My Typical Day.

I often wonder if other peoples’ days are like mine. Everyone has hectic days, to be sure, but are they like this?

  • 8:15 AM wake up to one or both children climbing on me and tugging at my shirt.
  • 8:30 bribe the kids into leaving me alone by turning on “a little bit of TV”.
  • 8:33 Make a pot of coffee, let it brew while I take a shower.
  • 8:36 Pour coffee. Turn on computer. Feel guilt, momentarily, over letting kids veg in front of TV.
  • 8:40 Guilt assuaged: kids are bored with TV and begin wandering through the house. Apparently, they are hungry. Apparently, they want breakfast.
  • 8:42 Kids begin fighting over something. I close my office door so I can’t hear.
  • 8:43 Someone comes crying into my office. I comfort the wounded and return her to the play trenches.
  • 8:47 The kids go into the kitchen. I hear drawers opening. I hear things banging. Or, worse, I hear nothing.
  • 8:50 Sighing, I get up from the computer and venture into the kitchen to check on things.
  • 8:51 I am witness to a sea of grapes scattered about the kitchen floor. Being industrious, however, my children didn’t stop at just dumping out the bag. They also thought it would a good idea to fling them across the kitchen, so as to cover more square footage. Grapes, as you may or may not know, are miniature incendiary sticky-bombs. They explode on impact and leave a slime trail of goo wherever they detonate.
  • 8:52 I begin my mother-guilt-trip on the kids, hoping to make them feel bad about what they have done. The other alternative is to flay them. I think berating is a better choice. This time.
  • 8:59 Grapes (mostly) disposed of, I grudgingly begin preparing breakfast. The nerve of my children, being hungry at such an ungodly hour.
  • 9:04 A surprisingly healthy and hearty breakfast begins consumption at the kitchen table. Mom grabs fresh coffee and sneaks off to finish checking bloglines important messages online.
  • 9:06 Most of the breakfast has been consumed. The remaining food particles begin test-flights into various nooks of the kitchen, or end up as experiments verifying the principle of gravitational acceleration from the top of our table.
  • 9:06:30 Hearing the wicked but joyful peals of laughter, I return to the kitchen to issue cease-and-desist orders on the physics experiments taking place there. Girls are ushered into the playroom to wreak their (non-food) havoc in a more contained and less visible area.
  • 9:07 I begin cleaning up the Superfund site that is our kitchen.
  • 9:15 Kitchen is still being cleaned from breakfast, but children are now hungry again.
  • 9:16 I bribe them with a snack that is surprisingly healthy, considering the headache that has crept into my temples.
  • 9:18 Brew second pot of coffee.
  • 9:22 Pour more coffee from fresh pot.
  • 9:23 Chase girls into the house/ out of the bathroom / off of the leather couch / out of the refrigerator / down from the bay window’s shelf / away from the cat / out of DH’s closet, etc.
  • 9:26 Try to remember where I set fresh cup of coffee. Phone rings.
  • 9:38 Hang up phone. Chase children again, who are now naked. One has poop hanging off her naked butt.
  • 9:40 Change poopy-butt’s diaper. Get clothes on both children.
  • 9:50 Put dirty clothes into basket, which is full. Take basket down to laundry room and get washer/dryer going.
  • 9:54 Return to kitchen to finish washing dishes. Find coffee cup, now cold. Pour fresh cup.
  • 9:55 Chase children away from cat litter box / toilet bowl full of toys and paper / bread drawer / television / the yogurt frescoe they have just finished on the front window, etc. Commence with either the Get In Here And Clean This Messy Room Tactic, or the Here Is A New Craft For Us To Do Maneuver- depending on my mood and the severity of my headache.
  • 9:57 Look longingly at the liquor cabinet. Pour more coffee instead.
  • 9:58 Begin preparations for Operation Lunch.
  • 9:59 Phone rings.
  • 10:19 Hang up phone. Children are actually playing together in their playroom. I return to dishes / toilet scrubbing / vacuuming / laundry washing / decontamination procedures in the kitchen.
  • 10:40 Another naked butt streaks by. I chase down children and threaten to staple their clothes on if they don’t keep them on.
  • 10:49 Children are clothed. DD2 is re-diapered. We sit down to read books and calm ourselves.
  • 11:04 Phone rings.
  • 11:14 I return to Operation Lunch and finish making something edible, nutritious, and appealing enough that my kids will eat more of it than they will dump onto the floor.
  • 11:31 Operation Lunch commences.
  • 11:44 Operation Lunch ceases.
