Before we had our third boy, my brother-in-law tried to convince me that the third was no more work than two. I wonder what planet he was living on when their third was born. Either that, or the difference between boys and girls (he has three girls) is so immense, that one cannot even make comparisons.
I’m still waiting for the day of no more work than with two kids. I don’t think it’s ever coming.
Talking to other people who have been there, they assure me that the third makes ALL the difference in the world. (I knew I wasn’t crazy!)
Gone are the days when I pack the kids up for a “quick trip” to the grocery store. I won’t set foot inside Wal-Mart unless I’ve either got some brave help or I’m solo. Ditto for the bank (although I have discovered that the drive-through is a good compromise and the tellers give Dum-Dum suckers to me as a reward for sitting patiently while three boys holler in the back seat. They’re so thoughtful.)
It’s not that my boys misbehave, in fact they’re downright polite at Wal-Mart when they ask for candy bars, new tractors and another fish because Harvey (the beta they so kindly gave me for Mother’s Day) might be lonely. They usually say please, please, please and PLEASE!
They’re also very helpful, piling seven boxes of Honey Nut Cheerios into the cart. Boy Number One reads all the labels to make sure we’re not getting too many grams of sugar. (Did you know that pop has 41 grams while a juice box only has 12?) He will ask me, much to the amusement of other shoppers, “Is this cereal on sale, Mom? Do you have a coupon?”
They’re not loud or obnoxious, but they are a handful.
I’m just not strong enough anymore to push a cart with a baby in the front seat, a three-year-old sitting in the cart squishing bread and a six-year-old who thinks he can stand in front and hang on.
The little car carts at Cub are an option, except that whoever designed them with workable horns couldn’t have been a mother. By the time I’ve trudged through produce, dairy and made it to the peanut butter, I’ve heard all the “beep, beeps” I ever need. Even better is when one horn is operating and the other isn’t, which is more typical.
The people at Cub have yet another option for shopping with children–those immense carts with the two seats in front. Have you ever tried to push one with 60 pounds of boy and another 60 pounds of groceries? It’s impossible to maneuver, especially around all the seniors who stare wide-eyed at this monstrosity on wheels heading directly for them with an out-of-control mom behind the wheel who, trust me, would have more luck with a Zamboni. It’s a bit like trying to drive a Suburban through an obstacle course designed for a VW Beetle. And trying to do so with two boys arguing about whose elbow belongs where.
Someone told me two children are two children, but a third is a houseful. I grew up with seven kids, so I’m not sure I can complain about three filling a house, except that my parents’ home has six bedrooms and ours has two. Ours is full.
But, I’m not complaining. Instead, I’m thankful that I’m learning time management (by not making it anywhere on time), people skills (by learning that children do not respond any more quickly to an increase in vocal decibels unless it’s accompanied by a piercing wail), and patience (what else can you learn from sweeping the kitchen floor three times a day, a baby who throws food in your face and consistently stepping on Matchbox cars and Legos?)
What else is a Mom to do when her days are a combination of tears, hugs and meltdowns (hers, not the kids) but appreciate the humor and know she’ll finally get peace and quiet at 10 p.m.
It could be worse. I could have four boys and more material for this blog.
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