That's How it Goes...

Some days I'm up and running, fueled by natural energy, excitement on greeting a beautiful morning, and all that...

And then there are mornings like this--- don't get me wrong, I'm no less blessed today than other days, and today is no less beautiful. It's just that the most entrancing and captivating thought on my mind revolves around this---

Take a Picture With Me

Buddy was at school. The twins and I played all day. At one point, I thought it'd be fun to take a picture together!

Ha.

"Say CHEESE!!!"

..........Never mind.

The Art of Spinning

Buddy- "Look at me, Devyn!!! I'm a spinning tornado!!!!!! Watch out!!"

Brother- "Me too!!! Watch me too!!! I a 'pinning tomatoooo!!!!"

Where's the Compassion?

You only have to flip on the news lately to get an update on Lauren "Lo" Scruggs-- online magazine editor and model who was involved in an airplane propeller accident in early December. I've been following her story since the evening it happened, after receiving a prayer request about her the evening of the accident from our mutual friend, Jennefer. While most of the stories have been unbiased and informative, I've been appalled at how quickly reporters and commenters have become toxic. I've seen countless articles on where the blame of the accident should lie, whether her family is lying about her twin sister's sympathy pains for Lauren, speculation on Lauren's future, and on and on.

My question is this: when did Lo stop being a person in the eyes of the world media, and instead become a target?

Yes. She was in an accident. And by the grace of God she is going to be ok! Let's celebrate with her and her family!

Yes. Her life will have adjustments because of her injuries. Let's encourage her and pray for her! Don't dwell on the negative, no one needs that.

Yes. Her family is close-knit and they've been there every day encouraging her and helping her to heal. That's a priceless gift. Not one for the media to question and try to demean.

This is a real person. Not a news story. She's Mr and Mrs Scruggs' little girl, Brittany's sister, a friend, a cousin, a niece, a granddaughter, and (to me) a fellow classmate.

So directly to you, Lo, I wish you a quick recovery, pray for your pain, rejoice with you over your milestones and the love you're receiving through it all, and trusting God that His peace will guard your heart through everything.

Love and hope wins out over blame and doubt. Every time.

Fail-Proof Excuse

Brother has this excuse he uses for getting out of virtually anything (or **trying to** anyway). It's his go-to escape route for all situations involving siblings, vegetable intake, clean-up time, and more...

"Brother, no brownies until you finish your corn!"
"I can't eat corn. I sick."

"Give Sis back her baby doll."
"I can't! I sick."

"Time out. We don't punch people!"
"But!! But!! I sick!"

Clever. Let me try:

Dear IRS, I can't pay my taxes this year. I sick. Sincerely, Devyn.

This could work for me.

The Part Where You Messed Up

Everyone's got those personal chores that suck. Things they'd go out of their way to avoid doing. For some, it's mopping. Others hate laundry. I personally have a vendetta against deep dusting, which is to say, if my Walmart-brand feather duster can't get to it easily, then that dust is to be ignored.

For Buddy, it's wiping his rear.

I get it. I do. It's not a job anyone enjoys, but it's a fact of life. And since Buddy starts kindergarten in a few short months, we'd all cracked down on him bucking up and taking care of business on his own, like it or not.

Then slowly, things happen. You're in a hurry, so you do it for him quick just to get out the door on time. Or you take pity on his tears of frustration over his unpracticed ability. Or my personal downfall: he's been in there for almost half an hour, dang it, I gotta go so he's gotta move!!

But today he slipped. He made the rookie move. The classic mistake. He revealed his master plan.

I was in the living room, wrangling the twins and changing their diapers, while Buddy was on minute 19 in the bathroom.

"It's time to get out of there, Buddy! You're done, quit messing around in there!"

"I really can't do this Devyn! I need you to wipe!"

"Can't dude! Changing diapers!"

"I'll wait..."

"C'mon, man, you're five! You can do it, you've done it before! In kindergarten no one will be able to do it for you. You've got this!"

"DEVYN! I haven't had to do this in a million years. Its not my job to wipe my butt anymore. So I'm gonna wait for you, ok?!"

Ha. Nope.

See what you did there, dude? I'm on to you...

