As the week drew nearer, the idea of driving 3 hours a day for four days in a row became less nice sounding. The idea of juggling the kids solo for four evenings in a row, two of which were spent getting to and from church became a tad overwhelming too. Yet, the week, affectionately named by my Man and I as Booger Week, is now upon us.
It has been every bit as tiring as we'd imagined and then some. Would you believe that our "helper extraordinaire" had the nerve to get a vicious head cold? I had to assign unexperienced volunteers to count the number of children in the family van to make sure I hadn't left any child behind on Sunday and Wednesday. Would you also believe that the kind pastor hosting my Man this week has been the master of hospitality, taking my Man for a quick bite to eat after each revival service this week, causing his arrival time at home each night to creep dangerously close to midnight?
Communication between the Booger Week participants has been at a bare minimum. As a result, our morning conversations have pretty much centered around which two shirts my Man needs ironed for each day, one for work and one for preachin'. If I'm feeling particularly bright, I may also aid in the choosing of the tie. I grab a cup of coffee, the pair of shirts, and finish waking up in the basement over the ironing board. It works nicely, it's quiet down there.
After my Man comes out of wardrobing, he's off to work and I'm off to teach school or maybe brush my teeth. We've been existing in the fog that has descended upon us and as a result, the usual morning report (the moment when responsibility for keeping the children out of the emergency room switches from one parent to another) has died a sad death in the midst of Booger Week. I'm tired and my Man's tired, poor guy, because after all of the late nights arriving home, he hasn't shirked his usual morning kid time. He's first up with Molly and then with Kate and has breakfast well underway by the time I come schlumping down the hall (except for this morning when Cole fixed the little ones breakfast because he was awake and we were not. Love that boy.)
One day this week, after he left for work, Darrin called to see how our morning was progressing. After I regaled him with stories of Molly getting into the sugar, (see last post) , and then getting into the older girls play makeup...
...and right before she peed a puddle at the top of the stairs and then sat on each and every stair on her way down to tell me what had happened which was right before I put her in the tub or her second bath of the morning. Booger Week I'm tellin' ya.
Just before I hung up the phone with my Man, he said, "Oh yeah, this is VERY IMPORTANT... see that passy beside the sink? DON'T give it to Molly. She dropped it in the toilet this morning after she peed. I put it by the sink for you." (For me? Awwwww you shouldn't have...;-)
It appears that the morning report is important even when it happens well after the morning "shift change." Molly was saved from certain doom (from a contaminated pacifier anyway) and Booger Week continued. Revival services ended on Wednesday only to be followed by 2 meetings and a potluck dinner on Thursday evening for each of us. Happily, Friday has arrived and Booger Week is over. My man has whisked me away for a night and a day, the children have been farmed out to various Grandparent Camps throughout the state, and all is right in my world...
...and in Molly's world too!