Musical beds.

My kids have long outgrown the physical need to sleep in my bed. Physical need, for me, is qualified as nursing through the night. Aka, under the four month mark in age. If the little leeches weren't actually in the bed with me for their five nursing, burping, changing sessions per night, then they probably wouldn't have made it to their crawling milestone.

Obviously, the little darlings lived through that stage. They have moved on to their own beds, can get up to use the toilet at 2am without notifying me, read until way past "lights out" and maybe even dance naked in their rooms all night. As long as the door is closed and no one needs me after 9pm, all is well. Mommy's gotta get her beer on sometime.

Why is it then that the first question out of their mouths when they know that their Dad is going out of town is, you guessed it, "can we sleep in your bed?" Crapola. Doesn't ANYONE in this crazy house understand that I HATE to be touched while I'm sleeping? It doesn't matter the intention, I wake up in fighting mode if the reason for a nighttime disturbance is someone else's sweaty body part. Don't you all know that, for many decades, the drug of choice for any female who has survived a newborn (or two) is SLEEP?

The rules for sleepovers in my rarely-solo bed now include options for number of days that my lovely husband is out of town. One night=no way. Two nights=maybe, if you clean up all your shit without complaining or shoving it under the couch. Three nights=I have no more outs, OK, bring in all the stuffed animals, books, live animals, blankets and pillows you all usually bed down with. I'll close the door and I'll see you in two hours or so....

Guess where I end up? I rescue my (contourmemoryfoam) pillow from between my two girls who are sprawled diagonally in my very comfortable king-sized mattress. I creep quietly down the hall, so as not to wake the cats who have also settled onto my down and high thread count nest, and I climb into the bed in one of the kids rooms.

I know these mattresses well. Josephine's full-size is from Montgomery Wards 1989, Albany, NY. The queen-size, which Madeline piles with successful rescues from the crane machine at the grocery story, is from May Co. 1993, Jersey City, NJ. I can trace the history of my marriage and economic status by the sleeping options throughout my house. My beds have gotten progressively larger, more luxurious. Isn't it funny that I still choose the twenty year old option, pokey springs and all, as long as it guarantees me a full night's sleep, alone? Also, there's less pee in that one.

In the morning I climb back into bed between my two beautiful girls before the alarm goes off. It's like cheating but without all the excitement. I have revisited my past in the other bedrooms in my house, snuck in one more night of blissful solo sleep, and my girls are never the wiser that they haven't spent the night cocooned next to a very awake, very grumpy mother.

My Mom is a...uh...er...Mom.

SAHM. Even the acronym is unappealing. This is the first time I've ever used it. Maybe the last.

On the off chance that I find myself solely in the company of adults, I avoid the question of "what do you do" for as long as possible. "Um, I live the housewife existence my mother dreamed of for herself." Shudder.

Really, all I need to do is say that I "stay at home" and my wish for the inane small talk to end comes true. My chit-chat partner suddenly needs a new drink, or turns a fake smile towards a stranger while mumbling something about needing to catch up. So my life choices are useful at times as well.

The last ten years at home has turned me into somewhat of an isolate. I often like it that way. Much like my youngest daughter, I enjoy my own company. I have less patience for adults now and much more for children. Except for those little Eddie Haskells who we all can spot from a mile away. I pretty much want to do us all a favor and choke them into oblivion.

If not already apparent, I'm a bit conflicted about my role as wife and mom. Don't worry, this won't be a rant about the unappreciated slaves that us SAHMS's have become, those circumstances are of our own making. I'm going to focus on the skills that I have acquired in the past decade at home. I wonder, as I ponder the option of going back to the grown-up world of paid employment, if any will enhance my dusty resume?

#1 I can pick up almost anything with my toes. As a baby, my first child would erupt into horrific maniacal screeching if I tried to put her down...but also enjoyed dropping shit onto the ground that she couldn't live without. I can now retrieve everything from a pacifier to a blanket with my versatile lower digits.

#2 I have no problem with nudity. I am now mature enough to realize that nudity isn't just for sexually stunted porn consumers. Potty training is a breeze when you lock 'em outside naked. There's also the frugality bonus, I didn't waste money on pull-ups or even pajamas for that matter...

#3 Air travel is much less irritating than when I was younger. Time was...I negatively judged the parents of screaming babies, kicking toddlers and whiny tweens. Now I'm so grateful when it's not my own kids that I quietly suffer the distress of other parents in blissful empathy.

#4 I am an expert short-order cook. I've come to understand that some foods are made for adults. I love smoked oysters and blue cheese, but I know for a fact that I'd love them just a tad bit less after watching my kid puke them into her dinner plate after I forced her to eat what I wanted for dinner.

#5 I can predetermine a future employee's assets while suctioning beads out of a toddler's bleeding nose. Babysitters, house painters, pool guys, general contractors...all have interviewed while suffering through my divided attention. Those who see past the t-shirts and grime, even manage to flirt a bit, either with me or my kids, are often rewarded with work. EOE be damned.

#6 I no longer underestimate the buying power of the under ten age group. I am as pro "postconsumer world" as the next eco-mom hypocrite, but guess who I'm buying for at each trip to Target, Vons or Costco? I just try to invest in as little plastic or free advertising as possible...

So, with multitasking, managing under budget, supervisory experience, availability to travel and work under pressure, and so many more UNIQUE qualities to add to my resume, I'm sure I'll be employed in no time. My kids will finally be able to say "my mom's a ______", and I'll be longing for my old SAHM days.

