Animal Farm

I've created a new title for myself: herder in chief. I feel like a lot of what the small people and I do around here is bounce (sometimes rapid cycle) from one activity to the next and that I'm privileged enough to be at the head of the herd. Sometimes it's like herding sheep: s-l-o-w to go anywhere. Sometimes it's like herding cats: impossible and maddening. Sometimes it's like herding sheep dogs: we're a well oiled machine that can get up and out the door in no time at all (this is rare but happens enough to lull me into believing that we can do it all the time. If things never fell into place, I would just give up and never get out of yoga pants or leave the house). Seriously, though, who am I kidding? While my fantasy-mom-self likes to pretend that I'm the top dog around here, reality-mom knows better. I'm not. I am not driving this bus at all and I'm pretty sure I'm barely holding onto one of those handles. It's why Molly went streaking when she was Skyping with my parents (and I didn't even notice because it's fairly common to be in various states of undress around here -- for the under four footers, that is. This is a family blog after all) and wears her bathing suit or jammies for at least 375% of the time we're at home (another 198% of the time is spent in princess clothes. Yes, I know my math is fishy but sometimes the days feel long) and shrieks when Jack enters her protected space, which is an ever changing but apparently at least a 10 foot radius around her (and then she's all indignant when he doesn't  actually want to get all up in her grill -- she's not one to enjoy an ebb in her power). It's also why Jack has approximately 999 new bruises each day and lots of people say things like "oh, he's a climber" (when he's on top of the train table, the play kitchen, or in the sink at school -- well, yeah, duh).  Basically, I just try and herd my people back to safety and warmth and the ground. I also know that I really only enjoy some top-dog status around meal times or in the Starbucks drive-through when I can provide hot chocolate to one desperate and clearly deprived individual. I'm okay with being low woman on the totem pole (most of the time...) because I enjoy the ride I'm on (although I do wish Jack wouldn't fall of the changing table when I'm standing right in front of him or that he wouldn't finagle a way to get his leg up high enough to tip his chair all the way back). I've found this three year old/one year old stage very, very, very, very, very, very busy with two climbing monkeys ruled primarily by their hearts instead of the heads. With a bit of space at the end of the day, a good support system, overlapping naptimes, and some good old fashioned exercise-induced endorphins, we're chugging along and finding out all sorts of new and exciting things about ourselves (like how long it takes me to sprint from one end of the classroom to the other while hurdling a train table to pull Jack off the top of the bookshelf that he was nowhere near thirty seconds before). I'll take my herd of cats (or occasionally sheep or dogs) and laugh about the madness as much as I can and just keep trying to herd these animals out the door in under three hours.

Sometimes, life is nice and peaceful and there is sibling bliss (and some clashing outfits)...

Other times, there's total mischief afoot with some climbing game happening under my nose...

I'm not sure that I'm happy he can climb into this on his own...

Because no good can come from a toddler (oh joy that I can say that finally!!) and a light switch.

Hey mom, it's cool if I climb on something with wheels, right (notice that I intentionally didn't include the wheeled object in the picture in case I wanted to pretend that I was a good mom who never let stuff like that happen). 

But the pride... oh the pride. 

 

Overindulgence or self-preservation

Teamwork twice in one week? Holy smokes!

And there's the madness about to start again...