I decided to try a little experiment a few weeks ago, where I wrote down a little something every day about our evening routine. For posterity, and to help me remember what this stage was really like once the boys have all gone off and left us (sniff). I don't know why I've been so wordy lately, I promise to go back to throwing up a few cute pictures and calling it a post very soon.
Monday
I get home from work, and the four of us sit around the table eating snacks and talking about their days. B excitedly tells me all about his "structures" project - they are working from photos to draw "huge" pictures of their apartment buildings. He tells me that they worked on it in social studies AND choice, he didn't start using sharpies yet to outline his pencil drawing because he "had a LOT of air conditioners and windows to draw," and he "can't WAIT for my next social studies!" Owen tells me about his first day of after-school basketball. He matter-of-factly states that he is "probably the best one there" and when I ask if he learned anything new, he says, "welll, other kids maybe did, I didn't really." That kid certainly doesn't lack for confidence. Post-snack, all three boys pull out echo microphones and stage an impromptu song and dance number in the kitchen. Shortly thereafter, Henry and I head off to his room for stories and songs (where I first learn he can sing "we will rock you"). By the time I put him down and return to the playroom, B&O are wearing their ski helmets and have festooned their arms with slap bracelets. They're playing a pretend football game between the Eagles and the Cheetahs. I'm called on to serve as ref, and instructed to throw a flag repeatedly on slo-mo staged plays in which one player knocks the other's helmet off. Brendan's player is "injured" and requires medical attention, consisting of lots of slap bracelets applied "above the bendy part" of his arm, yet winds up the player of the game. The Cheetahs win handily, despite the Eagles' dirty play.
Tuesday
I abandon my family to work late, so Kevin is at the nighttime helm. He reports that after a full-blown wrestling match, Brendan starts flipping through ski magazines and inquiring about ski resorts. They get out the globe to locate Idaho and Colorado until Henry busts in and makes a play for the globe, exclaiming "Ball! Ball! Balloon!" Then they do some google-earthing to map out our upcoming Vermont ski trip. Tensions flare as all three boys try to sit on Kevin's lap, and Hank gets worked up (and very pushy) about sharing HIS space. During Henry's bedtime stories, he spies B listening at the bedroom door, bustles over, peeks through the crack, happily exclaims "bye bye!" and closes the door on B. They're still awake when I get home, so I'm greeted by delighted cries of MOMMY! and B and O leaping into my arms for hugs (this doesn't seem to happen as much when I come home at my regular time) and Henry loudly calling "MOMMYMOMMYMOMMYYYYY!!!" from the crib. In the continuing "structures" saga, B sadly tells me his class ran out of time so his windows won't be outlined in sharpies after all. Owen obsesses over who will make it to the Super Bowl and wants to discuss in exhaustive detail our favorite teams, what I think about a Saints-Patriots matchup, and who we least want to win. He then throws me a curveball and asks about my favorite animals, and is bizarrely dejected when I don't list his favorite, the jaguar (apparently "big cats" was too vague for his liking).
Wednesday
Tuckered boys means we spend our evening mostly laying about in various states of exhaustion. We snuggle on the couch to watch Kung Fu Panda ("big bear! big bear!" Hank excitedly exclaims, interspersed with brief bouts of panic). Big school news is ultimately shared with me - Brendan got to outline his structure in sharpie after all, huzzah ("I can't WAIT till social studies when we paint it!!"). Owen is upset because in gym, everyone got to dribble "with their favorite hand" except him since their teacher (supposedly) made them all use their right hands. I tell him it's good practice since he'll need to dribble with both hands if he wants to go pro and he perks up. B&O join us for Henry's stories tonight, which distresses HRH somewhat, as evidenced by his efforts to push B off my back where he was draped like a tired tree monkey and to push B's hands off our book while screeching "OFF! OFF!" You really have to be a mother in order to pick up on these kinds of subtle clues. Owen spends Henry's storytime sprawled out on the bedroom floor reading his new library book "authored" by football greats Tiki and Ronde Barber about their pee wee football league triumphs. Henry insists on reading a book about Darth Vader. And on touching and identifying all 26 animal decals on the closet door before breaking out into "twinkle twinkle little star." In the bathroom before bed, Owen idly wonders what would happen if the toilet seat hit his penis and appears inclined to find out. In bed, Owen again engages me in a lengthy super-bowl-focused football discussion. He is obsessed, I tell you. B pouts because O gets two separate tuck-in chats, and insists on more hugs and conversation. Five minutes post-tuck-ins, Owen silently appears out of nowhere all ninja-style and proudly announces that he was in fact trying to sneak up on me (mission accomplished). Naturally, Brendan comes out to see why Owen is out of bed, then Henry gets agitated for being left behind, and we go through another (considerably more abbreviated) tuck-in process. Ten minutes later, the bedroom door creeeakks open and Owen emerges, claiming he can't sleep. When that doesn't work, he tries to pretend he had a bad dream. I am less than sympathetic.
Thursday
Emotions are running high this evening. B & O both try to crawl into my lap and get a little whiny/weepy when there's not enough room for both of them. Owen collapses in a mildly despairing heap on the floor, which Henry naturally takes as an invitation to wrestle (he views anyone lying on the floor as fair game). When Owen doesn't wrestle him back, Henry leans over and apparently BITES him on the forehead. Cue tears. Brendan then decides this is a good time to lose his sh*t about being hungry. More tears, general despair, until I set out a snack and everyone perks up dramatically. B starts bopping around singing, "tomorrow is going to be so AWESOME! I get to paint my structure! Ooh yeah, ba-by!" Yet again, O wants to discuss my "favorite team in the NFL, not just in the playoffs, the NFL!" and then actually boos me when I say the Bills. Tanked up on cottage cheese and cashews, Henry bustles off to get his headlamp. In relatively short order, the three of them are parked up on the top bunk, pretending the red glowing headlamp is a campfire and they are looking up at the stars. When I tell them it's time to come down, they pretend it's morning and Brendan cheerfully advises his fellow campers, "time to get a move on it, before the bears get here." Before stories, we sloooowwly pick out clothes for our weekend skip trip, while Henry helps by scooping up big armfuls of the carefully selected clothes and throwing them in the hamper. Brief pause for a wildly inappropriate fit by Brendan about a missing pj top, who then somehow manages to hit his eye on the medicine cabinet during teeth brushing. Buckets of Brendan tears while Hank pitches his own mini-fit about the indignities of being asked to brush his teeth. Bedtimes like this are why mommy drinks.
Friday
Brendan wakes me up at 5:30am soaking wet and shivering in pee-soaked pajamas. He takes them off (why does he need me to suggest this to him?) and crawls into bed with me. He chats away merrily about how today is "the best day ever! I get to paint my structure and then go SKIING!" somehow ignoring my vehement stance that it is in fact still night time, not chatty mcchatterson time. A little before 7am, he starts clamoring for me to get up, and the chorus swells with Henry's cheerful bellowing from his crib "GET UP NOW! GET UP NOW!" (ok, that was actually kind of awesome). We have banana bread for a special breakfast treat and Henry begins to collapse in despair about being served an actual banana until he finally realizes that right beside it is a delicious hunk of "nana bread." Crisis narrowly averted. We all kiss Henry goodbye and head out the door for school, with him none the wiser that we're ditching him for three days of skiing and me suppressing (very mild) pangs of guilt over it.