We all were having a time of it this morning. HB sat in his high chair, rubbing his eyes, wailing, and cramming oatmeal in his face (all at the same time) for 15 minutes. And then I put him back to bed, just 30 minutes after he had woken up in the first place. Poor lad, poor lad. (Name that operetta!) MyGal and NumberOne intermittently threw things at each other, beat one another about the head, and disrespectfully declined to eat their breakfasts. I drank as much coffee as I could, and ate my divine groaties with toasted walnuts, craisins, and a teensy bit of brown sugar. I am not stupid. I had to put on my oxygen mask before the plane crashed, because then where would I be? You know you have to mask yourself before you can help put the mask on other people, especially ornery short people who are starving.
It went downhill. Or, to stick with the airplane bit: Crashed. (Fistfight.) Burned. (Screaming and sobbing.)
Despite my excellent breakfast and healthy (for a 300 pound man) dose of caffeine, I could only come up with one option for the heathens. Who, by the way, did not steal my camera, as I had been suspecting. Lucky for them. And, as you may have noticed, I found my camera. But I digress.
My solution: Enforced Cuddle Time. If you do not have Enforced Cuddle Time at your house, you should consider it. Everyone wins. We went to my room and climbed up on the bed. Being the Boss of Things does have a few perks: in this case the perk is having a way bigger and more comfy bed than in the ornery heathens' bedroom. MyGal was already a little interested in cuddle time, so I handed her my phone. I do understand that this does not make any actual sense, but you are just going to have to move on with me. Come on. I know you can do it. MyGal called her Grandma, who happened to be riding in a car going north on Route 15 in Maryland. That is a long road, and boy do I know it. (Sorry, Grandma, I really needed things to chill out a little, and you had a little time on your hands.)
And here comes the Enforced Part. I pulled #1, dragging Beloved, his "peshul Beloved Bwanket" up to Cuddle Central--and I know that sounds completely dumb, but I can't have anybody thinking I do wrong things with my babies--and I threw my right arm and leg over him and held him tight until he stopped wrestling with me.
Which took about an entire 29 seconds, for all of you picturing an epic battle. Seriously. I didn't smother him with a pillow or anything. In fact, he responded by saying, "You da best mommy ever."
We three laid there, snug and warm and cozy and quiet. And everyone said nice things. And there was no shouting. And no fighting. And no whining. Because that is our motto. I make the children chant it as they clean the toilets. Well, someone has to....I am kidding. I clean the toilets. But I do make them say it when I am reaching a point with them.
No Fighting! No Shouting! No Whining!
It's catchy, no? And for some reason, they feel compelled to say it in that order, and only that order. I love it when people are predisposed to alphabetizing.
But I love it more when we have moments like this morning, when it looks like everybody's jumped into the handbasket, well on their way to you-know-where, that end with a cozy tangled cat nap. I love cozy tangles.