The first couple of weeks are under our belt, and it’s going about as expected. Jill and I are in a tortuous state of sleep deprivation, Lily is drawing attention to herself anyway she can, and the two oldest are rolling right along. Oh, and Finn (I call her Finn, Jill calls her by her name, Becca) is fattening up nicely. At her last appointment, she weighed 6lbs 4oz, which is 17 ounces over her birthweight. This just proves that if Goodrichs can do anything, we can eat.
O Sleep, Where is Thy Sting
The sleep deprivation part of our present has reared its head in some amusing ways. The Sunday after Becca came home, I took the 3 others to church (or, as I like to call it, Child Care) and then went and sat in the back of the theatre (our church is in a movie theater. Really. It costs $12 for admission.) When I woke up, the service was over and I dutifully made my way to get Lily from her captors. As they handed her over, the following exchange took place:
Me: Did you need to beat her any?
Helpful Christian: Oh no, she was great. No problem at all.
(At this point, most everyone in line is smiling, as are the Helpful Christians in the child care area. I fixed that with the following statement)
Me: If you ever have to, it’s OK. She can take a punch.
Everyone in the line stopped smiling and either winced or genuflected (and it’s not even a Catholic church) or both (winuflected?) Realizing I had just made one of those jokes that only I and very particular friends of mine appreciate, I smiled, took my 23 month old, and moved along. I think I will send Jill to drop her off/pick her up from now on.
Jill showed her sleepiness when we were leaving Logan’s and Emma’s “marathon” (meaning “school fundraiser”) and she yelled “GLENN, WHERE IS THE CAMERA??” as if I had discretely eaten it or something. I didn’t really know how to answer because 1) We brought 2 cameras; the point-and-shoot as well as the camcorder, 2) She had both of them on her person, and 3) She was using one of them to point angrily at me. It’s times like this when I have to summon superhuman strength in order to stifle the urge (nay, need) to comeback with a sarcastic remark. Sarcasm is the largest catalyst in the chemical equation that combines with a hormonal, sleepy woman and results in a nuclear explosion. I like to open a jar and say the comment into it and then close it up quickly. One day I am going to be in an argument with Jill and I am going to open this jar and point it at her. To her, it will simply look like I am crazy, but I will know she is awash in a veritable tsunami of sarcastic artistry.
Our biggest challenge these days in Lily. She doesn’t quite get the shift in our family’s center, nor why we would dare choose to give any of HER attention to that little bundle of poo (her words, not mine). It probably doesn’t help that Jill and I have basically engaged cruise control on the parenting front. The result is that Lily looks like a heroin addict. She was running around tonight with no shirt, sweat pants, and bright, sparkly, there’s-no-place-like-home red shoes. Combine that with her tendency to look deep in thought about a blade of grass, random speaking-in-tongue type rants, mood swings that come out of the ether and the fact that she always seems to be surrounded in some kind of food trash (even though she doesn’t eat anything), and I am hiding her from Child Services while trying to find her stash.
I will say that we have had more support than any family in the history of the western world since Finn was born. The toughest list to get on in South Charlotte right now is the list of people who are making us dinners. We are booked (I am not making this up) through the end of April. It’s fantastic. Also, Grammie (Jill’s mom) is here for Spring Break (WOOOO! PARTY!), which is nice because then I can concentrate keeping Little Miss Heroin out of trouble.
Speaking of Grammie, I was supposed to get clipped this Friday, but I’ve rescheduled based on Jill’s warning that she “didn’t care if they took the whole package off and replaced it with a constant fire, you still have to deal with Lily.” So, I have moved it to the end of May, which coincides nicely with the Season of Love. It seems the elder generation isn’t comfortable with the topic of vasectomies in the open or over, say, breakfast. Grammie keeps saying “oh, that’s so indelicate” and “we didn’t talk about that in my day” I have responded by injecting the topic into every conversation we have.
Grammie: Glenn, I am making moussaka tonight. Is that OK?
Me: Yes, that is great vasectomy food. (snicker)
Gramme: Oh dear, that’s so indelicate (races out of room).
Well, that’s life with four to this point. The oldest two are doing great, so I have chosen not to make fun of them. Once we catch up on sleep, I am surZZZZZZZZZZZZ