deceptively sweet, for the win

I love the sound of my babies laughing together. Giggling, squealing, shrieking; choking on the hilarity of life at the lunch table. Hearing them reminds me to stop and take a deep breath, close my eyes, and smile. Enjoy the moment. I even contemplate finding the camera, to catch their laughter on video, because isn't there bound to be a day I forget that sound? At the moment, I'm stuck on the couch with a sleepy, nursing baby. The house smells like chicken nuggets and mango (okay, and a dirty toaster oven), and my lap is warm under a squishy babe. A wimpy sort of snow is falling...not the pretty kind, but the sleety kind that makes me extra thankful for my warm house (and affordable heating bill). Life is beautiful (yes, even with the dirty-toaster-oven smell--it could be worse).

Eventually I'm able to get up from the couch, lay the baby down, and sneak into the kitchen to find out what's so funny. That's when I see the shiny slivers of mango on the floor, scattered like...well, food that's been thrown. I watch one fly, slippery and wiggling like a fish, straight from one boy's hand to the other boy's forehead. It feels like things are moving in slow-motion, and not in that sentimental, lovers-running-to-each-other-on-the-beach-at-sunset kind of way. There's a moment of silence, as both children struggle for air and fall to the floor, dangerously close to a giggle-induced coma.

I feel lightheaded myself, thinking of that crick in my back that won't go away, can't go away thanks to how many times I sweep this very floor every week. My shoulders slump and I turn into the Bad Guy, ending the meal and wiping up sticky, slimy hands and faces, siccing the dog on the mess on the floor. The littler boy beats the dog to a piece of mango and I don't try too hard to stop him from shoving it into his mouth, surely covered in dirt or at least cat hair. I try to be happy that I at least remembered to take his cute blue shirt off before lunch, saving it from mango stains. Win?

They spend the next five minutes hanging on me, gnawing on my shoulders and back. I'm not sure what kind of game it is, but at least they are leaving each other alone. I close my eyes and try to imagine I'm getting a massage. They take turns yanking on me, half-climbing me as I crouch over the baby, trying to shush him back to sleep. Suddenly they are throwing themselves around on the couch, screeching and whooping, then the little one's wailing because apparently they knocked heads. I offer a hug, a magic kiss. He's miraculously better, runs off to throw himself onto the couch again. I chase down the big one as he nears the baby on his scooter. It's a close one.

The bigger one runs to the basement, the littler one follows. I'm washing my hands and trying to ignore the clanging I hear, but it's hard when I know there are hundreds of pounds of weights down there. I head down to reign in the beasts (and move the towels to the dryer) and almost trip on the little one, who's playing in the dog's water bowl, sloshing it all over the (carpeted) basement stairs. Sopping it up with a dirty sock I find hanging on the banister, I call down to the big one and tell him to come up for nap. All I hear is "No," and some mumbo jumbo I don't care about, because wth? "No"? I find him on the floor, surrounded by (what looks like) hundreds of tiny screws, cramming them into a toy train. I don't want to know where he found them, which is good, because he doesn't know where they came from, anyway. I head back upstairs, the little one under my arm, his cold, wet little hands pulling at my shirt. I leave the big one with a threat to cleanthemuporelse.

By the time I've got the little one in bed, the big one comes up with a Snack Trap full of screws. Interesting, but I hadn't specified where he should put them, so okay. I get him tucked in and race downstairs. Baby's still sleeping--definite win. I heat up some lunch (only one time today!), seat myself on the couch with a book, and sigh. The house is quiet, and it's just me and the baby for the next two hours. Winwinwin. We've survived half of the day! A few minor mishaps, a lot of mess to clean up, always more laundry to do...the kitchen looks like it exploded and I haven't seen the cat in a while...but oh, how they laughed. And we found a missing Snack Trap. WIN.