bed, I washed the Potty Toy and threw it back in the tub, and then went down to investigate. There was Lucas, disassembling Jacob’s legos, which he’d found on the floor right outside his room. He looked at me with guilty embarrassment and I hoisted him back into bed, where I stood with my hand on his back, “shhh”ing him to sleep. Meanwhile Mike arrived home and came in search of the van keys and we lip-read a conversation about their whereabouts. Lucas asleep, I went to execute the rest of the plan, with delusions about sitting down to write this story, too.

Curry, piano lesson, shampoo, and a minute to write my ridiculous tale. I sent Jacob to his piano lesson (he gets his books, kisses his mom, and walks out the door to his teacher’s house, while I set up the piano and prepare to answer the doorbell; it’s our ritual and I’d swear by it) and glanced at the clock. 1:55. I did the math. I ran out onto the back deck overlooking Mike and Tyler, who were unloading a truck-full of gravel, backfilling the new retaining wall. (Recall the section of French drain pipe.) “Babe, I just realized the time and need to be leaving in five minutes for my hair appointment, and still need to wash Merry’s hair and give Jacob a piano lesson.” He laughed at me and agreed to wash Merry’s hair, saying he’d rather do that than teach a piano lesson.

Not wanting to short-change Jacob, sending the message (AGAIN) that these scholar-pursuits can wait for our convenience, I proceeded to answer the doorbell like everything was fine and explained to my pupil that I was sorry he had to have a short lesson, whereupon I condensed our lesson plan into about 8 minutes, kissed him goodbye, grabbed the keys, and ran out the door, composing this little tale in my head as I drove downtown and reflecting with satisfaction on the wonderful husband I have who includes the hair dryer in the job of washing his daughter’s hair.

When I walked into the salon at precisely 2:16 (less than an hour after arriving home from the park) I saw my stylist in the thick of another haircut, and as I sat and waited for fifteen long, quiet, relaxing minutes I noticed that I hadn’t eaten the curry.

So it was a regular Friday afternoon in Spotsylvania, as the story book says.

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