Goodness, when did that happen?
Just yesterday they looked like this:
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| Medium Fry, 18 mos. Small Fry, 18 mos. |
And this is them now:
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| Medium Fry Small Fry |
I ran around like a headless chicken most of the day. Hubby got the kids off to school, and then I took him to work. After that, I went to the bank to deposit Hubby's paycheck. Then I ran home to finish writing up a grocery list that still ended up being incomplete (I forgot Command hooks for the stockings).
Next stop, Walmart. Groceries. Ran home to work on dinner for tonight...only to have a conversation with my mom that resulted in a menu change to pizza (I was going to do crock-pot rotisserie chicken). Handy, because that cut out all the prep time and I could run down to Cburg and start my errands.
Namely, birthday gift shopping.
I am SO far behind.
I hadn't gotten a single present for the twins' birthday yet. I had a whole one (for Hubby) for Christmas.
And so I hoofed it through my favorite shopping plaza in our old town: Petsmart (we needed kitty food), Michael's (decorations), Kohl's (birthdaymas gifts), Target (same), and Five Below (stocking stuffers).
Then...doctor's appointment for me. I won't bore you (or scare you, as the case may be) with the details, but suffice to say it was not a fun appointment for me and I am still feeling lingering muscle complaints as a result.
I headed for home once I was confident that I could not only walk out to the car but also drive the twenty-ish minutes home. I called Hubby as I was hauling in all the right bags for tonight's festivities, and asked when I should come get him. He said 15 minutes would be great...which would eliminate totally my wrapping time and leave the kids stuck at school with no one to pick them up.
Thankfully, Famous Pop Singer Namesake (a good friend of ours: FPSN for short) had stopped by Hubby's office and was willing to drive him the whole three and a half minutes home. Whew.
I was five minutes late picking up the kids from school (Small let me know it) but at least the gifts were wrapped.
Now I just had to bake the cake and try to supervise homework.... Supermom, at your service. (Supermom whose lunch consisted of two Reese's peanut butter cups snarfed down at 3:50p when the pizza for supper was coming at 4:30ish. Yes, those were lunch.)
And in the midst of all that, I discovered I hadn't informed Mitzy and Jester that this was the twins' birthday. I rectified that, and invited them over for cake and ice cream and lots of hugs from small people.
Gramma and Boppa came out, of course, and we rushed through supper and cake and candles and presents so that Hubby could see everything before he had to leave for worship practice. Mitzi and Jester arrived shortly before Hubby had to leave.
It was just me and the Fries by 7ish, and between sugar and excitement and presents and more sugar and probably staying up too late last night because they were excited about today, and so things deteriorated in a pretty predictable fashion.
Small Fry was the first to lose it, getting mad because I had dared to scold her (on her birthday, no less!) for opening up Medium Fry's Minnie's Bowtique playset—Small had gotten one of her own—and playing with it before Medium had the chance.
Then Small broke down and bawled because Gramma and Mitzy were not spending the night. ("It's nawt faiyewr dat no one evewr sleeps wif us!") Boppa and Jester were apparently relegated to Chopped Liver status together. And she was inconsolable.
Medium, having gotten the first turn, wanted a second turn with their big present from Gramma and Boppa, and was exceedingly verklempt that, at 15 minutes to 8, I wouldn't let her switch DVDs around. She didn't want the giraffe story. About then, I finally had enough of fighting over the new Read With Me DVD game and declared an end, since all three girls had had a turn. Medium then came unglued.
They were clearly overtired, so I ordered anyone wearing sneakers to take them off and put them away.
"Now what?" Medium demanded sullenly.
"Go get ready for bed."
Renewed wails from both twins. Who then refused to wear the new jammies they got from Gramma and Boppa and were so excited about.
It's wonderful what cake, ice cream, and too much excitement will do to small kids.
Their poor big sister, who has been plugging her ears because of the wail decibels. Poor me, because I have a feeling I'm about to be tattled to.
And I was...something about not sharing the sink in the bathroom and shoving. Oy. (I can't wait until they're teenagers, if two sinks aren't enough for them now.)
Large came downstairs, ready for bed, and laid on the couch to wait. Medium and Small were both upstairs, still doing their bedtime routine, and still wailing in dueling screams.
Medium hiccuped and sniffled and sniveled when she came downstairs. I sent Hubby a text, asking if he was done with rehearsal and could come home, because Small was still screaming upstairs and I was clearly not going to be able to get everyone in bed by myself.
"Go ahead an' tell Daddy how we wewre. You just go ahead an' tell him. I don't cahywre. Tell him everyfing." Medium groused as I texted. Her comments continued in a similar vein when I gave up waiting on a return text and just called Hubby. "You do whatevehwr you want. I don't cayhwre. Nevehwr mind."
Hmmm. Clearly, I need to rethink my arguing strategy, 'cause that's me sometimes. Oops.
Hubby came home, and we got everyone in bed with minimal fuss. Medium related to Hubby why she didn't want the giraffe story DVD (third time I'd heard her reasons), almost indignant. "Fuwrst, I don't like giwraffes. Second, I don't like giwraffes wif cwrazy legs. Fird, giwraffes can't dance." Hubby nodded his agreement. "An' I don't fink it's cool, even though Mommy does."
Small had a mini-meltdown after I got everyone tucked in, because Medium wouldn't let her come sleep in her bed (they do that sometimes; the rule is, they can share as long as the bed's owner agrees). Then she wanted to sleep with me, and I said no, because I wasn't sleeping now. There goes my early bedtime... I think she's finally settled down.
I saw a friend from our old church at Target today during my crazy errands. I would've loved to have talked to Mrs. Potts longer, but was on such a time crunch and my doctor's appointment was looming. She expressed her own shock at the fact that the twins were now six. "I remember when they were little babies!" she exclaimed.
Me, too.
Six is fun. Six is pretty cool. Six means, according to Small, that she will no longer suck her thumb (not so much, but the declaration was cute).
But I have to admit, I miss them as babies, with their little chubby cheeks and the waddle as they toddled around the house.
Happy 6th birthday, my precious girls. You may drive me to the brink of insanity, but I love you both so much that insanity is a small price to pay for the delight you bring to our lives.
