Today has been one of those days. You know the ones I’m talking about – the ones where everything that can go wrong actually does, from the second you wake up until the moment you try and go to sleep.
My day started at 4:55; I woke up and went to pee. At 5AM my husband got out of bed to get ready to go to his thrice weekly workout. That’s right, three times a week my husband leaves at 5:20AM so he can go and workout. I bitched about it for like 8 months, but now that I get to actually reap the benefits of snuggling with an almost six pack (something I had thought was absurdly unnecessary until I actually did it) I try to stay mum. He is blending his breakfast shake and the hum of the blender is infiltrating my brain and keeping me awake. Six pack, six pack, six pack, I repeat to myself in order to stay in bed and not go upstairs, rip the blender out of the wall, and tell him to go shove it somewhere where it won’t interrupt my last 40 minutes of sleep before one of the kids wakes up.
It’s now 5:40 and I’m still up; the goings-on of the impending day are whirling in my head, keeping me awake. Don’t forget to do this. Make sure to pack that. Pick up this. Drop off that.
Somewhere around 6AM I must have fallen back to sleep. 6:07 comes along and… “MOOOOMMMM” is being shouted over the monitor. Man is awake. Some days this absurdly loud shouting of my title does not wake up his sister, but of course, today, it does.
By 6:08 we are all up. She is excessively snotty and crying in my arms, on day three of her cold and having been awakened earlier than expected. He is in my bathroom ready to play with my makeup.
“Man, come get into my bed and pick a show to watch while I get dressed.” (i.e. get my sweatpants and t-shirt off the floor from last night and put them back on)
“No, I need to get ready.”
Today, “ready” meant placing two blush brushes and a mascara in the shower drain while I Nosefrida’d his sister. Those were my last two non-pissed on, non-sucked on, relatively clean blush brushes and now they are covered in drain slime. He pried off the cover and stuck them in. He has drain slime on his hands and as I look closer I realize it’s in his hair. Once he has recovered from Ebola he will need a bath. This means she will insist on having one as well.
It is 6:42 and we are all dried and dressed.
It was a blog publishing morning, which meant I would personally need about three extra minutes to get everything ready before hitting “publish”. I know, I know, expecting even three minutes of uninterrupted time is a joke in itself.
Of course, the picture was only uploading in thumbnail size, so three minutes turned to 15… Therefore, Man had enough time to not eat his breakfast AND pull a chair over to the staircase, climb over the gate, go upstairs, open the bottom of the bird cage and dump tons of empty nut shells and bird shit on the floor. His overly snotty sister then covered her hands and face with this crap. She looked like a Girls Scouts project for a home-bird feeder. You know the ones where they cover a pine cone in peanut butter and then roll it in bird seed. I could have hung her out the window just like that and it would have been like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.
Blog published; picture still thumbnail size.
Now clean, Lady spills a bag of dried split peas… Man must have unlocked the cabinet. Damn it.
The peas will have to stay where they are; it’s time to leave for school. (To all non-parents, this is why your friends with kids have dirty, shitty, houses.)
Man insists on wearing his high top Converse. These are difficult shoes to put on, especially for Man who can’t stay still long enough for me to even untie them. Ten minutes and many tears later (some of them mine) we are on our way to school with no time to spare
There is construction on the two miles of road between us and school. I say “FUCK” instead of my usual “fudge”.
Man shouts “FUCK”.
Lady shouts “UCK”.
We are late to school.
The day continues like this, one mishap after another.
A lunch refusal here, a shouting match over changing a diaper there (YOU SHOULD BE POTTY TRAINED, MAN), a 45 minute nap from Lady and no nap from Man…and the day continues.
At one point I remind myself that soon I am going to drop Man off at his Bubbie’s house for the night and I will be rid of him for 12 whole hours! The hubby is off to a baseball game and Lady napped like crap so she will be down by 6:30. This means that if I play my cards right, I could have like four hours of uninterrupted alone time while it’s still early enough to actually enjoy them.
I drop Man off at Bubbie’s. He goes inside, turns around and before I even have my foot in the door he yells, “Leave now, mommy” and waves his hand dismissively.
My heart is aching and I head home.
I make the mistake of posting on Facebook about the awesomeness that is going to be my “alone time”. Even as my fingers are typing the words my brain is screaming “Nooooooo, don’t do it – it can only end badly after this!”
At 6:20 I lay my little Lady down to sleep.
At 6:27 she projectile vomits all over herself, her bed, and her carpet.
My husband got to work out and he is now enjoying beers and ribs at a baseball game, I’m cleaning milk filled puke from the crevices of a crib. Fudge him!
It’s now 8:50. I have yet to take a sip of that wine that is sitting in my kitchen. Many unwatched episodes of Homeland are still waiting for me to press play. It has totally been one of THOSE days!