Sunday, February 10, 2013

Perpetual Motion

     It is three a.m. and half of me is in Dorothy's bed  nursing her back to sleep (the other half of me is either dangling in mid air or on the floor).  I'm simultaneously cursing myself for ignoring that genius Dr. Ferber for the fourth time and consequently raising another individual who can't possibly shut their eyeballs without a boob in their mouth or consume all of their calories during normal business hours, listening for Aston and/or Clara to request a beverage (in a cup - thank God for small favors), and soulfully thanking universe for my miscarriage in October, because I need another insomniac/food addict in this house like I need a hole in the head.

     Thinking of eating and the children makes me start to ponder the unbelievable amount of Fruity Pebbles and Cookie Crisp we've blown through this week.  If I ate half as much sugar and whole milk with trace amounts of grain as my children do, I'd be a HOUSE (as it stands I'm a mobile home, or at least a camper)!  Why do Aston and Clara look like they've just been released from Bergen Belsen?

     It took a couple of hours, but I think I got my answer.  Aston ran up beside me in the kitchen and requested a bowl of, you got it, Fruity Pebbles, all the while performing a sort of river/break dance.  Then he did an impression of what I can only describe as a vibrating octopus over to the breakfast table where he proceeded to wiggle uncontrollably in his chair.  I then scanned the Clara section of my memory and noticed I have not one memory of that child sitting still.  I haven't seen Enzo's ribs in a couple of years, but then I haven't seen him get his heart rate above 10 bpm in just about the same time frame.

     So the challenge of the day is to see what it feels like to stay in constant motion.  Lari, my mother-in-law, walked by me doing a sort of pee-pee dance in the family room, and calmly snorted, "I give you an hour".  She might be right.  I'm short of breath and beginning to sweat, which I detest entirely, but I also feel a little manic and have offered to help the kids clean their bedrooms, something I deemed an impossible dream from my corner of the couch just yesterday.

     If any of you have or had hyperactive children under your roof and would like to join me in impersonating them, please, please, please, get back to me and let me know how it went!


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