  • 11: 49 Faced with another Superfund cleanup in the kitchen, I bundle everyone into the van instead.
  • 12:07 We are all packed in the van. I resist a strong urge to leave the children buckled in their seats and go back in the now-quiet house. Instead, we invent an errand so we have a reason to actually go somewhere.
  • 1:49 We return from our phony errands with children asleep, and mama supplied with hot coffee from Dunkin Donuts.
  • 1:54 Children are efficiently transferred to sleeping quarters. Mama surveys messy house; sits down at computer for “a minute” to check email.
  • 3:23 “A Minute” has passed several times. Mama gets up to start dinner.
  • 3:51 Children begin waking up. They are much more pleasant now that they are rested.
  • 3:56 DD1 help herself to some yogurt in the kitchen. DD2 is still in bed.
  • 4:01 DD1 goes in to check on her sister. She wakes her up rudely and begins agitating her in whatever way will make her scream the loudest.
  • 4:03 I put the kids into to the bathtub and dump some shampoo in the water as the tub is filling. This creates bubbles and, therefore, counts as their bath if I don’t actually get to it later.  The kids play while I start dinner.
  • 4:11 Kids start splashing/throwing toys out of the tub / dumping water on each other /flinging water out of the tub to see how far it will go. I forcibly remove them from the tub and drain the water.
  • 4:12 Kids exit the bathroom wearing only hooded towels. I go in search of clothing, as their other clothes are now sopping wet.
  • 4:17 I finally find two sets of tops and bottoms. If it’s a good day, I also found underwear for DD1. I hand the girls’ their clothing and tell them to get dressed, while I dash into the kitchen to rescue whatever has been forgotten on the stove.
  • 4:18 Stove fire Near disaster averted, dinner preparations resume, I sneak into the office to check my WordPress dashboard important messages online.
  • 4:23 DD2 does not have clothes on (since I neglected to dress her). DD1 runs past my office door, shouting that “sister had an accident!”
  • 4:23:01 I dash into the hallway, looking frantically for The Accident.
  • 4:24 Accident found. It is liquid only. Of course, it is in the one area of the house where we actually have carpet, and therefore requires baking soda and scrubbing to clean instead of just a nice spray of vinegar and a paper towel.
  • 4:31 Accident cleaned up. Naked butt corked diapered. Clothing on. Mom sneaks back to computer chair. Kids dump out every toy from their toy box onto the playroom floor.
  • 4:33 Mom sprints to the kitchen to check on dinner again. Children are reading peacefully in the sunroom, munching slices of bread.  The last two slices, to be specific.
  • 4:40 Major dinner prep is over. Something edible and surprisingly healthy is in the oven. Kids, however, are [still] hungry NOW.
  • 4:41 Rummage through cupboards and find three halves of stale crackers and a handful of raisins. Put fare into a plastic bowl, set bowl down on carpet in front of the kitchen sink, and tell the kids to “have a picnic”. Sneak back to computer.
  • 4:49 Kids run down the hall past the office door, squealing. Someone has wronged someone else. I let them handle their own affairs.
  • 4:50 DD2 comes bawling into my room. “Sister HIT ME,” she whimpers. Apparently, DD2 does not like the way her sister handles their affairs. I tell her it’s okay, but she doesn’t want to leave. “I uppie too,” she sobs. I pick her up. I hug her. DD1 stands outside the door with an annoying smirk on her face. I glare in her direction. “Let’s go watch a show,” I insist.
  • 4:51 We turn on PBS. “Dragon Tales” is on. The kids are transfixed. I back away slowly, and check on dinner.
  • A marvelous hour passes, with only minor interruptions. Husband comes home. Dinner is served. The remainder of the evening is a blur of family time and Real Baths and pajamas and bedtime stories and then…
  • It is 8:15 AM, and someone is climbing on me tugging on my shirt.
  • Darn. It’s not DH.
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4 thoughts on “My Typical Day.

  1. hey chick, saw ya at sarah bean’s (the bean bag) and thought i’d pop over to add to your blog stats, and being such a nice person:
    here’s a comment too!!!!!!!!!
    hope you feel really loved…
    happy weekend
    love from kate in The Sunny Bay X

  2. Hey, Kate, thank you! OMG I’m just gushing with emotion now. I feel like .. like.. MISS AMERICA or something. Except I’m married, and have kids, and couldn’t fit into one of those gown thingies. But the emotion’s still there. Oh, wow!

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