Mombulance

I'm a relatively attentive mother. I've tried to be there to encourage my kids when necessary and to kiss away the hurts when life (or a treacherous sidewalk crack) has dealt them a spiteful blow. And what I'm finding is that this new stage of life, known perhaps only to me as the post "minute-to-minute-mothering" phase, has reduced me to the allegorical ER doc with an empty ER.

As completely exasperating as it was at times, the years of constantly filling the needs of my closely-birthed fourfold litter suited me in the sense that I was almost constantly needed. And apparently I need to be needed. That makes me sound pathetically needy (I am aware of the blatant overuse of the root word "need" here), but I'm not so needy that I can't admit to my neediness. Did I miss any variation of the word "need?" I think not.

I digress. My point is simply that when I have the opportunity to fill a (you guessed it) NEED, I'm simply elated. Sadly, the obvious needs of my progeny have dissapated, so I have to create my own opportunities. A few examples:

Example #1: When my boys are upstairs playing one of their endless games of football/soccer/kickball/baseball, they often pretend to be members of some professional team, which means in order to be believable they will occasionally have to fake an injury. Enters the Mombulance. Literally. Sirens blaring (okay, so I sound more like a manatee being smothered than an emergency vehicle), I race to the injured player and pin him down and demand to know where the boo-boo is. This is obviously mortifying for a professional athlete, but I remain undettered. They hurriedly point to some random body part, at which time I smother it with kisses. I then allow play to continue.

Example #2: My girls often have some unexplained malady at bedtime, usually having to do with the head/ankle/butt/elbow part of their body (really any part will do; any excuse to postpone sleep). For a few years, I felt pretty crafty giving them a small amount of juice in a medicinal measuring cup, claiming that my snake oil cures all aches. Tonight I caught Kate in the kitchen throwing back 2 tablespoons of Children's Motrin. "Hey Kate, since when do you self-medicate?" I asked, feeling slightly un-needed. "I actually have a headache," she said. "Your juice won't cut it tonight."

But as much as they don't like to admit it at times, they still need me. They still need me to send them out the door with a hug, a kiss and an occasional pat on the backside, they still need me to tease them into a smile, they still need me to sing too loudly and off-key and to do my Lydia impressions. And they need me to be needy; it keeps their little lives in balance. Or at least that's what I tell myself. :)

Tanner and his football stadium made out of dominoes.

Tucker just had to see if he'd fit. And it was working out surprisingly well until he whacked his head. :)

This is what happens when Dad and Kate both need the downstairs bathroom in the morning and Kate is too tired to go back upstairs to do her hair.

We love Tucker. And his current obsession with salmon.

And I don't even know what is going on here. Except that I almost ended up on the floor when she hit me full-force. :)