6:45 am-Saturday morning. I wake to the sounds of their feet on the floor-something that sounds like choppers flying through the house...tat tat tat tat tat tat...I'm glad they don't know how to be quieter. I can brace myself against the coming attack and shake off the fog of my early morning dreams (Oh how I wish I could hang on to those dreams). When I hear those feet on the floor, I always ask, "Why so early?" But there is no sleeping late when there's a war on.
They climb on the bed (not IN...ON...IN would imply that they were getting under the covers to go back to sleep. Oh no...they climb ON...to jump) and immediately start firing. "I want (JUMP) french toast sticks...I want (JUMP) a banana...I want (JUMP) yogurt." I make my escape while they are attacking—they are attacking my comrade. But they follow me...still firing..."I want to watch a movie...No! It's MY TURN...I want to watch Spiderman...Momma, is Spidey a good guy or a bad guy? Momma, is Spidey a good guy or a bad guy? Momma is Spidey a good guy or a bad guy?” I usually dodge this one every time with "I don't know, baby, you tell me." Then the volley continues with, "Momma is Black Spidey a good guy or a bad guy? He's got my Spiderman mask...I want some juice...Momma, he hit me...Wahaahha...Shriek, cry, scream, cry, scream, shriek...tat tat tat tat tat...It's now only 7:00 am...
My arsenal usually consists of "STOP THAT! SIT DOWN! DON'T CLIMB! YOU'RE GOING TO GET HURT! DON'T HIT YOUR BROTHER! GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN! BABE! CAN YOU HELP ME!!! DO YOU NEED TO GO TO YOUR ROOM? DO YOU NEED A SPANKIN'? NO! DON'T! QUIT! STOP!" My stores are much more limited than theirs...and I know they're bored with it, because I am, too. It's 7:15...
The living room looks like the train table hit a land mine. Thomas and Percy, James and Gordon all laying exposed and vulnerable where they were tossed the night before, casualties of these destructive little whirlwinds who reside here. We were entirely too tired last night to survey the damage and account for our fallen...they lay where they fell, waiting for someone to come and claim them. No sooner than the casualties are accounted for and reported, the war front changes and the battles start all over again.
The day continues in much the same way-with "gun-fire" and running for cover. They turn ham and cheese into grenades at lunch-but if I can make it through this battle, I know a TEMPORARY cease fire is coming. Naptime. A two hour break in the madness is a welcome reprieve; but it is not completely peaceful. Naptime is a chance to clean up messes, reconfigure, and re-strategize...all while walking softly and keeping vigilant for the attack I know is coming.
The war resumes, but we move to a new battlefield. Outdoors. At least now they turn on each other to wage war instead of coming after us. They argue over bikes, swings, and rights to the slide. They bomb each other with pea gravel and dirt clods. The noise they make is not so deafening out here. As dinner time approaches, I know the truce is coming.
Bellies full, bath, books, and bed. These sleepy terrors, for a few brief moments, grant us sanctuary. They now attack with hugs, kisses, and the sweet scent of their lavender soap. They snuggle into our laps and eagerly listen to books about sharks and dinosaurs and trains and tractors. We hear the sweet sounds of prayers instead of shrieks and cries. We quiet our voices for lullabies instead of yelling for them to cease and desist. As I tuck them into bed, kissing and saying "I love you, little man," I realize that, even though I am weary, and I know that the truce is only temporary, I would not trade this war for the peace I'd have without them.
Godspeed, little man
Sweet dreams, little man
Oh my love will fly to you each night
On angels’ wings
Godspeed
Sweet dreams
--The Dixie Chicks
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