Jumping, touching, and hiding in closets

I am having a low patience day. Even as I type this, my son is standing behind me in my chair and playing with my hair, while chanting, "tell me what you want what you really really want". So as you read, please consider that my patience today is stretching like a dollar store lizard. I am more grateful for my situation than it may sound.

First of all, here is a movie of Cash in his doorway jumper. I am amazed at how he can swing himself. When you watch how far away his feet get from the door jam, you realize how amazing he really is. If you turn up the volume, you can hear Libby doing a little cheer for him. Please do not call the Department of Children and Families, I promise, he is perfectly safe. I hope. Having trouble uploading movie. Here is a still from it.

On a different note...

I'm pretty sure someone is touching me all the time. They are sitting on me, touching my elbow, and under my feet. If someone is not touching me, then I am touching them. If neither of those things are happening, I am holding a baby spoon, changing pee-peed sheets, or smelling nasty trash. Personal space is often not an option for me. And today I didn't fully wake up until about 2:30. All morning I just sort of existed in the same space as these three tiny people who like to yell, cry, and provide a bowel movement every hour. There is no glamour in my job. The other day I tried to put on make-up in the morning and look nice for my mothering. It's overrated. I spend most of the time trying to wash sticky stuff OFF of myself and didn't really like the feeling of having it there on purpose.

Lastly. Today things got quiet and I went and snapped a picture of what was going on. Even though my daughter was perched on top of three plastic drawers and my son was standing and resting on parts of a 50 year old closet, I just took their picture and let them keep playing. Because #1, THEY WERE QUIET and #2, THEY WERE NOT TOUCHING ME.