One Woman Circus Act

I may not be the Bearded Lady (although I do have a surprisingly visible mustache if I don't wax), I am not the Elephant Woman, nor am I a lion-tamer. I am however, a one woman circus act. This occurred to me the other day as I held a twin on one hip, the other twin wrapped tightly around my leg, and was putting pots and pans back into the cupboard with...drum roll please...my free foot. And I didn't drop or maim either baby! I never thought I would brag about using my feet for anything other than walking, but they have proven quite multifaceted. I can also bathe and dress a baby while on the phone, although this sideshow has resulted in me acquiring smooshed baby poop on the bottom of my multi-talented foot (the cause is still a mystery); hey, I didn't say my circus acts don't always escape downfall. I can also brush my toddler's teeth and my own while holding a baby or two, carry two babies up and down stairs at alarming speed, and have Dora & Mickey conversation while areobicizing and formulating blog ideas in my head all at the same time. Oh--and I'm sure observing me load three children under age three in a minivan is definitely circus act worthy...especially the part where I run back and forth between vehichle and house at least ten times before actually going anywhere.

And the cost to witness my one woman circus act? I'm happy to say--it's free of charge...purely provided for your entertainment. Enjoy.

Oh that Man!

If my writing took human form "it" would certainly be a man. When I first set eyes on him, it's love at first sight. I want to be with him all the time. He's beautiful, baffling, and mysterious, and he is way out of my league. He is McSteamy, I am McDorky. He is Shakespeare, I am Danielle Steele. He is chocolate cake, I am chocolate cake made with Splenda. I show him off to all my friends and family. "Look at my lovely Mr. Writing," I brag. "Oh, he's nice," people say. Or, "He is so funny!" But soon things get out of control. I become obsessed with him. I find myself neglecting laundry, cleaning, and other household chores. I commit the cardinal sin, and put my children in front of the TV for two hours, just so I can indulge him. I can't sleep at night because he inserts countless ideas into my brain. Before I know it, I am resentful at him. "You take up all my time!" I scream at him. "And for what?" I cry out, "It's not like any of your stinkin' ideas make me any money!" He thinks he's so clever, I think to myself, he and all those books said, that if I spent all my available time with him, I would receive some kind of payoff-- phooey! I finally decide something must be done. No more piles of laundry, zombified TV children, and sleep-deprived me. But for all his inadequacies, I just can't leave him. I decide, our relationship has to be on my terms; kids nap time and maybe an hour or two in the evenings during the week. Okay, and maybe a little time on the weekends. But it's no use, we both know I will fold eventually. After all, he made me write an entry for my blaaag at an unspeakable hour. I wish my writing would take on the form of a dog instead--maybe then I could be the dominant one in the relationship, but with my luck it would be a rabid Pitbull.

End of the Day Conversation

In the very, very few days my husband and I had together before children, end of the day conversation sounded like this: "How was your day honey?", "Great, it was a long day at work, but I got a lot accomplished."

In the days with twins and a toddler end of day conversation sounds like this:

Me: "Guess what I found in Julia's mouth today?"
Husband: "What?"
Me: "A toenail."

Or

Me: "How did Laura do while I was gone tonight?"
Husband: "She hid a turd in her toy box."
Me: "Ew!"
Husband: "It's still there."
Me: Why? Why did he wait for me to dispose of the hidden turd?

Or

Me: cricket, cricket
Husband: cricket, cricket