A Flurry of Madness

As mothers, we  quickly learn that things are not going to go as we planned.  Like those family dinners the experts keep touting that prevent delinquency and improve grades, the reality is drastically askew (someone is eating their spaghetti like a dog).  Or that extremely misleading commercial showing the adoring mom and beaming children making rice cereal treats together.  Seriously?  In my world, the cereal ends up on the floor and I spend 20 minutes removing cement like marshmallow/cereal goo out of the pan.  Meanwhile the kids are fighting over who gets the spatula to gnaw on and one is bitching that I didn’t put chocolate chips into them.  The baby is hanging on my leg and crying and looks like we tried to batter him in crispies.

So no, I didn’t have high expectations when I made my raspberry jam.  I plopped the baby into his high chair with enough nibbles to keep him entertained for a few minutes.  The older two were zoning out in front of the tv and forcing themselves to stay awake, even though they passed the same yawn back and forth enough to raise my hopes.

The kettle was nearly boiling (my darling husband doesn’t like the much easier to make “freezer jam”) and I was preparing to boil the fruit when the baby demanded to be let out of his prison.

He then waddled over to the cabinet so he could “help” me by taking out the cutting boards.  I shooed him away, so he decided the recycling bin contents would look better all over the floor.

“Boys!  Take your brother upstairs to play!”

And they did, with no grumbling.  I was too busy to be suspicious, but my husband found a bag of candy up there this morning, and it explained why.

Within moments, I hear something come tumbling down the stairs.  It wasn’t the baby, thank goodness!  No, it was a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.  Food is not allowed in the playroom, for obvious reasons.  One of them being the cascade of cinnamon sugary goodness now spread across the stairs.

I keep stirring and tell the boys to clean it up.  After a few minutes of goofing off, I set the timer and threatened them.  They began to hustle, though I know they ate it off the carpet rather than putting it into the bowl.  After a week of camping, I was still in “dirt don’t hurt” mode.

“Mo-om!  The baby is taking off his diaper!”

I am trying not to burn the jam, need to add the sugar and here comes the baby, buck naked.  He goes to the Tupperware drawer and is about to dig in when he gets distracted by the arc of liquid shooting from his body onto the floor.

I really could use a few more arms.  Berries off the burner, grab a paper towel, wipe up the pee, snatch the baby up, diaper him, put him in his bed where he is safe (from me) and tell the kids they better get upstairs NOW (where they too would be safe from me).

But not before Linus asks me “why is there Play Doh in his diaper?”

Oh good Lord, the child pooped and took off his own diaper and I am praying that there isn’t some stinky little wad festering in the playroom, but dammit!  I have got to finish this jam before I collapse or end up running screaming down the road to hitch a ride to somewhere far from this insanity.

At least he didn’t grab it and start making worms with it, his favorite Play Doh activity.  And no, it doesn’t bother me that the boy was curious about the contents of the baby’s diaper.  He saw what happened when the baby ate corn the same day SOMEONE gave him red Kool Aid, and he is now with me on the Diaper Safari, looking for new and interesting specimen (when he can handle the smell).

I muttered to myself as I wiped the jar rims and put them into the hot water bath.  I think I was steaming as much as the water.

By the time I pulled the jars out and each made that joyous “pop” to let me know they had sealed, I felt better.  Those 8 gleaming pints filled with the raspberries my friend had picked for me (and believe me, picking that many berries is no easy task) filled me with just enough of a sense of peace to make it until bedtime.  Ok, it also helped that the kids had finally plucked that wild hair out of their arses and calmed down.

I have to wonder if I will be to eat that jam and not think of that exhausting ten minutes of chaos that occurred during the making of it.  And if I should go looking for trouble, mainly, any stray poop nuggets the baby may have hidden in the playroom.

Current Mood: Domestic & Drowning

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