Agnostic Mom

It was one of those days every mom dreads. There was a lot to get done, with only 48 hours left before Christmas. I needed to spend a few minutes on the computer, but the kids were “starving.” I told them to find themselves a healthy snack. In the mirror, I could see they had all found something, then headed outside to enjoy their morsels.

Right away Trinity was at it, “Mom, I’m not sure if you want Aiden to eat that meat he got from the fridge.”

My first thought was to just ignore her. The kids can’t handle a single step without somehow involving me. But the idea of Aiden having meat kept bothering me. I ate the last of the sandwich meat yesterday.

My Mommy Conscience convinced me to check it out. There was Aiden, sitting at the patio table, pulling out a nice, thick piece of raw pork. He had it between both hands, mouth watering, and was ready to sink his teeth into the juicy flesh.

Once I managed that crisis, I was ready to steal away for a shower. Peace doesn’t last long in a house with three young kids. Aiden walked into my bathroom as I was fixing my hair, saying, “Mama, my hands got dirty.”

Sure enough, he had covered them in both brown and powdered sugar. And it was around his mouth. And the front of his shirt. I stood him in the empty shower, told him to “Stay!”, and ran to the kitchen to see what kind of disaster I had there . . . and whether the dog had discovered it.

In the afternoon, I planned to cut out sugar cookies with the two older kids while Aiden napped. This would be the day he decided he just couldn’t fall asleep. So now it was all three kids.

All three kids, six hyper-active hands moving too fast for me; jabbing their cutters half on, half off the dough; smashing each others’ completed shapes while trying to make their own; three mouths fighting, complaining, whining. I don’t know how many times I sent various children to time-out during that family traditional moment. Even my 8-year-old. It’s been years since Blake sat on an actual time-out chair.

Finally, I’d had enough of the noise and confusion. I sent them all out while I re-organized the kitchen. When I was ready, I called each child in one last time, alone, to cut out two more cookies. Afterward, I banned them from my sacred space while I finished.

In the semi-quiet of the kitchen, I cut out the last four cookies, then came to the living room to relax on the couch. And there was the last surprise of the day: a big, dark pen scribble on our ottomon.

Nice.