Not "lion"...

Okay, I no longer feel the least bit guilty about not bathing my children enough. Jason and I might as well have taken them to a car wash this weekend for all the baths our children had. Peter pooped up to his waist enough times to make me realize that either it's time to move him up to size 4 diapers ASAP, or it's time to put a moratorium on the exersaucer, which pushes said poo-poo north of the equator. Jason has probably done an extra 4 loads of laundry this weekend, given Owen's "accidents," Nicholas' one-time vomiting incident, and Peter's duals with strained sweet potatoes and applesauce.

When I weighed in at Weight Watchers yesterday, I was not at all surprised to discover my weight gain of 1.5 pounds over the past two weeks. It's amazing how much of an effective narcotic the carbohydrate is, and carbing out temporarily numbs the stressors of being the working mom of three children under the age of four. It's the lifestyle I know, and the one I have gotten accustomed to, but it doesn't mean that on occasion, I don't step back and say, "Whoo. What has happened to me?"

Several years ago, I remember watching shoes like "Everybody Loves Raymond" and thinking how much of a harpy Deborah was, how when she rolled her eyes at her husband's alleged ignorance and stupidity, she perpetuated the stereotype of the clueless father. Then, I noticed the same dynamic in real life when "Jon and Kate Plus 8" went on the air a few years back. "Geez," I thought, "That Kate is a total control freak. What an anal-retentive fishwife. What is her problem?" Then, when her self-reputedly henpecked husband filed for divorce last June, I had a lot more compassion for her A-type, post-it crazed, floss-every-night pecadillos. Suddenly, I saw her as a washed-out single mom who had sacrificed normal hair and countless hours of sleep, a "sexless power mom" as one magazine put it, whose plans for her life had been stolen away. My greatest fear these days is that I will fast become a Deborah Barone or a Kate Gosselin with little to no notice. I think it's the sign of a truly decadent culture, and, to quote Arthur Miller, "Attention must be paid." I tell as many people as I can that I am the luckiest woman in the world to have a husband like Jason, and I'm genuinely surprised by how surprised they are to hear it.

What I am learning is that child rearing has shown me who I really am at core, and that is often not so pretty. I used to think I had endless patience. I used to think that little kids were no problem to take care of. Now I know better. My running joke since my return to work has been that a day at home with the kids is a lot tougher than a day at work, and I still stand by that bit. It's true. What I don't say is that the full-time job of being a mom is my job of preference. The rewards are far more enduring.

There are not enough hours in the day during the work week. My mini-van has become my cathedral. I have learned to value the time I have with my boys even in there, since it measures the better part of two hours of my day, and about an hour of theirs. Singing "The Wheels on the Bus" behind the wheel of my Entourage isn't exactly what I would have called quality time a few years ago, but it is now. I used to think of exercise as something solitary; my headphones on at the health club, astride the elliptical machine. Now, if exercise does not involve playing with my children or taking them out for a walk, I have no time for it. I used to plan dinners that took the whole day to cook. Now, I'm interested in food assembly and ease of clean-up.

Owen started soccer lessons this week. They happen during the morning at Kindercare, so I wasn't there to see him, but he was happy to tell me the whole story. His Kiddie Soccer t-shirt goes down to his knees (it must be floor length on the other kids in his class). The other thing Owen shared with me this week is that he has a best friend. They eat breakfast together every morning, and even though they are in separate classes, they run to each other out on the playground. It's the cutest thing I think I've ever seen. They helped each other use the little water fountain this week, and I was so charmed by it that I didn't even consider all the germs involved.

Nicholas, while not enrolled in soccer class (still too little!) is hardly masking his desire to be as athletically active as possible. In one week, he managed to bruise the side of his face, fatten his upper lip, get an egg-sized bruise next to his right eye, and blister the top of his foot when he gleefully toppled a hot cup of coffee. How bizarre does it sound that I am happy that other people can now validate for me that my son is as active as I have always suspected? He is so full of words these days. His favorites are "Bah, ram, ewe" from the movie Babe. He can count to five, and he has landed on the consonant "s," which has opened the phonetical flood gates: bus, cheese, please, socks, skunk... the list continues. When we pull up to the Montvale junction, he says "hi" and "bye" to every bystander. Of course, they can't hear him, but that doesn't inhibit him in the least. "Old MacDonald" is his favorite song, and "Ba Ba Black Sheep" is a close second, followed closely by the Barney theme song, but one thing is for certain. He does NOT want me to sing AT ALL. As soon as I so much start to hum, he screams "NO!!!!!!" Owen shares his younger brother's sentiments. Those who know me well can only imagine how humbling this is. They'll be sorry one day, at least that's what I'm telling myself.

Peter is TEETHING. Lots of drool, lots of infant's acetaminophen, and lots of patience are required these days. The pain is keeping him up later, so our once early-to-bed baby is on sabbatical. For the past week, he's been sleeping in his car seat next to my side of the bed due to a head cold and congestion. I'm not going to lie -- his return to his crib will be welcomed. Every movement seems to wake me. Last night, Owen woke twice to use the toilet. How is it that such a softly whispered "Mommy" at his door can wake me from a sound sleep. There must be some explanation, some very scientific evidence, or maybe its as simple as love.