Oranges Between Knees

The explanation for the title of this blog may become VERY obvious after I share a short story of my Sunday morning last week.  It may motivate women across the globe to always keep an orange between their knees, least any baby-making would happen (wink, wink)!  So, pull up a chair, and grab a chair for your teenage daughter as well: this story may relieve you from any more pleading for her to not have sex right now!

My Sunday morning actually began at 1am.  My baby, who is no longer really a “newborn” and as such, should have received the memo that he is supposed to be sleeping through the night awoke hungry and cranky at that hour.  Again at 4am, even AFTER a full bottle, he made another LOUD protest about sleeping “like a baby” (though everyone WITH a baby knows that saying is just a NOT TRUE!).

I had just nestled into my fluffy (unused!!) pillow that was getting lonely without me when a wailing that would put all ambulance sirens to shame grew louder and louder.  I shoved the pillow over my head, thinking it was coming from the nearby hospital when it hit me: that NOISE is coming from my two-year-old who is walking up the stairs...and past my just-got-back-to-sleep-baby’s nursery!!  I shot out of bed, more wide awake than after my morning coffee: desperate to quiet my daughter before she got any LOUDER (though that wasn’t really possible!).

I snuggled her into bed with us and slept peacefully for 18 minutes until 4:20 am when my four-year-old joined us for no apparent reason (not that I was seeking any answers at that hour: only seeking SLEEP!).  There we were: my hubby, me, my daughter and my son: lined up in bed like sardines in a can.  Real cozy.

I didn’t think it could get much worse but should know by now, it can.

I jolted awake at 6am to the sound of falling glass.  What in the world!?  And there she was: my two-year-old who obviously can function on very little sleep sans caffeine.  She was sitting at my vanity, dressed in make-up-war-paint from head to toe.  Bottles of perfume, open mascara and spilled lip-glosses littered the vanity and the bedroom floor.

Maybe it was sleep-deprivation clouding my brain but it didn’t really faze me.  At this point, I just had to survive...oh, and somehow manage to ready all six of us in time for church.  I grabbed my newly-decorated savage to race to the nursery to get my crying baby.  Once again, I hit the ground running before the drool had time to dry on my pillow.

First things first: breakfast time: 10 bowls of cereal served, 2 hit the floor.
5 Sunday outfits on, 2 removed while I dressed the other 3.
2 put back on, 1 replaced with a princess outfit while I was changing a poopy diaper.
1 minute before we have to be out the door, 1 princess outfit left on (victory by perseverance).
5 heads combed.
5 faces scrubbed.
10 shoes on, 4 taken off and left on the floor (which wasn’t discovered until I was en route to church: victory by distraction).

And there it was: another typical Sunday morning.  I realized two things as I drove through the quiet countryside with the children (strangely) quiet in the back-seat:

1.  My un-touched bowl of cereal with milk was still sitting on the kitchen table.

And,

2.  I wouldn’t change this life for anything.

I glances at the faces of each of my children as I drove and thought, they are worth it.  It’s crazy sometimes (okay, MOST times).  It’s loud.  It’s busy.  It’s...our life.  

Each moment is precious as it’s a moment we will never have again (granted, the barrage of poopy diapers, I don’t think I will miss).  The sleepless nights with a tiny baby (IF Daniel could be considered “tiny”?!), the war-painted face and non-stop messes of my “testing”-two-year old,  the infatuation with pink and princesses of my three-year-old, the snuggly and silly times I share with my four-year-old, the late-night chats and “just-the-two-of-us” (or three, if we let my husband hang with us too!) time with my six-year-old. 

Even though I joke that the story of my crazy Sunday morning may make you want to avoid recreating like the Bubonic plauge...the truth is, there have been few things as amazing and life-changing (for the good...usually...!) as having and raising a child.

Even though my bowl of cereal was getting soggy instead of fueling me with energy for the rest of my Sunday (the day had JUST begun!), I would not trade all the breakfast...or all the peace and quiet (and SLEEP!) in the world for any life other than this one: life with our five.