Monday, December 2, 2013

A Day in the Life (Mommy Needs a Drink)

No need for an alarm clock, I awaken nice and early at about six to the sounds of kids, my eyes feeling like they might bleed. Through a haze, I make my way downstairs for coffee, sweet coffee. I take kids potty, get them dressed and then finally, blessedly, pour my first cup of the day. Between breakfast demands, getting laundry going and emptying the dishes, among other chores, the morning goes by fairly quickly. Kids are settled, playing nicely so I sit down to check e-mail.
"Mommy!!!" Hmmm...interesting timing. I trudge upstairs to put out a fire. One called the other mean and someone needs a snack. Back downstairs I go in my next attempt for quiet time but now I have a monkey on my back. Literally. And he's pulling my hair and trying to climb on my shoulders while repeating "I want peanut butter jelly."  So lunch is made, served and cleaned up. Park sounds good. Maybe they will burn some energy and be tired later?
So off we go. They run and play and I stroll the perimeter, enjoying a few minutes of quiet. Hands in pockets, walking. This is kind of relaxing. Wow, they are being so nice. As I make my way around the playground, they ask for more time. "Keep going, Mommy. Five more minutes. Don't watch us." Wow, I'm lucky today! They are playing sweetly with the other playground kids, digging in the dirt. Making a cake or whatever. I almost feel guilty for being so impatient earlier. I vow to be kinder. And then as I come a little closer, I notice the extent of the mess. Under their nails, in their hair. They are caked in dirt. And where did the water come from? Oh, I see one of the park kids got hold of a soda can and has been filling it at the water fountain. Nice. So now it all makes sense. The little bastards! Grrr. Well, they are dirty now so we stay a little longer, until it gets chilly and I have to pee.
Once home, I declare mommy time. Twenty minutes on the treadmill should be no big deal...right?? Netflix to the rescue! I let them pick a show, get them settled on the couch with a snack, their drinks and hop on, door ajar so I can see them. OK, I'm going. Jogging slowly, breathing in and out. Stress slowly melting away when...
"She just got going at a moderate pace", one must have whispered to the other..."Mommy!!!" they yell. "What is it??" I holler back. Can't make it out so I keep going when crying ensues. Hop off. Go inside. Put out fire. Hop back on. Put out next fire. This goes on for about fifteen minutes while I squeeze my mile in. Show's over. Time to make dinner.  I figure they can help, keep their little hands busy.
Cutting board, veggies, kids on counters. Pull out meat, spaghetti, sauce. Get water boiling. I decide to make cookies for dessert. "No fingers in dough, guys", I say calmly. Reasonable enough. Or maybe not because I repeat that another six times or so just while stirring. Dough flings, splatters. Cookies make their way into the oven and pasta goes into boiling water. Someone dumps sauce on the counter. Another dips their fingers in it, wipes it on their shirt. Breathe in. Take kids off counters and set them up at kitchen table so I can finish up. Breath out. Crack open a Diet Coke, wishing it would be acceptable to pour in some rum.
"Mommy, Logan is messing up my picture." Take a big gulp, stir pasta.
"Logan, stop". So he grabs scissors and attempts cutting for a few minutes, just enough time for me to brown meat. "Mommy, he's putting the scissors in his mouth."
"Logan, scissors out of mouth." Break up pieces of the meat with a wooden spoon.
Check on spaghetti.
"Logan, scissors out of mouth!"
Strain spaghetti.
"LOGAN, SCISSORS OUT OF MOUTH!!!" I grab the scissors and put them up. Crying, lots of crying. Slam said wooden spoon on stove. Gulp Diet Coke, grab crying boy and console for a minute or so until he wriggles out of my arms and goes back to table to torture sister.
"Mommy, he's bugging me! Go away, Logan!" she wails.
Ahhh man, where is my hubby? He better be on his way. Is it too early for wine??
I put out some veggies and dip, they dive in. Once again, I go back to dinner. Open freezer, pull out garlic bread. Take out cookies, put bread in. Mmm...cookies smell good.
"Mommy, may we have a cookie please??" ask my blue-eyed cherubs.
"After dinner."
"Please, Mommy", they whine.
"After dinner."
"But Mommy, we're hungry."
Hubby arrives, rum goes into Coke. Dinner is served. Kids bathed, teeth brushed and off they go with Daddy so I can finally, finally finish my darned workout (why do I even bother?? I haven't sat all day so surely I'm burning calories...)
Off to bed they go and I change into jammies, flop on the couch and relax. An hour later, kids kissed and checked on and I'm out like a light, sure to face the same madness tomorrow. Wouldn't change it for the world...

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