Just Another Day in Paradise

So, reality is that with five children some days are better than others. Most days have their intense moments, and I have learned to just breathe and buckle down and get it done. Today...well...today is one for the books...so here's hoping that I read this one day and laugh.

After going to bed just after an argument with my dear husband over Fisher Price Little People (yes, you read that right). I was grateful for a new morning and a fresh start. I woke about two hours before the kids to get some chores done because today was a Occupational Therapy AND Physical Therapy day for our foster girl. (Trying to entertain four other children while giving my attention to baby girl and her therapist so that I can help her with exercises the rest of the week, makes me break into a sweat 24 hours in advance and have a bottle of wine chilled and ready to go.)

I digress. I went downstairs to toss a load of laundry in and stepped on about twenty pieces of glass...er...I mean LEGOS on the way while carrying a grossly overstuffed hamper of dirty laundry. I started the laundry and headed back upstairs to mop, get breakfast started and get dressed, and as I brushed my teeth, Jacob began to wail. Freshly dressed I picked him right up for a morning snuggle only to find that his diaper had malfunctioned and he was DRIPPING wet. Awesome. Got him changed, changed my clothes again, stripped his bed and got him in his high chair...at which point all other little Bolte children begin to emerge wanting breakfast.

Making toast for five kids with a two slice toaster (because I refuse to buy a new one because ours still works, it is THIRTEEN years old...it has to give up someday, right?) takes me, well...until lunch. ;) SO I sent Ben outside to dump the compost and grab the mail I'd forgotten to get yesterday.

He bounces in the front door with a jar of bugs with holes poked in the top, Ben is the bug whisperer so this was nothing new. In the jar he proudly announced were not one, not two, but THREE "snowy white crickets" he'd found in his journey to the mailbox! He deemed it the best day EVER as he proudly showed them to each of the other kids. I continued to bustle around trying to get everyone fed and asked Ben to please pour his cereal.

He set the jar down. A baby child, who will remain nameless...picked the jar up.  The lid was not properly screwed on the jar, and a wild cricket chase ensued.  Said, baby, won the wild cricket chase and well...crickets ARE a delicacy in some areas of the world so I'd say this baby was simply broadening his/her horizons.

Ben sobbed, mourning the loss of ONE cricket...the other two remained in the jar...I am guessing they saw the toddlers and decided to cut their losses and stay put.  I comforted Ben, we got the lid on the jar and took the crickets to the porch for safety.  When I turned back around Jacob had removed his diaper, and proceeded to pee all over the floor I woke up early and mopped.  I grabbed him and ran to get a towel.  I was not fast enough because in a split second baby number two found the pee pool and decided to have  some fun splashing in it.

Both babies make their way to the tub, babies washed, diapered and dressed.  I remind myself to breathe.  I actually set a timer from the moment of the cricket escape.  This is my coping skill.  I set a timer for 20 minutes because what seems like it must be the Bolte Apocalypse  happens daily, and while it seems like I am in it forever, in twenty minutes, typically life looks different and things aren't so chaotic.  It helps me focus, not become overwhelmed and just buckle down.  So I am in full buckle down mode.

Therapist number one is due at any moment. I still need to get tonight's pot roast into the crockpot so it is done in time for the boys to eat before heading to our local fair to enter their prized projects. I put the babies down to play and frantically search for the aforementioned Fisher Price Little People for baby girl's therapy session.  I hear a crash.  I turn and Ben has dropped his bowl of cereal, creating an organic O's BOMB all over the table, floor, sliding glass door and stainless appliances.  The timer begins to beep.  I sit down on the floor in the cereal carnage and begin to weep.  Ben sees my distress and brings me a tissue.  I look up and he says, "Mom, don't cry over spilled milk".  We all laugh and there is a knock at the door.  I wish it were a therapist for me.  I still can't find those darn Little People.

The moral of the story:  Don't cry over spilled milk, but it is PERFECTLY acceptable to cry over an ingested cricket friend.  :)