Back to blogging...
Here's an old journal entry from last January:
Tonight when I got home from work I walked into a house filled with the smell of a home cooked meal. I was ready to sit down & eat with my family when Summer asked if she could go run an errand with Kate for a few minutes. I said "no problem". She assured me that Pierson should not get hungry until she returned. (Pierson was 4 months old at the time)
As soon as she walked out of the door both kids started crying. I picked Pierson up & gave him his pacifier & got Ava fed. Pierson wouldn't let me set him down without crying so I continued to hold him while I fixed my own plate & ate. I promised Ava that I would make her a smoothie if she ate all of her dinner. So after we both ate I picked her up & sat Pierson in his chair and started to make the smoothie. Ava wanted to help so I sat her on the counter top & told her to peel a banana and toss it in. Then I went back over to Pierson and stuck his pacifier back in in mouth to stop the crying. Somehow while I was putting the rest of the ingredients into the magic bullet (blender) I managed to shut the cabinet door on Ava's finger. But I didn't notice at first so I kept trying to pry the door until it closed. Then I realized that her fingers were the main reason the door wouldn't shut. Of course her screaming got Pierson started again and he spit out the pacifier. Back to both kids screaming. So next I got Ava a glass of water - back to Pierson to stick the pacifier back in - then I notice that Ava is choking on her tears and about to throw up. I lift her up to the kitchen sink and she spews all of the dinner that I just made her eat. I give her some more water, but she throws up again. So now I have Ava in my right arm throwing up and Pierson in my left screaming. I finally get Ava cleaned up - the throw up, the goop around her eyes (did I mention the pink eye?). I look at the mess in the kitchen...the pile of dishes, smoothie on the counter, vomit in the sink, full trash can, full recycling bin, magnetic refrigerator toys all over the floor...and I just start laughing. Not really sure what I am laughing about except the fact that this is my reality. I then I think about my college nephew Brad with all of his strong ideas and philosophies, and I think about who I was in college and all of my romantic ideas about life. And I laugh even harder.
Somehow as crazy as it is. I wouldn't trade it. Not the crying, the vomit, or the crusty gunk in the eye. Because this is reality. In all of it's messiness and rawness, this is reality. And even through there are moments that feel pretty shitty. And a lot of the time I feel pretty shitty, I embrace it.