The Good, the Bad, and the Funky

I've had five years to get used to it, but the schizophrenia-fest that parenting can sometimes be still manages to throw me off. Lately, we've been having a lot of that. Some days I feel like two totally different people as I alternate between Calm, Problem-solving Character-forming Mama and Grumpy, Tired, Can-you-all-just-stop-being-so-damn-needy-for-one-cotton-pickin'-minute!-Mama. Some days I feel like my kids are two totally different people, alternating between fun-loving, creative, playful infectiously giggling boys and total loons with no common sense and a drive only to bash each other on the head with their toys. It all started when we made the mistake of having ourselves two really, really good days. In a row. Friday, the boys and I went down to my sister Moira's house where the kids all played really nicely, we had a nice visit, and we even magically avoided all traffic on the drive home which was a little miracle because we got on I-5 North at 4:30. On a Friday. Like a said, a little miracle. So we're driving home and I'm thinking about dinner, and I remember that wild caught true cod is on sale so I decide that's what we're having. I call Aaron to see if anyone will be coming over for dinner, because we are the hip young couple who frequently has last-minute dinner guests. Also, Trevor seems to have some kind of internal alarm system which alerts him to the fact that I've put a pan on the stove with the intention of putting something edible in it, because he often calls at the exact moment I start cooking. Jack says he wants Trevor and Melissa(Trevor's fiance) to come to dinner, and when I end up buying extra cod we all Tristan to see if he wants to come to. The adults aren't arriving for a while, so I decide I should feed the boys first. I whip up some beer batter for their cod, then slice the only potato in the house which is the perfect size to make fries for two hungry little boys. I fry it all up in sunflower oil, which is a revelation. So tasty. The boys eat every bit of their dinner, which is enormously satisfying to me. I toss them in the bath and get to work on dinner for the rest of us while Aaron, who is home from work by this time, lights candles and vacuums the living room. He's good like that. The adults arrive, all of them bearing wine. We let the boys hang out for a while, then put them to bed. They are out in no time, having played hard and eaten well. My mother's heart swells with contentment and I think that there is no better feeling in the world than putting sweet, clean, played-out babies with full tummies in cozy beds. I say a prayer for all the mothers and children in Haiti. Dinner is perfect. I made wild rice, roasted asparagus, and pan-seared cod I served with a tomato, shallot, champagne cream sauce. Everyone licks their plate, and then we all drink wine in the living room. Saturday is another great day. Our Friday Night Dinner guests become Saturday Morning Breakfast guests, and we have coffee and pancakes made from oats I soaked in buttermilk overnight. We discover we have no syrup, but the boys like brown sugar and butter on theirs and I improvise a quick raspberry syrup with ingredients from the freezer, and it's ready at the same time as the second pot of coffee. Everyone eats well, the guests depart, and we head to Costco. We take separate cars because we had a large item to return so Aaron drives his pickup, and when I get to Costco the only open parking spot is in the first row. Next to Aaron's truck. That's what kind of day it was. We fill our cart with food, and I say another silent prayer for Haiti. And then. Then we buy a bed. But before we buy it I want to lie down on it, which is tricky because it's Costco and they don't really have any display models, just lots of beds stacked on top of each other. High. The lowest one is about eye-level for me. Aaron wastes no time, and simply hoists me up under my arms. I'm inordinately pleased that my husband can do that to me, and I take a few moments to flop back on the bed and grin like an idiot at the ceiling. I do this mostly for Aaron's benefit because he tends to get a little uncomfortable when I openly swoon, but I'm still grinning when he lifts me down again. We go home with our loot and I feel like a princess. Alas, Saturday night at the stroke of midnight everything magical turned back into a pumpkin. The boys sleep badly during the night and they both end up in our bed, which causes me to sleep badly. We manage to make it out the door to church but discover that there is a Royal Funk in the car and the kids are both complaining about how stinky it is. This actually happens to us pretty often, but I'm confused because the last time was only about a month ago and I scrubbed down all the upholstery very thoroughly. Aaron tries driving with his window open, but it's a chilly day so that doesn't work for long. We make it to church on time and the boys behave well, but then we have to get back in the car. With the Funk. We get home and it starts raining, so I can't clean out the car. That night, the boys sleep okay but I wake up at 5:40 and can't fall back asleep. Jack wakes up at seven, so I get up and we have a fairly pleasant morning until Matteas wakes up and the boys proceed to fight with each other ALL DAY. My greatest parenting struggle right now is how to handle their conflicts with each other; initially I'd ignore them and hope they'd get tired of it, but their fights have escalated to the point where they end in blood shed if I don't intervene. I know this is normal brother behavior, but I get really tired of having two screaming, bleeding boys wanting consolation after beating up on each other. It's ridiculous. Why don't they realize that the cuts and bruises are of their own making and therefore totally avoidable? Oh, right: because they're children. Also? Matteas. Matteas has turned into a tornado of exploration and devastation of late, and he dismantles everything he can get his hands on. If he can't get his hands on it, he finds something to use as a step stool(the box of Costco diaper wipes, the dirty laundry hamper emptied and then turned upside down) and then wreaks havoc on the surfaces above his normal reach. Ridiculousness ensues, as he runs off to make another mess while I clean up his prior activities. No shelf is safe, no basket of toys left unturned; I want to know who took my sweet Matteas and replaced him with this crazed monkey tearing apart my house. Anyway, it got better. On Monday we went over to Briana's and the kids rode bikes while I used her Shop-vac to clean out the car and in the process discovered the source of the Funk: a bottle of rancid milk, hiding behind a package of diaper wipes underneath the passenger seat. Some of it had leaked onto the rug, so I take all the rugs out and spray them down with industrial strength carpet cleaner and scrub. It's a sunny day so I leave all the doors open for a while to get some air in the car, and now it's really clean and smells better, although I have to say some odor still lingers. It's not the sharp, retch-inducing Funk from before; it's mellower, softer, more like the inside of a pumpkin when you first cut it open. We may have to get a new car just to get rid of the smell. And that, more or less, is the way my life goes these days; some really good stuff, some really hard stuff, and some really unbelievably stinky stuff. I know what everyone older than I am is thinking: don't blink, it goes by too fast, you're going to miss this. I know I will. I'm doing my best to be fully present to where I am right now, in this moment, trying not to sweat the small stuff and trying to savor the good stuff, because there really is a lot of it. What I won't miss is the Funk. When it finally goes away.