A Typical Day

It’s 6:30 am. 

Even before I sluggishly peel my eyelids open, I can hear them. 

The screams radiate through the floorboards into my bedroom, abruptly ending the serenity of the dream I was having.  I hear their little feet slamming onto the floor of the living room as they practice “flying.”  It always amazes me how a person who weighs the same as my cat can sound like a nuclear war.

As I slowly open my eyes I suddenly choke back a scream as they are met with another pair only one inch away.  They belong to the three year old, who has been standing there silently, staring at me while I sleep.  As I struggle to regulate my heart rate he smiles sweetly at me and holds up his ten pound, completely saturated diaper.

“I go potty mommy,” he says, and runs out of the room.  I wince, thinking of what this might mean.  Stumbling into the hallway, I stop to open the door to the baby’s room and get hit instantly by a wall of vile odor.

After changing her, I walk to the bathroom and slowly push open the door.  I swear I can hear horror movie music as I take in the scene before me.  He had gone potty all right – everywhere but in the actual potty (how in the name of gravity did he get the ceiling??).  Not able to face it, I close the door and head downstairs. It will still be there after breakfast.

In the kitchen – the door to the fridge hangs open.  A carton of milk lies on its side on the floor, the white liquid stretching the entire length of the room.  Grabbing a dirty towel from the pile of clothes the hubby seemed to think would add to the decor of our counter top, I mop it up and throw the dripping mess in the sink.  Of course there isn’t a drop left for the now screaming baby who must have her milk in the morning or someone will die – so I desperately grab for the half and half and add another half – of water (so that chemistry class comes in handy after all!).  She sucks it down and ploughs into the banana I carelessly throw onto her tray.

I quickly see the other three have already had their breakfast – gazing upon the empty yogurt tubes on the rug, blueberries ground into the couch cushions, and an entire box of cheerios piled in the center of the floor of the living room.

After everyone has had second breakfast, I am finally able to feed myself.  Feeling my blood sugar rising, I decide to get crazy and fill up the kiddie pool.  I turn on the hose, go back inside to free the baby from her highchair, and suddenly feel a blast of arctic water spraying my backside.  Spinning around, I see that the five year old has brought the hose into the house and is now turning the dining room into Sea World.  Screaming, I force him back outside and manage to turn it off, crying out in exasperation the only word I can manage – "WHY??? "

His reply -- “I wanted to tell you the water was too cold.”

After two hours of splashing, screaming, crying, slipping, and yet one more bowel movement (I knew I should have put that swimmy diaper on!), I dry them, dress them, and begin the marathon that is lunch.  Afterwards I carry their squirming little bodies up to take a nap, screaming all the way.  (Why is it always such a shock to them every day that they have to take a nap?)

When they are finally silent, I thoroughly clean up every single mess that has been made in all sixteen-hundred square feet of the house.  When that is done I decide to put my feet up for just a few minutes.  As soon as I melt into the couch and my eyes close, I hear the pitter patter of little feet thundering down the stairs joyfully and realize it has been two hours – so much for that….

They play happily right up until their father comes home from work, which for some strange reason seems to be their cue to transform into hell monkeys.

After the original dinner is served and pushed aside, fed to the dog, watered with tears of agony, and regurgitated back up (what is so God-awful about meatballs??), they eat their peanut butter sandwiches and get thrown around the room by daddy for a while. 

Now begins the bath circus, the naked kid parade, and the boxing match over what story to read.  Then they jump around the room for an hour while the hubby and I fold the Mt.Vesuvius of laundry on our bed.

It’s 11:30 pm.

Silence.

I gleefully jump into bed, fight back tears of joy as my head feels the sweet coolness of the pillow and take in the sweet aroma of fabric softener.  The soft warm blankets get pulled up to my chin; the hum of the air conditioner begins to lull me back to dreamland.

And that’s when I open my eyes one last time and receive a jolt as I see those same big brown eyes staring happily into mine.  “Mommy…I go potty again!!”

*Sigh*