There are many reasons why I lack patience. I can name seven right off the bat. Add a dog and a husband who is sometimes indistinguishable from the kids, and I can immediately name nine. Throw in genetics, shake it all up like James Bond's martini, and ta da! The result is zero patience. Allow me to tell you about a few instances when the afore said reasons tried my patience-and won.
The first instance happened just the other day when I happened to have a few moments to watch a little Food Network. The baby was sleeping and the other kids were playing and entertaining one another, or so I thought. I was thoroughly engrossed by my show when I heard my eleven year old exclaim, "What are you doing?" This question/statement was directed at my five year old son. Curious (why wouldn't I be?), I looked into the dining room where my youngest son was standing on a chair next to the hutch, stirring the poor little beta fish in the bowl with a paint brush while his three year old sister watched in utter fascination. I sighed (something else I inherited with the lack of patience) and with great gusto told the little stinker to dispose of the paint brush and to leave the half-dead-from-dizziness-beta fish alone. Thankfully he did as I told him. His three year old sister however, acted as though she didn't comprehend the events that just took place right before her eyes. She proceeded to stir the fishie in his bowl with her two hands. Ugh. Gross. Sigh. Sigh again. Maybe one more time for good measure. I asked her big brother to help her wash her hands after telling her to leave the fish and his bowl alone. I figured we would find the poor fish belly up in the morning. Before my pretty little princess could get to the bathroom to wash her hands, she came over to me, showed me her hands, and said, "My hands are all wet Mommy." Yes, yes they are.
Another instance in which I found myself throwing up my hands ocurred just the other day. My oldest said, "I guess you've had a 'crappy day'" with an evil chuckle. After coming home from work, I fed the baby and her big sister. I let them go play after eating so that I can work on dinner for everyone else while my husband is still at work. I manage to find a moment to read a little from my book when the baby toddles over to me and rubs her hands all over my pants. "Something stinks.", I thought to myself. I asked the baby if she pooped (why do I do this? it's not like she's going to answer) and quickly diverted my eyes to her little hands. OOOOHHHHH NNNOOOO! She found dog poop!!!! Our cute little puppy still likes to leave a little present here and there. The baby had found it and picked it up. Evidently she dropped it after smelling it and thank goodness she had her pacifier in her mouth! I grabbed her up and ran to the bathroom and put her in the tub clothes and all. Her big sister came into the bathroom and asked to take a bath too. After rinsing the doodoo off of the baby, I filled the tub and proceeded to undress my three year old. Low and behold, she had a surprise for me in her pull-up. Gee whiz. I cleaned her up with wipes as I repeatedly asked her why she can't do that in the potty. I put her in the tub. After the bath, I got the girls in their jammies and returned to my book. Not ten minutes later, my eight year old son comes up the stairs telling me my five year old pooped his pants. Ha ha ha, very funny. My denial continued until my five year old came up the stairs walking in an awkward way. Seriously? I asked him what happened and he said he couldn't get into to downstairs bathroom fast enough. Obviously. He managed to take care of his situation without me assisting him, and he took a bath. As I repeated the smelly events to my husband, my oldest son, who could hardly contain himself said, "I guess you've had a crappy day." Next time he can clean it all up.
Over the years, we have endured some pretty trying circumstances. When you have seven kids, you hit the lottery when it comes to grossness, disasters, phone calls to poison control, and much more. I will quickly list a few of the funnier ones.
- The baby found mommy's "girl stuff." I will give you one guess.
- As a toddler, my fourth son took it upon himself to launch eggs from the top of the stairs to the landing while my mother and I were out shopping and daddy was supposed to be "watching."
- I have a picture of the same child that same year standing in the toilet (I repeat "IN") fully clothed with shoes and all during my other son's birthday party.
- "Mom, the baby was splashing in the toilet again!"
- I prefer to think of my walls as blank canvasses in which my budding artists can freely express themselves.
- Can holes in the walls be considered art?
- My youngest son decided holes in the walls were indeed art and proceeded to add one in the hallway with a hammer.
- My oldest daughter drew a perfect target around her eye with my makeup.