I'm bathing baby number five and washing his hair with dishwashing liquid because I am out of shampoo. We've just finished our discussion about "which body parts you should wash first with the same washcloth", and now I am patiently waiting while he hovers over the edge of the tub dripping in his towel. We are waiting for most of the water to go down so we can watch the "tornado" swirl around the drain. Just as I'm starting to get into it, he tugs on my arm and says, "I think it's over, Mom."
His clothes are waiting on the bed and he inspects the Huggies body lotion (we still have some luxuries in stock). "Mom, is that the cucumber and green tea one or the other one?" "It's the cucumber one." "Good. 'cause I like that one." (Me too. I've been using it since I ran out of my Olay Body Quench). After I run a brush through his hair and part it the way he likes it, he scampers off into the living room. Uh oh. He's crying. The floor rug tripped him up. "My leg is broken." "No it's not." I lift him up and sit him on my lap. We examine the leg and soon he runs off again.
My iron is low and my head is aching. I had gone running this morning so I'm feeling really pooped. Everyone seems to be occupied. I pull the afghan from the foot of my bed and try to sneak a five minute break. Wham! The door bursts open. Remember Lenny and Squiggy from Laverne and Shirley? "Hel-lo!" That is what Scott and I say to each other every time our door flies open with boy number four (He's blond, so he's Lenny) or boy number five (He's brunette, so he gets to be Squiggy). It doesn't matter how many times we remind them to knock gently.....
Lenny climbs up next to me and starts rubbing his cold feet all over my legs. "You're so warm, Mom!" Actually, I'm not because he stole my afghan. Squiggy comes in carrying his stuffed ducky toy and hops in on my left. His elbow digs into my stomach. They begin a tug of war with my blanket. Squiggy gets an epiphany. "I'll get another one!" As he abruptly hops off the bed, I am catapulted into the air. He quickly reappears with another afghan, flops back onto the bed, and rolls himself into it like a burrito. Lenny pulls the original one all to himself.
I start to close my eyes when I feel Lenny's breath on my face. "Mom?" "Hmmmm?" "Did you know your teeth are crooked?" "Yes." Pause. "Your nose is kinda big. I mean, not your nose - the holes in your nose." Now I feel Squiggy's breath on my face. He wants to look up my nose too. I open my right eye and peek at Lenny. "Those are called, nostrils." I'm beginning to feel like the Big Bad Wolf. (My what big eyes you have!) "Son, would you like it if someone said something like that to you? Can't you make some nice observations?" Pause. "Well, your eyes are kinda pretty." I am about to thank him.... "But not that pretty. I think your eyelashes help 'em out a lot."
"You know, boys, I think I might be warmer if I had some socks." I look at Squiggy and he obediently hops off the bed. He opens my sock drawer and begins to rifle through it. "WOO HOO! What is this?" He dangles a tank top. "Put that back!" He bends down and reaches his little arm into the farthest corner of the drawer where my socks from, like, high school, have been stashed. He victoriously pulls out a pair of red socks and a pair of pink socks. He throws the red pair to Lenny and begins to pull the pink pair onto his feet, heel side up, all the way to his knee caps. "You're right Mom, that's better." I'm lying there, staring at the ceiling, with cold feet and no blankie.
I close my eyes again. Lenny leans over and calls to Squiggy. "Hey, can you do this?" He begins to cluck with his tongue. "Cluck, cluck, cluck." "Sure!" Hollers Squiggy. He clucks back. "Cluck, cluck, cluck." As the boys lean over toward each other, furiously clucking their little tongues in a newfound competition, spit is flying from their little faces and landing on mine. "Boys, that is ENOUGH! It is time for you to GO!" "We'll be good, Mom!" Both boys flop quickly onto their backs like dead men. For about twenty seconds. Squiggy leans over, plops his stuffed ducky on my stomach, and loudly whispers, "Hey, do you know what my duck's name is?" Lenny leans over me, "No, what?" "It is, DUH-UH-KEE-MO-MO!" Lenny sings back, "DUH-UH-KEE-MO-MO!" Back and forth. Back and forth. I am about to yell when, the door gently opens. Daughter number one quietly whispers (she's been trained for sixteen years), "Mom? Do you mind if I watch a movie?" "No, go ahead." "Movie?!" The boys spring off the bed and two afghans settle on me. The door slams. I grab a pair of abandoned, faded, red socks from my right and slip them on. Life is good.
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