Mommy Tings

The chickens are gone. Morning rays of sunlight are slipping through the blinds of our windows. Luring me from a deep sleep. Silence during this time of the morning has shifted to be quite an oddity now that the chickens no longer cocka-doodle us awake during dawn. They were a daily reminder that I have become a New Orleanean.  A benevolently spiritual city that pours the culture of its art, food, and music into the resident’s soul. The chickens roam freely and sometimes seem to be every where. 

I don’t hear our children. Consciously, I decide to fight back the day light and attempt to hold on to the Sandman a bit longer. There is no telling the amount of time that passed by but the sleep I greedily chased was over. I felt them. They slipped into our bed. They wanted breakfast. But they didn’t say anything. Their mother is known to everyone who knows her intimately as Cruella Deville in the mornings. Showing great intelligence, neither one said a word. Wrapping their arms lovingly around me, I sensed their love for me. One at a time they kissed my eyelids until they opened. Just as I did to them when they slept as babies. Once awakened, more hugs and kisses are exchanged. That settled, laughter, and smiles subside. 

Doe eyed as ever, one says to me, “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

I realize I’ve been finessed long before I start cracking eggs for scrambling. I got up and participated in taking care of our boys. Doing what I have only affectionately heard in central Louisiana as a ‘Mommy Ting.’ After all, it’s Saturday morning. The cleaning routine will pick up shortly. 

Half way through the morning, the boys should  be cleaning their rooms but I’m certain I hear a  basketball being dribbled in their toy room. I’m enroute to Banaville because I am 1000% sure that I have asked the boys to stop wrestling, put the balls down, and clean up their room! I’m half way up the stairs and the youngest lets me know that all he want is “hugs and kiss.”

Receiving the stalest of faces, he gets hugs and kisses. 

‘Finessed again,’ I recognize. 

Before we can continue our Saturday morning ritual, I catch a glance of their Father shaking his head with perched lips. He knows they finessed my ass too. I shake off my distractions, turn up the music, and finish what ever is in front of me. 

Fast forward. We have a babysitter. Mommy and Daddy are going on a date night. I spent an hour getting ready for it and looked at myself a million times in the mirror. Was my lipstick smudging; was my bra slipping out and showing in this dress; do I like my hair like this? All questions I asked in my head repeatedly as I headed to check on it again in the mirror.

Both the Terrorist and the Mutineer watched me closely as I checked the mirror constantly. They stared at me for a moment then walk away and amused themselves however they wanted in the next room. 

Finally I figure, ‘it is what it is.’ Mr. Wonderful has been waiting “patiently.”  Making sure I have on the the triple P’s (perfume, purse, and pumps), I left our bedroom to go out with my love. 

I was met with gasps. 

“Wow mom,” mouths agape. “You look like a Queen.”

“You look perfect mommy!”

Damn. I think…Finesse!