Where Mom is, There the Fun is Also!

By Rachel Rager

The morning dawned bright and cool but promised to warm up toward the afternoon. I unbuckled Layla and Seryn from their car seats and proceeded to herd the children into the house. Having just dropped off Lylli at school, the younger two quickly darted toward her desk to rummage around for treasure.
“Girls, stay out of Lylli’s desk! Why don’t you come in the kitchen and color,” I suggested, hoping that would keep them out of the way while I did last night’s dishes. Crusted food clung to the tower of plates and pans piled precariously in the sink and on the neighboring counter. Before I endeavored to attack that task, I placed coloring books and crayons on the table. The girls raced into the kitchen in a whirl of noise and giggles and climbed up to the table. I prayed they would stay occupied for a good half hour and that I wouldn’t have to clean crayon off the walls later.
To my relief, the girls were engaged in the activity longer than I’d hoped. Not only was I able to get the dishes loaded into the dishwasher and the counter cleared off, I was able to make it into the bathroom unnoticed and start to work on that germ and dirt infested room. However, before I was able to do much, Layla, my three-year-old, hollered from the kitchen.
“Mom! Seryn needs her britches changed! She’s stinky!”
“Ugh,” I groaned. But, rather than see another diaper rash break out on my one-year-old’s bottom, I called, “Come here, Seryn, and Mommy will change your diaper,” in as pleasant of voice as I could muster.
Seryn came running through the house to me, as fast as her little legs would carry her. I changed her diaper and after seeing her back to the kitchen to color, I returned to my chore of cleaning the bathroom. One of the dirtiest rooms of the house, the bathroom seemed to need cleaning at least twice a week. I grumbled as I worked. With five people in the family, the bathroom never stayed clean, and I didn't seem to get to it nearly as often as I wanted.
One reason the bathroom was so dirty was that the girls had learned to scale the drawers in order to reach the counter, thoroughly frightening their mother. From there, they loved to stand on the counter and search for things within the vanity – preferably my make-up or the toothpaste – or play in the water, claiming to wash their hands and leaving puddles of water all over the bathroom.
“Mommy, I want to help. Can I help clean?” Layla asked, with Seryn trailing right behind her.
“Honey, Mommy just wants to get this done. Why don’t you girls go find some books to read?”
“I don’t want to read. Can we play outside?”
“Not right now. I want to be able to watch you. Maybe you could play when I go out to weed later.”
“Can we play with the play dough? We’ll stay in the kitchen.”
“Mommy’s cleaning today. Could you go straighten your room? That would be a big help. Do you want to help Mommy by cleaning your room?”
“Sure!” she squealed and darted off to clean her room.
If they actually managed to get their room clean, that would be a huge help and one less thing for me to worry about. If not, perhaps they would at least stay busy for a while. I would much rather be out enjoying the sun at the park instead of working inside. Cleaning is invigorating, but I wished I could go outside and enjoy the warmth of the day. Oh well, I sighed and quickly set about finishing the bathroom.
When I was done, I trudged down the stairs, already weary from a busy morning. Undoubtedly the sheets would be dry and ready to be put on the beds. I opened the dryer and retrieved the sheets. They were so warm! The smell of fabric softener permeated the air as I buried my face in them. I loved the smell of freshly laundered sheets, so warm and inviting, I wanted nothing more than to wrap them around myself and cuddle up with a good book. But I still had bills to pay and weeds to pull on this fine spring morning. So, ignoring my impulses, I quickly headed up the stairs to make the beds.
The girls had become distracted in their cleaning adventure and now raced little Tonka trucks across the hardwood floors in the living room. I tried to walk around them without stepping on one of the toys as I made my way to their room. All three girls shared a room and I quickly put sheets on the crib first. I then began with the mattress of the bottom bunk bed and finished it off with the quilt.
As I moved to the top bunk, my little sweethearts came barreling into the room. Trying to finish quickly in an effort to get the bills paid before the mailman arrived, I vaguely registered that Layla and Seryn had climbed onto the freshly made bed and were playing around – undoubtedly rumpling the neatly tucked-in sheets.
After a brief moment, Layla said, “Mom, can you please leave so we can jump on the bed?”
What a day it had been. I’d been so busy doing my chores I don’t think I’d smiled all day long. Now, of course, I wanted to laugh! Why on earth would a child ask her mother to leave the room and then admit the crime she was about to commit? Knowing if I laughed, the teaching moment would be for naught, I swallowed my amusement. Sitting down on the bed of the bottom bunk by my daughter’s side, there was enough room for me to sit up straight. There would probably be ample room for her little body to jump, if she hunched over. Still, I could not allow it.
“Honey, you can’t be jumping on the bed. You might fall and get hurt and that would make Mommy very sad.”
“Could I break my leg?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be careful,” she said with a confident look in her eye.
“Layla, we don’t jump on the bed.”
“But it's just pretend. See? Watch!” She bent her little legs for maximum power and leaped across the bed as Seryn giggled and started to bounce with her. “That's not a real jump, Mom.”
A giggle burst from deep within me as I began to laugh. Of course it was a jump! But in her mind, since it wasn’t high, the jump hardly constituted breaking the rules. Rather than scold further, I gathered my giggling girls in my arms with a big hug and laughed, enjoying the togetherness of mother and daughters. For a brief moment, my heart swelled and I remembered – amidst the demands of my day – the reason I am so grateful to be a mother. Nothing matches the tender, precious moments of enjoying my children.

