Who's here??

This is an old story but I don't want to forget it so I am blogging about it now.

Over New Years, we were in FL visiting family. We were staying with Aaron's dad and stepmom who have a beautiful, new house. The only problem with this beautiful, new house is that the doors, for some odd reason, sometimes lock behind you when you go out. And I know this by personal experience.

The side door of the house is made of frosted glass with a pretty pattern. You can't see through the door very well unless you squint up your eyes and squish your face up to the glass, peering through the 1/4 inch "clear" glass lines that make up the pattern of door.

So, here's the story. I went out to the car to grab something. It is FREEZING (yes, freezing! Florida was super cold this January!) As I was only planning to be outside 30 seconds or less, I didn't bother to put on a coat. Well, you guessed it. I got locked out. Aaron and the boys were in the house so I knocked on the glass door. And knocked again. And again. I though, "Surely, Aaron will walk around the corner....right....now....nope" ::knock, knock, knock::

Well, guess who did come around the corner? My firstborn, Micah. He said, "MOMMY!" I said, "Micah, go get daddy!!" He runs away. "Ahh..." I thought, "Now I will get in!" LIke I said, it was FREEZING!

I wait. And wait. I decide to go around to the other side door (they apparently wanted a lot of exits out of their house) and ring the doorbell. I wait by that door. Nothing, no one. I go back to the other door and pound on it. Micah comes around the corner again. "MOMMY!" "GET DADDY!" I bellow through the glass. Off he runs again. I am wondering now if my husband has died and my twin 2 year old are running rampant through my in-laws' immaculate, beautiful, new home.

Micah does not come back. I knock. I knock again. FINALLY, squinting through those little clear lines in the glass, I see my husband make his way toward me.

Aaron: Did you lock yourself out?

Me: Um...yeah. Where were you?

Aaron: In the bathroom.

(I should have guessed)

I asked him if he had heard me knocking. The answer: No. I asked him if Micah had said, "Mommy is at the door!" Or something like that. The answer: No. Micah HAD run in and out the bathroom, repeating over and over again, "Who's here. Who's here. Who's here. Who's here."

He had heard the knock and the doorbell and was repeating the question that we ask the boys whenever someone comes to the door at our house: "Who's here?"

It's gonna getcha!

Micah as a severe phobia of bugs. Yes, bugs. Especially stink bugs that have somehow survived this horrible Virginia winter by taking up residence in my house. (FYI, stink bugs are like a small beetle). Whenever Micah sees a bug he will point and say "bug! bug! bug!" over and over again until someone does something about it. Usually Aaron will sweep it off the ceiling or wall and kill it. Micah gets very anxious while Aaron is doing this. He usually cries a lot, fearful of whether Daddy is going to be eaten by the bug.

Tonight at dinner, Micah got something on his finger (not sure what. It looked like dusty cheese. He probably found it underneath the skirt of the table or in his booster seat. Note to self: give booster a good wipe down...) He held up his dirty finger and said "bug?" Aaron, feeling mischievous, as Daddies sometimes are prone to get, said in a concerned voice, "Is it a bug?? Oh no! It's gonna getcha!"

Micah's eyes got huge. His mouth got huge. His face turned red and he burst into tears, wailing at the top of his lungs.

I, of course, chastised my husband (while choking back my laughter) and told Aaron to comfort Micah. He did. And then he asked Micah again if the bug was going to get him. More wailing ensued. And more laughter from mom and dad. We are so mean.

Here's the real kicker of the story though. We finally got Micah calmed down and then Benji decided to chime in. Not with wailing but with being a typical two-year-old: repeating his parents.

Benji: It's gonna getcha! It's gonna getcha! It's gonna getcha!

So the sibling taunting has begun.

Working Mom

It is really hard to be a working mom. People always talk about balance. I am still searching for that magic pinnacle—the point where I will be balance between home and work. I’ve heard other working moms talk about the guilt of leaving their kids when they go to work. I haven’t felt guilt per se. Just sadness and stress. I feel like I am being stretched very, very thin.

Mondays are really hard. I am gone from 7-4:30, then I have to go back to class at 5:45. When I am hope for that brief hour the boys are SO happy to see me. Benji, especially, wants me to hold him, hug him, and sit on the couch and watch Veggie Tales with him. And I need to get dinner on the table. The other Monday I was dashing back and forth from the kitchen to the couch, stirring spaghetti and sauce and then snuggling with my little son. It helped. A bit. Benji cried a lot that night. And both boys fell apart when I dashed out the door to go to class. My heart hurt. Maybe that is what the other moms mean by guilt—a heavy, hurting heart that is trying to stretch from home to work and never seems to reach.

I know (hope?) I am doing the right thing by teaching this semester. Having teaching experience will help me get a job when I graduate so that Aaron can go back to school. But, I’ve gotta say, the working mom’s load is a heavy, heavy burden. This is going to be a hard semester.