Olympics

Its goes down like this…pretty much every time we sit down to watch the Olympics.

The athletes take off doing whatever amazing things they have been training to do.

My boys watch, slack jawed. Eyes round. For about fifteen seconds…..

“Mom?”

“Yes”

“Can you do that?”

“Nope”

They resume playing with trucks around the coffee table, giving the television an occasional glance and providing comments for us to chuckle over every now and then.

The next event comes on and its the question all over again.

“Mom, can you do that?”

Now that we are on the third day of Olympic question and answer, this particular question has changed in tone.

As in: “Mom…can’t you do ANY of these things?”

My answer has changed in tone as well.

From a chuckled out “Nope” ….. to a grind through my teeth “Nope.”

Because having your worth judged by a 4 year old based solely on Olympic potential only to be found lacking is…bruising?

It sounds crazy I know…but who hasn’t had those days when you walk into a room filled with chaos and mess and you think, “maybe I should have gone to that Masters program instead of doing this all day every and day….”

I found myself lost in a daydream of starring in the Nerd Olympics. Taking gold in the speed reading competition or the Jane Austen Trivia bowl, maybe taking silver for world’s best chocolate chip cookie or competing in Fastest Legible Haiku.

I try not to get carried away you see….

“Boys,” I say, “if you work really hard you can do ANY of those things too.”

I encourage as much as I can.

“You have every potential of doing that just as well as they do. Work hard, train hard, and that could be you some day if its your dream.”

I’ve always been a firm believer in encouraging children to reach for the highest dreams in their sights.

This time it backfired on me a bit...

After lunch I sent the boys upstairs to read a book together, as I gathered the last of the laundry into the basket, I heard the first stirrings of giggles. By the time I got to the bottom of the stairs to begin my lumbering ascent upwards I heard THE LAUGHTER.

Ya know.

THE LAUGHTER.

Not just innocent frolicking child laughter but spawn of something evil laughter. Horrible terrible idea laughter. Bloody head wound laughter. Permanent ink laughter. I just found something precious and now I will destroy it laughter. MUAHAHAHAHAHA.

That hair raising, goose bump inducing sound that mothers of multiple boys hear in their nightmares (or mothers of just one girl like me—sorry, Mom!).

Well, that is what I heard.

THE LAUGHTER coming out of three small boys I know quite well.

Nothing could have prepared me as I finally made it to the landing for the following words shouted by my typically well behaved, non messy, responsible, rule following, perfection to the point of ulcers, eldest child:

“WADIES AND GENTLEMEN. WELCOME TO THE SHOW CALLED THE SUPER PEE SWORD FIGHTING OLYMPICS SYNCHROTIZED.”

The laundry slipped from my grasp and fell at my feet. The door to the bathroom was ominously closed.

I heard the middle one roar: “ON YOUR MARK GET SET GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.”

As I later described it on facebook, it was so horrifying it was almost playing out in slow motion.


I waddled up the remaining 12 steps and opened the door just as Cubs let out a warrior cry: “THIS IS AWESOME!”

All three of my angels, pants around their ankles, spraying urine all over the bathroom and each other.

Sword fighting.

Racing.

Urinating.

The baby is soaking wet and I can barely bring myself to look at him.

Walls, cabinets, floor, rug, shower curtain…..liberally spritzed with wee wee from three pee pees.

Silence.

They are all looking at me, their mouths still curled upwards…half grin…half questioning what Mommy will do about this.

I vow to stay cool and calm.

I vow to stay under control.

I vow to remember that I am the adult and they are 4, 3, and 20 months.

I vow to have justice.

“Boys, welcome to THE GREAT CLEAN UP YOUR OWN PEE OLYMPICS”

More silence.

Followed by deafening shrieks and cheers.

“All right!” followed by a tiny fist pump.

They eagerly gather rags from the hall closet and set about mopping up pee and arguing over whose pee has gone where.

I stand in the hall way, eyes closed. Trying to give myself a pep talk to fortify myself for the next 18 years with FOUR boys.

I feel a tug on my shirt.

“Yes?” I look down into a pair of wide blue eyes.

“Um, Mom? Did you watch our pee olympics?”

“I caught the very end of it.”

“Mom, can you do that?”

“Nope.”

He lets out a sigh and walks away.

I write out in my head, as fast as I can:

Twenty years, four boys
Pee wars, bugs, fist fights, bring me
chocolate and tea.