Heather D. Nelson | 2/25/2013, 2:07 p.m.
Hey there. My name is Heather and my life is crazy. That statement alone, although simplistic at best, could be the single most crystalline description of my life. Ask almost anyone who knows me, and at any given time I’ve got a billion things going on. Some of them are things I have scheduled myself…others are things that have been scheduled for me. And what’s more, I’m a SAHM (stay-at-home-mom) and sometimes writer so for all intents and purposes my life SHOULD be easy. In fact, the description most outsiders give me when out and about is….blessed. They usually pick THE single most inopportune time to stop and tell me too….but BLESSED is almost always what people say to me. I get, “you’re so blessed” or, “boy the Lord blessed you”, and a lot of “bless your heart!” And so on and so forth. The second most common comment I get is, “wow, you sure have your hands full!” Now THAT one gives me a giggle because it’s almost always followed by, “Bless your Heart”. Hubby and I sometimes make a game of COUNTING how many times people tell US how busy WE ARE. It cracks me up because these platitudes come from strangers who see me juggling the trifecta of mishap known as my sons. My oldest, J, is 3.5. My twins, B and W, are 22 months. And in case you missed that I’ll repeat it for you…yea, ALL BOYS. With them and my husband, I am a lone woman fighting for a foothold in the torrential onslaught of testosterone and body odors that is our home. Or rather, my aunt’s home cause our home out of state was sold and we moved across country to live here 9 months ago to get my oldest son to a better specialist and are in the process of building a house the next town over and….did I mention my life is crazy. Having three small sons would be enough most days to classify my life as a bit on the nutty side, but add in there that there is only about 20 months between my twins and their big brother and that’s a whole other layer of chaos. Now let’s mix it up and make my oldest a very brittle Type I diabetic and whammo – my life sometimes hit’s BAG-O’-CATS-ON-CRACK kind of crazy. A good example would be this last week…
What SHOULD have been a relatively easy week, no doctor appointments or errands to be run and only one day of schedule gymnastics for my oldest, turned into a 7 man pile-up of cray-cray in about 2 hours. It started on Saturday with a random and inexplicably isolated round of vomit by W. He was happily playing beforehand and was happily playing again AFTER he toddled over to me and chucked in my lap. Gee thanks son. I holler to hubby for a wingman and he begins cleaning up the offending child while I attempt to clean up myself and the floor. As I clean that up with one hand, the other two stand around me and point and laugh and go eeeewwwww. Boys are so gross and thus love gross things. W had no other symptoms and was acting fine afterwards so I decided to watch and wait and see what happens. Sunday he was fine. Monday, again, he was happily playing and doing well but woke himself up at naptime with the infamous Technicolor screaming. At this point he was far more upset over the whole incident and was crying loud enough that I was expected to find some limb shoved into some spot it shouldn’t be. I run in and survey the situation and there I stand in-between the twins cribs. W sobbing surrounded by his own brand of paint, B now awake sobbing and pointing and screaming Puuuukkkkeeee eeewwww, and in waltzes J who quietly tells me, “mommy, I don’t feel good”. I subdue the screaming alarms in my head and quietly tell J to go laydown on his bed and wait for mommy to get his glucometer to check his blood sugar. I then try to carefully and quickly undress W and get him out of his bed, changed, and redressed. I then go in and get B (while W screams at the baby gate for mommy to hold him) and get him out and changed and put him down next to W. They now both stand and scream at the baby gate for mommy while I grab the glucometer and go into J’s room and check his blood sugar. It’s fine, he’s fine, he just wants a cuddle – I pause for a hot second to cuddle him and contemplate all the flipping laundry I now have to do. When the noise escalates to the point I can no longer ignore the screeching monkeys in the living room, I shuffle them all into the kitchen for snack time. Twins in their high chairs, J at the bar, and I begin getting sippy’s and snacks together. W only wants mandarin oranges and milk. In my head I KNOW this could backfire but he’s screaming like a banshee and I give in. Once they are all happily munching, I go back into the pit of despair and attempt to clean it. All laundry hits the sanitation cycle in the washer, and the gloves and disinfecting wipes come out and I set to work cleaning up all the collaterally damaged surroundings.