Ballad of the Over-Tired Toddlers

"The twins didn't sleep much last night." The bleary-eyed Mom-of-the-Kids informed me this morning when I arrived at work.

I nodded my head, applied my game face, and held on to my cup of coffee for dear life.

The poor Mom. Lately, the twins have been viewing nap time as 100% optional, exacerbated by the fact that they now have the ability to almost-soundlessly make a jailbreak climb out of their cribs, aided and abetted by their twin/co-conspirator.

Like ninjas or something.

That's all well and good, and expected even, if not for the fact that they are still young ankle-biters. And still badly need their rest to remain, ya know, sane. And The Mom needs her rest too, which is hard to come by when there are one or more small voices calling out "MAMA?!?" unexpectedly at dark thirty each night.

I'd imagine she also gets a little tired of having to disentangle herself from the ceiling fan each time that happens too.

Anyway. Point. Yes. Kids (and parents) need sleep to function. Moving on.

The Kids were all fine today, if not a little red around the eyes from sleep deprivation. There were a few fights that broke out, maybe one or two unwarranted tears from overreacting chitlins, but nothing a little redirection and extra caffeine (on my part) couldn't handle.

Then came naptime.

After busying Buddy with an activity downstairs, I carried Brother and Sissy upstairs for nap Sacred Hour. The first technique I always employ is to lay them down after stories and hugs, leave the room, and cross my fingers that they'll conk out without help.

Since that hasn't worked in recent memory (now that they're ninjas, remember), I generally have to go to Plan B, rocking the twins to sleep. So today, with Sissy wailing in her crib, I set about rocking Brother first.

(I have to rock the boy-child to sleep first. Because he seems to recognize my authority a little less than his sister... given that when he begins climbing out of his crib in front of me, and I give him a firm "No-no!" in my most serious and authoritative voice, he bursts into hysterical peels of giggling. Complete with tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks. Ahem.)

Anyhoo.

Rocking Brother today while he was overtired and fighting sleep tooth and nail was right up there with a WWF match. He, throwing his tiny arms and body weight around like a pro, and myself humming lullabies serenely to him like a crazy person while I wrap him in a blanket (for warmth and the safety of my face) and cuddle him in the chair, slowly rocking back and forth...

To the tune of his indignant and irate wailing and gnashing of teeth. To an almost two year old, being told to sleep is the equivalent of being hung by your toenails, it seems.

Sissy fell asleep within minutes of Brother's overtired chorus of screeching. I'm not sure how, but I won't knock it. And after crying hysterically, trying to break himself free of my gentle and comfortable (yet iron clad) grip, Brother cozied down against me in a sitting position, head against my chest, not quite asleep but knowing sleep was non-negotiable at that juncture, and perhaps also feeling (as I knew he would if he just allowed himself to be still a moment) the weight of exhaustion that enveloped his small little mini-linebacker's body. We rocked in silence for a few minutes, both relaxing in the calm after the storm of The Child Who Wouldn't Sleep. The only other sounds in the room were Sis's slow, even breathing from her crib, the gentle hum of the fan, and the slight squeak of the rocking chair as we pressed on toward dreamland.

Finally, Brother leaned away from me slightly so he could look me in the face and removed his pacifier for one final bid at negotiating nap. Since he found hysteria-laced wrestling matches did little to curb my resolve. Today anyway.

"How 'bout..." he started, eyes half closed from exhaustion, "how 'bout I watch Lawwee dah Coocumboor?"

I smiled at his eyes trying mightily to stay open and focused on me, "No, Brother Bear. No Larry the Cucumber. It's time to relax and sleep..."

"Ok." he mumbled, returning the pacifier to his mouth and closing his eyes.

He was asleep before his head even made it back to my chest.

One little boy and one little girl finally asleep in their cribs. One touchdown sign from one tired but victorious nanny. One Mom of the Kids who, with any luck, won't have to fight over-tired toddlers to sleep tonight, and maybe (just maybe) will get some blessed sleep of her own... And one five year old boy downstairs scarfing down sugar-y snacks before bed with a guilty conscience, while keeping a hawk-eye on the stairs for signs of my return...

But that's a post for another day... ;)