ovaltine substitute

Joshua wore "big boy underwear" to school today. His teacher suggested to me that he was ready. She would know, being his primary trainer.

Emilia has been coming home with the cutest hair styles lately. I'm always tempted to show off what I'm capable of doing with a brush and some detangler, but my shirts always need a last minute press so off she goes with last nights hairbands and a promise tomorrow will be more organized. It's an assumed comfort to see her come home in better shape than that of which she was left. A new dress from the hands for your lover, 3 sizes too small.

I've taken to vitamins. Charging Flinstone Toddlers and Dora-the-Explorer Centrum to sally forth against stranger touch and gang toys. Arming them in my absence, keeping them safe from afar. Reading their horoscopes to know them from across the universe.

Claire doesn't ask for chocolate milk as much these days. Hershey's has been replaced with Ovaltine and she's acting betrayed, though it's for her own good and it hurts me more than it hurts her (it costs more to have vitamins over sugar).

They've all forgotten how to sleep. Nightmares, native creeks grown foreign, and creative pains that even colored band-aids can't squelch. Every night a new tooth aches, every night a different dream ensues, and every night a new cry rouses a companion. Jaren and I take turns arguing about who's turn it is to suffer insomnia. I used to take the bullet regularly, but my new found battle scars from the time clock and the throb of a life that's no longer there has spurred my spirits to kick him out of bed when nudging and guilt don't penetrate his stubborn lids. He used to get SO MAD at me because I KNEW how challenging it was for him to regain sleep after having it taken from him. He could go all night and mid day without finding rest again. I still know how it could turn out for him as my toes dig into his ribs under the sheets, but I trust he won't deny me, because he know my challenges too. With guilt I hold this knowledge, and with shame I embrace it for a few more minutes of numb quiet and a soft head.

Tonight I pick up the tricycle paths of Pringles and scattered confetti of fruit snacks. I rescue yesterdays hotdogs from a destined ambush of ants or cockroaches that pour through our cracked concrete floors. I hustle diapers into trash cans. I threaten the clothesline with washed laundry, tomorrow for sure. Then, as I deposit neglected sippy cups into the sink, dreading the moment I finally slop the stenched globs of guck into the drain, I notice that the Ovaltine in one of Claire's cups has broken up the filth into more manageable chunks.

The kids really are doing well... and therein lies the problem. The saga of a selfish Mother.