Sometimes when my husband (sweetly) asks what I did all day, a Bridget Jones-like voice pops into my head and starts to narrate the beautiful chaos that is stay-at-home motherhood. She sounds something like this:
4:45 a.m.: Gaaaaaah! Baby howling somewhere in house. But which one: 14-month-old in crib, or 2-year-old in toddler bed? Perhaps husband should find out.
Kick husband harder.
Husband rolls away.
Give up, get out of bed, wake up enough to realize screaming is coming from 14-month-old (Baby). Stagger around nursery looking for missing pacifier. Step on pacifier. Howl louder than Baby. Stagger back to bed.
6:45: Alarm rings. Ha! Laugh before turning it off.
7:20: Gaaaaaah! Kindergartner standing above bed, two inches from face. Has not come to present award for general excellence in motherhood. Rather, wants to know what iPad password is.
7:35: Treadmill. Way too hard. Must really stop with all the sugar and caffeine. Ummmm … sugar and caffeine. Run, sing along to Pandora Internet Radio, wonder why Miley Cyrus is breaking walls like a rainbow. Find odd. Twice interrupted by Kindergartner, airing iPad-related grievances.
8:05: Confiscate iPad, hide it in closet. Wake up Baby and 2-year-old. Fix breakfast, check homework, have brief argument about whether or not two oldest boys can wear shorts when temp is below 30 (no). Send boys to clean room. Cartoons for 2-year-old. Shower, with Baby holding onto legs.
9:20: Drop oldest son off at school five minutes late (right on time).
10: “What Not to Wear” showdown with 2-year-old daughter, who is no longer a ballerina, nor a princess, but a “Fashion Combination.” Unsure as to exact meaning of title, but think it involves dumping every item from drawers in middle of night. Give up, allow Fashion Combination to dress herself in unseasonal pink ballerina tutu.
10:15: Gaaaaaah! Baby has crawled away during showdown. Is OK. Have baby-proofed house top to bottom. Start checking bathrooms. Baby loves toilets.
10:16: Found Baby, who found (unused) “fly stick” hidden in back of pantry. Is horrible, sticky contraption filled with glue meant to catch insects. Baby covered in glue. Mom covered in glue.
10:19: Tearful call to fly stick manufacturer’s headquarters to make sure glue is nontoxic (yes) and am still considered adequate mother (no comment).
12:40 p.m.: Drop Kindergartner off for school five minutes late (right on time). Kindergartner’s face is stained with ketchup, and Kindergartner is wearing same shirt as yesterday. Wonder if teacher notices such things. Pray she is too busy worrying about the spread of head lice and Utah’s swelling class sizes to keep track of certain student’s reprehensible hygiene habits.
1:50: Stars, sun and moon have aligned and Baby and Fashion Combination are both napping. Happy, happy day!
Settle down at computer to finish freelance article. But first will just check Facebook. Despair at number of friends relaxing on tropical beaches. Is everyone in Hawaii? Will unfriend all such individuals. Will keep only friends posting pictures of Diet Dr. Pepper or cats. Ummmm … Diet Dr. Pepper. Have not eaten today, except granola crumbs under Baby’s high chair (am disgusting human garbage disposal).
1:55: Will just make lunch. Will make healthy lunch to set good example for darling children. Will eat yogurt, and edamame … and … and … frosting straight from tub.
1:56: Gaaaaaah! Baby crying. Never mind.
3:40: Boys home from school. Best part of day. Listen to Elementary School Narratives while dispensing snacks. Did teacher really tell 8-year-old he is the second smartest kid in the class?
Begin folding clothes from Laundry Pit of Despair. Hate, hate, laundry. Is stupid chore. Resolve to let kindergartner wear same clothes every day.
4:30: Remember family eats dinner. Remember was supposed to make said dinner in Crock-Pot this morning. Open fridge. Can make chicken soft tacos to disguise scary leftovers and trick offspring/husband into eating them. Am brilliant, happy homemaker.
4:55: Happy, happy day! Husband home almost two hours early! Cannot believe good fortune.
Except … husband mumbles something about Webelos and dashes back out the door. Is such a tease. What even is a Webelo? Is not a real thing. Consider cleaning up house for darling children to admire. But then remember am not crazy.
7: Boys off to wrestling (Kindergartener) and basketball (8-year-old). Try to read book to Baby and Fashion Combination. Baby rips book, won’t sit in lap. Start silent countdown to bedtime.
8:30: Family scripture study. Boys wrestling each other. Fashion Combination giving herself villain moustache with red lip gloss. Husband plows on. Say prayers, brush teeth, dispense stories and snuggles. Mother heart swells. Cannot believe amount of love have for beautiful, perfect angel children, especially when beautiful, perfect angel children are going to bed.
9 p.m.: Happy, happy day! Kids asleep.
9:02: Give drinks of water, tuck Kindergartner back into bed, threaten to turn off Fashion Combination’s night light if she doesn’t go to sleep. Rethink opinion of children: May actually be spawn of Satan.
9:30: Kids really asleep. Happy, happy day! Free, free at last! Should clean kitchen, but prefer to soak in bathtub reading murder mystery about mom who solves crimes at naptime. Realize have overlooked crime solving as possible career. Surely it pays better than journalism? Will just add to “to-do” list.
10 p.m.: “So what did you do today?” sweetly asks Dear Husband, man whose “work” consists of alarming amount of golf and business lunches.
Where, oh where, to begin …