This morning was the worst of the childishness. My husband left for school at 7:20 a.m. as usual. I was involved in poopy diapers and clean up and couldn't jump in the shower before he left. So, I had to put the gate up in the playroom, give everyone drinks and cheesesticks (except for baby), and tell them that under no circumstances, except for bleeding, choking, or severe pain, were they to hike over the gate and risk knocking it down. Baby stays in there, usually, when all her siblings are there with her. She can hike the gate, but doesn't always choose to.
After all the caveats and preparations, I got into the shower and started praying for their safety.
No one came to tell me an insignificant detail about their playtime. Baby did not escape and pull open the shower curtain and smile her mischievous smile. No one came to ask me for Popsicles, which they are known to do at weird times once the mercury hits 80 degrees.
In short, it was a peaceful, if not rushed, shower.
Then, as I quickly pulled on my clothes and started oatmeal prep, I noticed what they were doing in the playroom.
Oh, my word! You wouldn't believe it.
To set this up properly, I need to say that yesterday I finally got around to reshelving a ton of books, pulled out by my seventeen-month-old
Well, their mischief just had to involve the unraveling of my hardwork, right? Bingo.
They were playing some sort of game in which they were sea lions and the books were their food. The result? Almost an entire bookshelf was devoid of books!
I was never more horrified! Never more spewing of "how could yous". Never more fire-breathing in my countenance.
I took away the sprinkler for two days. I took away lemonade Popsicles for two days.
My children were devastated.
But they will remember this. Because sprinklers and Popsicles are what they live for during all those frigid winter, and then rainy, muddy spring days, spanning late November through late May.
But to everything, my dear friends, there is an upside.
I gave them each a size of book to deal with in an effort to get the books off the floor. They are putting them in separate laundry baskets. They can't re-shelve them in an organized fashion, enabling us to pull what we need quickly (easy reader, science content, social studies content, rhyming, etc.). I don't expect that at their ages.
So the upside? What could the upside possibly be?
Just this. They are all in there, looking at my books. A portion of my hundreds, if not thousands, of books, collected since 1991. And I see that their interest has piqued. Their interest in reading many of these treasures.
I have rain gutters to enticingly display books. But they had to be put away, due to the chance of injury to the little ones.
I tried displaying books in tubs all over the room, which also works as a reading enticement. But baby made more book messes this way.
Finally, the books had to be tightly tucked into shelves--a storing method that never encourages reading.
So. While I am not at all happy about reshelving hundreds of books in my spare time, I am gratified that my children are looking at my collection of literary treasures, gathered with love and care.
I honestly don't know when they will quit doing childish things. I truly don't. I don't know where I have failed that on some days, they don't seem to be maturing one itty bitty bit.
But I do know this. There will come a time, soon enough, that my house will be empty. No beautiful baby faces interrupting my shower. No hopeful three year old pining for a Popsicle before breakfast.
And at that time nothing will sound better to me than having a roomful of childish kids, playing sea lion games with my beloved books.
Such thoughts always give my days perspective, trying though they are.
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