There are two things in this world that can make a mommy grumpy in a big hurry: a lack of sleep and pregnancy. Unfortunately for my kids, last week Mommy had to deal with both of those complexities at the same time. The pregnancy has been a consistent issue for the past 22 weeks, but the sleep thing come and goes depending on the whims of various children.
Last week’s challenges were brought about by one very cute two-year-old boy who refused to end his days without first testing every sleep inducing strategy known to parent-kind. Things only got worse each night as he taught himself to wake up sometime after midnight so that he could toddle down the hall and sleep on Mommy. By the time we diagnosed the problem as a massive influx of teeth, the damage had been done.
When Wednesday morning dawned, Mommy was found herself beyond exhausted. She hadn’t slept well in three or four nights and her body was aching from lugging a new baby around in her expanding belly. The night before, I had noticed that we were out of milk. No milk means no cereal. For me, this is a big deal. I love my cereal. It is quick and easy and leaves no mess behind in the kitchen.
For Mommy, cereal is a curse of convenience. When she is pregnant she needs real sustenance to start her morning, not some foo-foo flakes doused in milk. Upon awakening Wednesday morning, I mindlessly opened the fridge only to be reminded of the milk problem. Realizing that my wife would want a hearty meal after she woke up, I came up with a plan.
Stealthily as can be, I showered, got dressed, and headed for my car. The grocery store is only a few miles away so I arrived with just enough time to pick up some milk, eggs, and orange juice and then get home for a quick bite to eat before heading off to work. I knew that my over-tired, hungry wife would welcome some eggs, toast, and OJ for breakfast and I silently applauded my own thoughtfulness. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough time to fix it for her, but at least the ingredients were now in the house.
With my cereal swimming in milk I lifted a spoonful of flakey goodness to my lips, only to see that Mommy had woken up and stumbled into the kitchen. I was mindlessly chewing and crunching on the flakes, savoring their simplicity when she erupted. “Why did you buy eggs?” she demanded waving the receipt in my face. “You paid way too much!”
I was a bit taken aback by her accusation, and it’s possible that my first reaction might have made things momentarily worse. After a few intense words, I realized that this was the tired talking, not the wife and mommy, so a change of course would be necessary. We continued the brief discussion, then Mommy headed back to bed and the kids took over.
As she lay in bed, my eight-year-old son, Zach, stopped by for a quick visit. I was busy gathering up the last few items I needed for the day, so he did what needed to be done. “Mommy, what do you want for breakfast?” he asked.
A minute later, I brushed past the kitchen on my way out, only to find my industrious eight-year-old with a cookbook in front of him. His finger buzzed through the table of contents and landed on the words, “French Toast.” I watched as he flipped to the correct page, and got to work.
“Daddy, can you get me the pig pancake pan?” he asked. Thrilled that he was showing such initiative, I pulled the electric griddle off the top shelf and placed it in front of him. He then pulled out a bowl and got to work cracking eggs, adding in some cinnamon and other ingredients before stirring it all up.
I glanced at my watch, tousled his hair and said, “I’ve got to go, Buddy. Have a good day,” and headed out the door.
As the door swung shut behind me, I heard the stirring stop and Zach say, “What are you doing up? You belong in bed.” By then, the grumpies were gone, despite the exhaustion, and a very grateful mommy helped her son make French toast.
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