A Few Quiet Minutes To Write

By Nichole Giles

The day school let out for summer was bittersweet for me. I love my kids, they are the light of my world. But having them home with me—all day, every day—just felt overwhelming.

I know I’ve done it before—this entertaining kids 24/7 thing. But ever since my youngest (now nine) started first grade, I’ve learned to cherish my alone time. It’s my cleaning time, my blasting-the-stereo-while-I-shower time, my running-errands-with-the-convertible-top-down time (even when it’s only fifty degrees outside). But most importantly, it’s been my writing time.

Oh, how I miss my writing time.

That’s not to say I don’t still find time to write, just that it’s a lot harder to do during the summer—especially if I try to write during the day, because I get interrupted literally every three minutes. All I want is a few quiet, uninterrupted minutes.

But there are benefits to not having my schedule revolve around school. For one thing, I’ve always been a night writer. There’s just something about the quiet of the house when everyone else is asleep that gets me in the groove. Except I must be getting old, because anymore, I can’t stay awake the way I used to. But when I do stay up—because I choose to, not because the neighbors dogs are barking incessantly or because the neighbor kids are playing night games—I can sleep in the next morning without worrying about making the kids late. Then I’d have to write a note to the teacher, explaining that my child is late because I spent the night in a battle between good and evil, which the good fairies and mermaids eventually won. Some teachers just don’t get it.

And as soon as it gets warm, we plan to spend time at the pool—me, the kids, and my notebook and pen. There’s nothing like the warm touch of sunshine to help me see the scene I’ve been searching for. Or…wait…maybe that’s the neighbor kid pushing his mother in the deep end while she talks on the cell phone. And…oh no…wait, it’s okay. The lifeguard will save her. I think. But they might have to get a diver to go after the phone.

Hm. I wonder if my computer chord will stretch into my closet? I’ll sit on the floor among the rows of shoes and write about dust bunnies who have an obsession with sandals. Or better yet, maybe I’ll try the bathroom. I could write about a main character who got sucked inside a cyclone and ended up in China—except no one ever leaves me alone in there, either. That’s a bad idea—not to mention a water hazard.

I tried writing in the backyard the other day, a story about two dogs who left their home to go on adventures yet unknown, but after a few minutes my knees dripped with doggy drool from my own dogs, and my keyboard was sticky from being licked—but not by me. I brushed the dog hair off my screen, and then the rain clouds opened up and sent a torrent. Nope, outside doesn’t work so well either.

Well, I should go. I’m going to try hiding out in my car. Maybe if I scrunch up in the backseat and write really fast, no one will find me…

Until we meet again, write on!