God bless my barrenness

Every once in a great while, I see a sleeping child or get a whiff of baby powder, and I wonder if I'm missing something by being childless. What's better than a hug from a sweet baby or those beautiful infant yawns?

Thankfully God, in His infinite wisdom, gives me the opportunity to kidsit anytime I feel bad about my barrenness.

After work I drove to Maumelle to pick up Huey, Dewey and Louie from daycare. After showing my driver's license three times and searching for backpacks, artwork, and jackets, I was finally allowed to take the little jewels into my capable care. In the days of Amber Alerts, it's certainly comforting to parents to know the strict security one must go through in order to pick up a child from daycare, but I swear, it was easier to get into the Oval Office when I visited the White House than it was to pick up three wild kids who, although they might prefer someone else, obviously knew me.

All three boys pile into the back seat of the TrailBlazer. I walk around to buckle Peyton, who says, "I do it myself." Fine. So I walk back to the driver's side, fasten my own seatbelt, look back, and he's still sitting there. Then he says, "Oops. I tan't do it myself."

On the way to dinner, we discuss who will win the Cowboys/Packers game. Brady and Ave both pick Dallas. Peyton insists he "don't like any playas except Peyton Manning." Boy he's loyal to his namesake. Lonnie and Jen should have named him Terrell.

Next we're off to Beef o' Brady's, Maumelle's answer to a sports bar. Brady orders chicken nuggets and curly fries. Avery orders a hot dog and curly fries. Peyton wants a hamburger and regular fries. All drink root beer out of a bottle (the primary reason for choosing said venue I later discover).

The food arrives. Avery decides he doesn't like curly fries, so he steals regular fries off of Peyton's plate. He will not, however, share his curly fries with Peyton. So I, with my selfless motherly instinct, put half of my curly fries on Peyton's plate. He doesn't want my fries, he wants his brother's fries, and he doesn't get that they're exactly the same. Avery meanwhile has drenched his hog dog in two pounds of mustard, which he insisted on pouring himself. Peyton takes the bun off his hamburger and yells, "I don't like that black stuff," while poking at the grill marks and refuses to eat his burger, which he plops on the middle of the table. He decides he'd rather eat Lucky Charms. God bless Brady, who behaves throughout the ordeal, but spends the entire meal asking me the numbers of every player on the Cowboys roster. After we get past the first ten or so, I must consult the Internet (thank you, iPhone!). It's like dining with the Riddler.

Mercifully the meal ends. All three boys make their way in rowdy fashion to the front of the restaurant, with Peyton crawling all over Brady's back while I yell, "Peyton, get off your brother." He continues to jump on Brady, so utilizing my motherly instincts, I grab him by the hair of his head and pull him off. I momentarily worry about someone calling SCAN, but a guy waiting on a table says, "Good job, Mom." I say, "They do NOT belong to me."

Feeling like a bad substitute mother, I say a prayer on the way to the car for patience. Brady climbs into the middle. Peyton and Avery both insist on sitting on the left side of him. Avery calls Peyton a "stupid head" so I tell him to be nice to his brother. He mocks me. I sigh and lose my patience and resort to my standard motherly threat, "If you don't straighten up and stop talking back, no video games for a week." Ah, the video game grounding threat... works every time.

On our way home we call their mom. They all tell her they miss her and love her. My heart strings are pulled.

I open the door to find that the dog's puked in the hallway. The boys strip down to their underwear and mess up the clean house.

I've had them for less than two hours. How do you women do this?

Childless? I prefer the term "childfree."

Lonnie and Jen... I love your children with all my heart, and I know they're normal kids. I'll babysit anytime as long as I can give them back. :)