Double Duty

It’s one of those days. THOSE days.

On more than one occasion today, I found myself in child’s pose on the closet floor.

As I write, both B3 and B4 are fighting their naps. They are both running in and out of their room with urgent needs to kill the ant they found in the house two days ago or find the Green Lantern mask that’s been missing for a month.

The day started with boys waking up at a reasonable time of 5am. Yes, I’m kidding. At that unholy hour, they immediately started jumping off the couch, setting up the “Floor is Lava” obstacle course on our living room floor, watching a movie, changing the movie, fighting over the movie, fighting over the “Lava” rules and fighting me (I regularly find myself the unwitting practice dummy of their WWW training exercises). Toddlers are exceptional multi taskers.

After snapping at them, feeling bad about snapping at them, justifying the snapping to myself and then snapping again, I desperately needed some quiet. The nap started off relatively cute. They both exemplified uncharacteristic obedience and climbed in their beds when I asked. B4 decided he wanted to sleep in B3’s bed and as I closed the door, B3 was telling B4 a sweet bedtime story about zombies.

I had work to do, and with the hurricane holding us prisoners in our home, their nap would be the only chance I had to knock things off my task list.

But I digress.

Earlier in the day, somewhere between the sidewalk chalk explosion and mud pies, B4 was in need of a diaper change. I changed him, stood him on the floor and proceeded to get him re-dressed. B3 seized an opportunity to climb on my back while I was sitting on the floor. He threw each leg over each of my shoulders and used my head for balance. I tried to finish getting the pants on B4 as B3’s hands covered my eyes. As he fidgeted on my shoulders, he yelled “double duty!!!” “Mom, do you know what double duty is?” I continued to struggle to find B4s toes in the cargo joggers. “Well…” I started, “Is getting B4 dressed while you play monkey on my back the definition of Double Duty?” He grinned widely. “Yep!”

It has a name?! This circus juggling ninja contortionist move I found myself in had a name.

I repeated it to myself, “Double Duty.” It felt like for a moment, my desperate need for validation had been quenched. I was doing Double Duty! My sweet four year old saw how hard I was working to be a mom, and the heavens parted and a glimpse of recognition and I dare say, appreciation, shone on me. I allowed myself to be a pig in the mud of satisfaction and take just a few quick blissful rolls.

“What are you DOING? I need you to come wipe my butt!” bellowed an impatient B3. And just like that, I dutifully reported back to reality.