Friday, March 9, 2012
Chaos and Calm
Our typical days are a mixture of chaos and calm. At first, they were mostly the former, but now we have a nice balance, if you will. I know when to expect the chaos and what I can do to extend the calm as long as possible. And I'm learning to laugh in the face of chaos, put my head down, and keep on going, one diaper change, one meal served, one child cuddled at a time.
Calm: Getting out of bed before the children wake and brewing my first cup of coffee. Greeting early bird Spork with a song and a cuddle.
Chaos: Dropping an ambivalent Nugget at school which happens to be Tater's preferred time to fill her diaper and teetering on the cusp of a grouchy Spork's naptime.
Calm: Taking advantage of Spork's afternoon nap to play memory with the Nugget, a cooing Tater in my arms.
Calm (pictured): Witnessing the Nugget rock and feed his baby brother while I spot Spork discreetly. At first, Spork was definitely alarmed whenever the Nugget tried to hold him, but now if he's in a good mood, he snuggles up against his brother, and my heart melts into a puddle right on the floor.
Chaos: Attempting to make dinner while the Spork screams that he wanted dinner 5 minutes ago (he could easily be mistaken for a torture victim when he's hungry), the Nugget is sneakily trying to disassemble the cd player, and Tater wakes up hungry.
Calm: When the last child has been tucked into bed, and I can snuggle up to Hubby on the couch and once again decide that sleep is more important to me than getting the clothes fresh from the dryer.
So far, the boys both thrive on routine. They are both intense personalities, both demanding but able to light up a room with a single smile. They like to bring the drama and live large. Mess with their routine, and they sort of fall apart from the loss of rhythm. It's like the backbeat to their melody.
So far, Tater goes with the flow. She is the calm to their storm, the eye in their hurricane of motion and sound, the Impressionist painting to their fireworks show. She is serenity personified, and takes it all in with wide brown eyes, a coo, and a smile. Grandpa declared her, "An old soul...with the wisdom of the ages." Although he laughed when he said it, he's usually right about such things. (After all, he took one look at a 4 week old Nugget and declared him, "Mr. Funny Business," and that was even before the Nugget learned to laugh.) I am thankful for Hubby, who is also mellow as they come, that he has a fellow grounding presence in the house, even if only temporarily.