Hey, readers, you know that moment when you are in the kitchen and you think "Hey, I would like some juice." So, you reach into the fridge for some juice and it reminds you that you forgot to take out the chicken for dinner, so you open the freezer door (while holding the juice in one hand and holding the fridge door open with your leg), narrowly missing the side of your face with the freezer door....or actually hitting it, if you are awkward. You somehow unwedge the chicken from between the ice cream and those year old frozen strawberries you saved during your smoothie phase, and you throw it onto the counter, but it falls off. Which alerts your toddler or cat or dog that you are in the kitchen and available for food procurement, so he/she comes racing in, right towards the open dishwasher that is full of dirty (and pointing upward) knives that someone in your family insists on putting in there, despite Martha Stewart's warnings about dulling. So, you let the fridge door slam, which causes the butter dish (whose little door went missing months ago) to fall and break within the fridge, and you snatch up the chicken with one hand because the juice is in the other one, and you kick the dishwasher closed with your leg, but you are trying to avoid stepping on your kid/cat/dog, so you fall, and the chicken lands in your lap and the juice spills, all over said kid/cat/dog. Yep.....congrats, you have just encountered the villain Three.
Three is a magical number; good and glorious things come in threes. Clovers, trimesters, wise men, Musketeers, Bee Gees, cheers, crowds, coins in a fountain, stooges, triangle sides, Bronte sisters, Neapolitan ice cream, french hens, penny operas, traffic lights, bean salads, tenors, dimensions. The Trinity is pretty awesome. As is Three Dog Night and Three piece suits. Seriously, check it out: Peter, Paul, and Mary. Three Times a Lady. Faith, Hope, and Charity. Small, Medium, Large. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. Snap, Crackle, Pop. Rock, Paper, Scissors. Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. And my three beautiful children. I can't stop thinking of threes, it is a truly magical number! And as with any magic, there is a dark side......
The villain Three is as powerful as he is subtle. A little extra, a little over two. Not hard, right? I can handle three, no problem.....no, no, readers. Yes hard, and yes problem. I can not handle three! Wanna know why? Three requires juggling. I mean, come on, juggling? Juggling, readers. And I have circus fears, as it is......
Here's how I figured it out; it has recently come to my attention that I only have 2 hands. 2 arms. 2 legs. 2 lungs. 2 eyes. 2 ears. Holy even numbers, Batman! What on earth am I going to do with three children? The math just doesn't work. Looks like I am gonna need to learn to juggle.
Now, happily for me, turns out that all parents already know how to juggle some. It is a super power that comes standard with all kid models, and even my rudimentary skills work quite well on the villain Three. In the house. I know my house; the layout, the distances, the DVDs that can mesmerize Super Preschooler long enough for me to get Super Toddler a cheese stick. I know the special car that the Super Toddler loves, which will buy me time to feed Super Baby. I know that if I put Super Baby in the swing and play one Timmy Time, I can take a shower, complete with shampooing and conditioning. In fact, one could say that I am a master of juggling. In the house.
However, if juggling in the house is like juggling soft little balls that fit perfectly in the hand, juggling outside of the house is like juggling knives....sharp ones that no one has ever put in the dishwasher...in fact, they take them to a tinker and have them sharpened on some bi-yearly schedule....knives that cut tin cans and quarters and whatnot....oh, and they are also on fire. No sane novice juggler in her right mind would attempt to juggle fire knives so early in her juggling career.
This is, of course, what I decide to attempt. Last Thursday. In the snow. At 12:30 pm. For no good reason; other than, Super Preschooler wants to make a gingerbread house. The Supers were all being good. Super Preschooler was sharing cars with Super Toddler. Super Baby was sleeping like an angel. The Super Cats hadn't thrown up on the rug in 2 days. I was sated from lunch; full of food and of my own vanity, but wherever blames lies, I decide it is a great idea to head to Target and get gingerbread house making kits.
And this, my good readers, is where we need to leave you. For the moment. Three was hiding out in the living room, watching Finding Nemo with everyone, but it seems he is bored. Super Baby is rousing from her nap, that smell is 1...no 2....diapers in need of changing, that melodious noise is Super Cat throwing up under the dining room table, the phone is ringing, and the laundry needs switching over. Must dash. Back super soon to tell you about the Target trip....but before we go, quick question: who has a polite response to the following:
Wow, are you having enough to start a baseball team?
Just having them all at once, eh?
Irish twins?
Gonna get yourself a reality show, if you keep it up.
Because blank stares are not working anymore. Awkward Mom's eye has developed that twitch that usually indicates the sass is threatening to come on out. We like Target and we don't want to be banned, so advice is welcome. Thanks and back in a flash!
A juggling trifecta: crown, sword, X-men. Told ya great things come in threes.
