I sat down for a moment today to check email and open my blog...mostly to listen to the music on my playlist while I finished cleaning the house.   I have had some things on my mind that I would like to see make it into words on a page, but just haven't found the right quiet time to do so.  When I log into my blog, I have a list that comes up of other blogs that I enjoy reading, and of course I usually can't resist seeing if there are any new posts.  One blog in particular has captured my attention and my heart due to the story of her newest daughter, Nella, who has Down's syndrome.  She (Kelle) is a talented photographer and documents beautifully with the pictures she takes.  Her blog is titled "Enjoying the Small Things", which she very successfully does, and her view often jolts me back to thanksgiving for all of the blessings in my life.  Today was no different except that her father was the author of the second of a two part recollection of Nella's birth.  As I sat reading it, I wept...sobbed actually.  I was flooded with emotions...emotions that are linked to the birth stories of my own children.  Emotions linked to the love I have for my father as Kelle's father described his emotions toward his daughter.  Emotions linked to the enormous amount of unconditional love I feel for my children. 

My house was quiet, because I had given the four littlest people who live here a couple of options:  1.  help me clean the house or 2. go play in the sand box.  That really doesn't require a whole lot of contemplation, so out they went, happy to play in the sand and the sun.  It was fun to watch them...some days they can play for hours out there.  Amelia loves it.  She digs and pours and lays in the cool sand while she experiences the textures...and often the tastes!  It was a beautiful sight...yes, I must capture this moment and post it to my blog.  I quickly grabbed my camera and switched the lens for one that would allow me to stand quietly at the back door and shoot picutres without interrupting them.  I watched for a moment and snapped a few shots, and kind of basqued in the moment that seemed as it should...mom in the house, making it tidy, kids completely dressed and playing with each other lovingly, my favorite music in the background, sun shining brightly, breeze blowing cooly.  All was well and good, and then it happend:  Joe stood up, without being provoked and briskly walked over to Ben, stood behind him to survey a bit and then kicked him square in the back and went back to playing in his spot.  It was quiet for a moment and at first I thought that maybe it was percieved as a little love tap (or kick), but no...I'm sure the neighbors were now aware that there was some sibling scuffling happening at the Andreasen home yet again!  Benjamin doesn't talk quietly, much less cry quietly.  It is shrill and sounds as if maybe he has been attacked by an army of fire ants that are still crawling all over him. 

I didn't say a word, thinking that all would subside and the play would go on, but then Joe returned to repeat the same offense, and the sequence continued until I finally interrupted at which point Amelia recognized that she was without her mama and made a sad bee-line for the back door.  The other three were content to continue playing, as the trauma seemed to be over for the moment.  Within moments, the mudroom door opened, I heard some climbing and some wrappers crinkle quickly followed by the door shutting.  I'm a mom...I knew what just went down...fruit snacks had been stolen, but before they could be consumend, they were confiscated and the guilty parties...all of them were guilty even though only one thief had dirty hands...were sentenced to naps.  This of course made no one happy and Benjamin (the thief) was trying to defend all of them in his not-so-quiet, shrill voice.

During this, the phone rang...the distinct ring tone indicating it was Tim calling, so I answered.  After brief words, I asked him if he needed anything and he replied that he just wanted to see how my day was going.  my response was surely not what he was looking for, but at this point in my day, I struggled to get that fake smile going to pretend like my day was blissful.  It was, for a short few already forgotten moments.  In turn, he responded with some comment that made me feel as if he was trying to make a point about how my statement of "fine" was so negative.  "What do you want me to say?" I asked.  "We went to the grocery store and I was reminded of why I mostly DO NOT enjoy grocery shopping with more than two of my children in tow.  We picked up Benjamin from school and I was reminded by him that he doesn't really think anyone is nice, nothing is fair, everything that I say is stupid, and that he doesn't really like his siblings.  We returned home and I was reminded that my children can closely replicate the quick destruction of a tornado, not to mention the corrupt conduct witnessed in many attempted robberies of my pantry AFTER they'd been served lunch, AND then the brutal physical violence!!!"  The phone did not ring at the most opportune time for Tim to get a pleasant, "fine", rather a spiteful one.  Had he stayed on the phone longer, I would've likely provided him with the events of yesterday too, that included having to return to the farm supply store with stolen property.  This is never convenient, but especially not so when there isn't anyone old enough to stay in the car with the sleeping baby who slept on my shoulder while I loaded two 50# feed bags to a cart, took a dancing three year old potty and tried to reason with a run-away five year old!  Aren't I entitled to a crabby "fine"?

I want to enjoy the small things, I really do, but there are just days when that doesn't happen easily.  There are still those mom responsibilities that I must tend to, and they wear me down.  I'm sure if my little people finally fall asleep in the rooms they've been banished to, I will look at them and admire the peace and the sometimes innocence that is evident in their actions.  It is more often the latter, but when it isn't, it really is a challenge.  None of the above was even close to what I've been wanting to write about, but I guess I was in need of a good "vent".