Last week on her blog, MckMama (a very popular mom blogger) wrote about how going to Target makes her feel like SuperMom. (Quite frankly I would feel the same way should I have 4+ children to tote along with me as I run errands!) In her post, she touches on how we, as moms, have these little moments when we accomplish something that may seem normal or routine, but tack on one or more children to that given situation, and those little mundane tasks become something more. Perhaps something heroic. Here, let me let her explain...
"I don't normally feel like SuperMom. But on days when we make the trek to Target because we are down to one dribble of syrup and four squares of toilet paper, I do.
It's not because our children are exceptionally well-behaved while we're at Target, or because I have my finest mothering moments, though. I mean, we do fine. But about average. Nothing special. We get there. We shop. We leave. It's just that, I don't know if it's the ages or number of our children, probably both, but going to Target is a big production. It takes all afternoon. It strips me of my energy. It's hard. It's exhausting. It takes a lot of concentration, planning and patience. Oh, the patience. It's difficult to do it while staying sane, so going to Target with all of our children makes me feel like I really achieved something.
I don't mean to be overly dramatic, I really don't. Perhaps you can relate to my Target experiences, perhaps you can't. All I know is that for me, I feel like SuperMom when we hit Target. I suppose I mostly feel so accomplished simply because we do it. And we survive.
It's the little victories that we ought to celebrate as mothers anyway, right? Changing a boy diaper without getting squirted on. Making dinner while, well, while making dinner.Remembering to add baby wipes to the grocery list. And taking the kids out to Target. I would avoid it if I could, to tell you the truth. But my life has little room for such pleasantries as grocery shopping alone."
So for me, one of my "SuperMom" moments comes on Sunday morning.
On any other day, getting up and getting myself and the boys ready for the day is no big deal. Let me rephrase...on occasion, it can be a big deal depending on what side of the bed Mr. Drew woke up on. But I digress. Six days out of the week, I have back-up - Brad. He's here, available to play with the boys as I get ready, and we can tag-team getting them dressed, teeth brushed, and beds made. Sundays are a different story, though. Because Brad is up and out the door early on Sundays, it's up to me (and me alone) to get myself and the boys ready for church. And to not only get them ready, but for all of us to be ready on time. (I certainly enjoy the luxury of lazy mornings!)
My routine has changed throughout the past few years, ranging from getting up early to be ready before the boys wake up, to waiting until they are both awake to hop in the shower. Lately, I've been enjoying sleep too much to wake up early for anything (HA!) so once both boys are awake and Reed's been fed, they settle in while I shower and get ready for the day. Drew is usually propped up on our bed, eating his Poptart and milk while watching Disney, while Reed is playing with toys on our bedroom floor. Reed will usually roam in and out of our bathroom while I'm in there, looking for what he can get his sticky little fingers into. But all in all, it's good. Things flow nicely as I get beautiful, and then get the boys wiped clean of sleepy bugs and get them dressed.
Anyway, all of this to say that this morning was nothing like this! When Reed woke up at 6:30, he was covered in vomit. Yep. Vomit. That horrible, stomach-churning aroma of spoiled milk, mixed with last night's supper (pizza and squash...bleech!) soaked into Reed's sheet and hair. His jammies were hardly soiled, and his sheet was still pretty wet, so I think it must have happened close to the time he woke up. So I got him wiped down as best I could (I didn't figure I could get him in and out of the tub at that point, first thing in the morning and on an empty stomach), and got him his bottle. By the time he was done eating, Drew was up and in our bed, Brad was about ready to head off to church, and I was ready to shower. So, like usual, I headed into the bathroom. And holy hysterics. Reed usually has some kind of separation anxiety when I step behind the shower curtain, but it is quickly resolved when he crawls his way over and peeks at me. Not today, no sir. H.y.s.t.e.r.i.c.a.l. And what was I going to do? I was in Sunday morning mode, well aware I was on a strict time schedule, and had to continue getting ready. So I talked to him, sang to him, and when he became quiet and I peeked out of the curtain, he was laying on the bath mat. Head down, sucking on his paci, quiet as could be. Huh, I thought. Must be tired. I continued getting ready for the day, and the next thing I know, Reed is out cold. On our bathroom floor.
And he stayed there. For over two hours. He rarely naps in his bed for two hours!
Of course, I concluded that the poor guy wasn't feeling well and we stayed home this morning from church. He seems to be better now and is currently back down for nap #2. I probably won't get two hours out of him again. Maybe I should have put him back on the bathroom floor!
