I woke up at 8 a.m. from the strangest dream. We’d moved to Michigan and were living in a large, rectangular, two-story farmhouse. In the dream, I was adamant about moving furniture downstairs from usptairs and at one point, I was insistent that the bedroom furniture be placed on the front lawn, in the lacy shadows of a large tree.

Then, I saw the view from the upstairs bedroom window–Mt. Hood! (Which, of course, is located in Oregon, not Michigan. But no matter. It was a dream.) However, things took a strange turn when I was suddenly having an ultrasound done to see if I was, indeed, pregnant. And not just any ultrasound. No sir-eee-bob. I had to walk from the waiting room to the ultrasound area naked.

Thank God my husband said, “Hey, do you hear the baby? She’s awake.”

My husband worked again today until 4 p.m. I cannot actually remember the last day he took off from work. I think it was at Christmas. While he was gone, the most remarkable thing happened. Babygirl took another nap in her crib. She nursed, sat up and pointed to her crib. I said, “You want to lay down in your bed?” She nodded. She actually slept about two hours. I read a chapter in a book, listening for her to cry out. When she didn’t, I went downstairs and cleaned up the kitchen. My basic cleaning turned into Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder cleaning in which I picked out color crayons from the baskets and discarded them based on how dull their point was. I banished all the “RoseArt” crayons, too. I threw away an old lipstick I found in the kitchen counter basket which collects all manner of flotsam. I tossed an errant lego, a choke-chain for the dog we no longer have, two dried up glue-sticks and more.

Then I decluttered the “junk” cupboard which overflowed with tape dispensers (Costco sold tape in packs of 8), combs, paint brushes, post-it notes, nail clippers, pens and yes, more. Stuff, junk, do-dads. I have no shortage of clutter around here. Part of it is my fault–I save it if I think it has value, even if that value won’t occur for ten more years. And then there are the kids who have vast stores of treasures, which cannot seem to stay put. I find Pokemon cards and plain-old playing cards and legos and balloons and tinkertoys and papers and books and dirty socks everywhere. My husband would like nothing more than to live in a home decorated in Early Dorm Room, so the baggage that comes with a family of boys and a baby assaults his senses.

When I finished throwing things away, I turned my attention to my sooty kitchen window. The candles purchased at Christmas-time smell great and leave a filmy coat of gray on the window frame and window. I washed the white paint, scrubbed the window and shook out the valance.

Puttering takes so much time and before I knew it, the baby was awake again. How satisfying, though to see my streamlined cupboards and baskets and unsooty window.

I told the boys we were going for a walk to 7-11 to buy Slurpees. They cooperated quickly and we were off, Babygirl in her stroller, Youngestboy by my side, chatting the whole way, TwinBoyA on a scooter and TwinBoyB on his bike. When I told my husband later, he exclaimed that such an outing was too dangerous! He’s Mr. Caution. I told Mr. Caution that the road is wide and there is a bike path and we were perfectly safe walking half a mile each way. The skies were mostly sunny and the temperatures were in the mid-forties and it almost felt like spring.

Tonight, Babygirl went to sleep at 7:15 p.m. For the fourth night in a row, she pointed to her bed and when I asked if she wanted to lay down, she nodded. I love having a nodding baby. Even if she doesn’t mean to say yes, but nods, it makes me feel like she is so agreeable.

I left the house at 8 p.m. and spent two satisfying hours at Barnes and Noble. I had a gift card to spend, but I wanted to spend it wisely. I bought four books: Sue Monk Kidd’s “The Secret Life of Bees”, a book about keeping a journal called “Leaving a Trace”, a funny book to send my friend, Diane, for her birthday, and Elizabeth Berg’s “Never Change.” My stack of books to read gets higher and higher and probably one day it will collapse and render me senseless. Maybe even paralyze me, which will be okay if I’m not blinded. Then I will be helpless, but still able to read.

I can always hope.

Babygirl is better. She even took a rare nap in her actual crib today! She has not done that since October. (The naps on Sunday were all in my arms, which hardly counts as a real nap in my book.) And the reason I even attempted to put her in her crib? Well, I was upstairs, half-dozing, half-watching television at 1:30 p.m. while Babygirl slept in my arms. She looked so sweet, mussed hair and one arm flung over her head. Then I hear, “MOM!” I think, what? was that the television?. Then again, but louder, “MEL! MEL!! MOM!!”

The sound of my five year old, calling from downstairs. I couldn’t figure out what would cause him to just holler from downstairs when he normally just opens the door and speaks to me in an unintelligible, hushed whisper. He didn’t sound panicked, just persistent. After five minutes, I figured I’d take my chances and put the baby in the crib. To my utter amazement, she snuggled down and kept sleeping.

And what was Youngestboy’s emergency? Well, there was a spider in the living room and he was afraid to walk past it because he thought it might “get” him. This is my kid who used to smack spiders with shoes to kill them when he was two. (We have spiders approximately the size of a small mouse here in Washington State.)

Why is YoungestBoy even home today? Well, he has the sore throat that Babygirl had yesterday. Poor baby only nursed twice–once in the morning, once at night. Today she’s much better, but poor Youngestboy has the virus. Yesterday morning he complained about being cold. I sent him to school, but told him to call if he felt bad. When he came home after school, he burst into tears saying his head hurt. I gave him ibuprofen and he napped for an hour or so. Last night, he threw up once and then this morning he woke up with a very sore throat.

This is exactly what DaycareKid had. Sigh.

Babygirl just brought her sneakers to me. You know what that means, right? Time to go outside for more chilly fun!

Tonight while I was making sure the twins were actually in bed (at almost 9 p.m.), I found a soggy pile of socks and pants in the middle of the floor. I didn’t mean to, but I went into a little rant that went something like this: “Why can’t you put your clothes in the laundry room? I’m so sick of picking up wet clothes from the floor. I’ll bet Nick never leaves his wet clothes on the floor.”

Nick is the kid we know who is a year older than my twins. He is every parent’s dream–smart, kind and dependable. He’s well-liked by his classmates and easy-going.

Now, of course I know better than to compare my kids out loud to other kids. I try hard not to even compare them to each other out loud. But sometimes, I fail.

So, after I threw the yucky clothes into the laundry room, TwinboyA looks up from his book and says, “Mom, that’s one ! One mistake!”

“What?” I said.

“Mom, that’s one mistake! Comparing us to other kids is one mistake! And just one of many!”

I laughed. Then I went over and peered into his blue eyes and tried to figure out what to do about those two blackheads on his nose and said, “Look, son, all I’m saying is that I want you guys not to leave your wet clothes on the floor.”

“Mom, we don’t have time in the morning. . . .”

“Son, those clothes were from this afternoon when your brother changed after school.”

“Oh.” He looked a little sheepish then.

This boy is keeping a mental tally, though. He is watching me, grading me, cataloging my failures. He’s kind of like me and I’m kind of like him–and somedays I do not appreciate the mirror.