A piece of mind.

For those of you who believe in "tabula rasa", let me share some of the art created by the kids in my house.

I was heading up our back hill to get the mail when I stumbled across our missing shoe box of miscellaneous balls. I have no idea when the stump of a long dead fern was transformed into an explosion of color and texture. I know who did it, but not why. I didn't ask, I just took some pics and went on my way. My baby girl enjoys her own company. I wonder what else she's created when I'm not looking? Note to self, look under her bed.

The other example is, of course, my oldest child. Also a beautiful explosion of color. She created this while sitting almost on top of me, jealous that my attention was focused on another task. She asked me at least four times if it was good. Then she posted it on her bedroom door.

I learn something new each day from these little humans. I have never believed for a second that I am responsible for their personality. I can only help them find the tools to navigate this world as seen through their eyes. The search continues.

Some future day.

So I am the queen of putting off the inevitable. I clean my house by sweeping the debris off the counters and floors and into drawers and closets. I've never folded a load of clothes while they are still warm. The microwave is one of my best friends, it takes up the slack when I haven't thought about dinner for four until, uh, bedtime.

Add to my list of achievements, "postponement". More specifically, jury duty. As I sat in the lush, roomy and cheerful surroundings of the jury room this morning, surrounded by a very wet (check weather) cross section of the population of Los Angeles county, I listened VERY closely to the orientation which finally started an hour after we were directed to congregate.

I don't qualify for financial hardship, have no health excuse (I'm gonna work on that one), and have no dependant care "out", since my 7 and 10 year olds are perfectly capable of managing their own lives for eleven hours a day. That left me grasping for straws. Final instruction, if you won't be available for between 5-7 working days (the average length of a trial), you have the chance to postpone for up to 90 days.

Whohoo! I was first in line to fill out the official "I'm outta here" paperwork. It turns out that three months in the legal system is actually about five months in the real world. I've got till July to figure out how to fit my civic duty into my life of procrastination.

On the way home, my car stepped up to the plate and forced me to act on at least one unplanned responsibility today. The "low tire pressure" warning light not only blinks and beeps, but at some point it starts speaking. Whee, my escape from downtown through the pouring rain, passing not one, but two, multiple car pile-ups, was set to the soundtrack of dire warnings about undiagnosed tire problems. Turns out, all four tires wanted just a little bit of attention. That's much better than one wanting a lot.

So, yay! So far, I'm having a great day. No sarcasm this time, just gratitude.

Match mood to weather.

The kids are home today and Monday.
A four day weekend.
Full of rain.
The house has already exploded into a shrine of discarded valentine wrappers, fermenting swimsuits, overdue library books and unbussed dishes.
I could solve that last issue by forcing the kids to eat at a table or counter.
Nah. Too Pleasantville for me.

I'm going to go with the flow this weekend. I will not focus on the exponential expansion of mess and need that comes with everyone being home. All day.

My reward at the end of the "vacation" is jury duty.
Not just ANY jury duty.
Downtown Los Angeles jury duty.
The map for the parking garage on my summons shows me walking some four blocks to get to the courthouse.
The summons doesn't depict the gunfire usually associated with that area, but I think I could smell the residue as I opened the envelope.
It looks like the fortune I earn in reimbursement for serving will be spent (and then some) on better parking accomodations.
I'm sure I'll have a great story to tell.
I haven't even gotten to the part where I imagine myself passing judgement on asshole or innocent.

Here's hoping I don't get set on a jury, I am in no way mature enough to be there.

So here I go...

My urge to write has resurfaced ever since I got a new laptop. I have no idea how to avoid oversharing, stepping on toes, or selfishly whining about my comfortable life. I will probably do all that and more, but if it gets me a good night's sleep again, then so be it. Lists are sooo overdone, so maybe I'll start there. Future posts will undoubtably highlight my amazing ability to depict stream of consciousness in writing form, maybe my first post will even be a combo...

RANDOM THOUGHTS

*The light in my fridge is out and I have no desire to do my job and hire someone to fix it. The bulb isn't the problem, so at this point, some sensor in the bowels of this massive power drain has conked. I'm just waiting for the fifteen year old behemoth to reach it's built-in expiration date, then I can argue with my home warranty company about the loopholes in their contract which allow them to NEVER pay out for covered items. Whee.

*Speaking of fifteen year olds, I miss my aged cat. He finally lost enough physical and mental function to lose the game of "coyote and cat" that goes on in our neighborhood each night. I made sure he was inside every night, but one evening he just didn't return in time...

*The new kittens are great, but now I live in fear that I will have to handle the emotional fallout of one of my daughter's cats making a tasty dessert. Neither would be great, both would be sad, but just ONE disappearing would be one of those vivid childhood memories that I can't fix.

*That was a bit depressing. Hmm, new cup of coffee in hand, I will go with the upbeat. I am excited as hell that we have a new president who can speak in complete sentences, even if they are peppered with ers, ums. Those breaks indicate to me that he can think and talk at the same time. YAY.

*Pandora is the first thing I lauch when I turn on the computer. Some unexpected track from the past, or a new song that catches my ear, can make my day. With Pandora, the whole creative music world is at your fingertips, what's not to like?

*So, with my "Quick Mix" blasting, I'm off to the unselfish part of my day. The unending drudgery of chores is calling. I'm buoyed by caffeine, messy construction paper hearts that say "I love Mom", and two cats who have outsmarted the predators for one more day.