A Day in the Life

I know you’re jealous of my life.  You don’t have to admit it or anything; we can just share that little secret between the two of us, that you want to be me.   Believe me, I know – when you have this glamorous existence as the example before you, you can’t help but be envious.  It’s okay.

So today I thought I’d just write down what it’s like, with all the fun of having young children, a full-time-part-time job, two furries, and living “on the farm,” all while trying to overhaul your family’s eating habits, so you can go ahead and start the Fun of Being Me.  I’m just sayin’, some days are better than others, but I gotta get through them all.  So here’s this morning, just for kicks:

Wake up.  Hair’s crazy.  One kid’s doing the homework he forgot to do the afternoon before, one kid’s asleep.  Kiss awake kid.  Answer math question. 

Go upstairs to wake up sleepyhead.  Sleepyhead is unimpressed by singing, gentle rubbing of back, kisses, or talking.  Crawl under covers with sleepyhead and consider whether being on time to school is a mandate or more of a suggested lifestyle.  Consider homeschooling.  Picture living in a cardboard box.  Drag child from bed and carry her downstairs for breakfast.

Realize that Carter is wearing shorts and it’s 40 degrees outside.  Ask him to go put on pants.  Make a waffle for Sarah Cate while answering her questions about why people wear pants.  Start making Carter’s lunch attached to Sarah Cate, who is practicing her lace-tying skills on my drawstring pajamas.  Wait while she double knots the strings.

Feel shards of glass rake down my butt and legs; realize that is just Max saying "hi."  Let the cat out.  Wake up the dog.  Let the cat in.  Feed them both, because the dog won’t go out till she’s had breakfast.   Let the dog out.  Let the cat out.  Let the cat in, who has changed his mind, but first wait while he rubs his face on the door.  Reassure him that yes, he owns the door.  It is his.  Now get the heck in the house.

Realize I have to pee RIGHT NOW (yet another gift-that-keeps-on-giving of having children -- when you gotta go you gotta go immediately or risk peeing on yourself, and let us not discuss the rather inconvenient results of sneezing during the mad rush to the bathroom).  Run to the bathroom with legs crossed (rare yet unmarketable talent), but first spend two minutes untying double knot in pajamas.  Realize that the last person used all but 1 square inch of toilet paper.  Curse this person.  

Get dressed.  Reassure myself that a ponytail is a very stylish fashion statement, even if that statement is “lazy and late yet again.”  Stumble over Sarah Cate, who is “hiding” behind me, completely naked.  Ask her to go get dressed.  Do not believe this will actually happen.  Walk past the bathroom and see the closet is still open, but now can’t close it because there’s a cat on the third shelf. 

Walk upstairs to motivate children.  Notice Carter has changed into pants, but is rocking some wildly different colors.  Suspect he may be color blind or just possibly blind. Ask him to try Attempt #3 at getting dressed, this time with pants that actually match the shirt.  Find Sarah Cate in her underwear singing “Let It Go” at the top of her lungs playing with My Little Ponies, very diligently not getting dressed.  Admonish her, step on a Lego, fix Carter’s collar since he is apparently channeling Danny Zuko today, and overlook the chocolate milk stain on the shirt because it does actually match the pants and we can't have everything.  Answer questions about Batman’s family while dressing Sarah Cate:  how does he know when people need him, does he have a “real job,” what does Robin do, can Robin fly, where is the location of their “underground lair,” does the lair have bats, are they vampire bats, how does Batman know if people need him in the daytime if he can’t see the bat-light, what does Alfred do?

Usher both kids downstairs and brush Sarah Cate’s hair while watching Carter’s replay of his last game of Mario Kart, which is vitally important to him and completely unlike every other Mario Kart game because in this particular game, Peach makes a “funny sound.”  Wait while Sarah Cate determines whether she is Elsa or Anna today, so I can braid her hair in the proper manner.  Try to close the bathroom closet while she finishes this internal debate, but cat is now on the second shelf.  She is Elsa, so one braid.  Listen not-quite-so-attentively while they recount almost word-for-word the entire scene before Anna punches the crappy prince.

Go back to Carter’s lunch.  Hear “Let It Go” for the eighth (or possibly eight thousandth) time.  Ask children to put on shoes, which necessitates their looking in every room in the house only to find them in the laundry room, which is where they always are.  Get jackets.  Get backpacks.  Realize I have not made myself a lunch; grab a banana.  Define the word “optimism” for Carter and then “pessimism.”  Lock the door and go to the car, start it, and realize I forgot my computer.  Curse silently with very satisfying words.

Pause Carter in mid-question about what is the smallest animal in the world, go get the computer, and come back to explain amoebas.  Drive out the gate while attempting to not run over Sadie, who insists upon walking down the middle of the driveway.  Both children now insist they are hungry again even though they ate breakfast.  Split my banana in half and give it to them.  Enjoy a heartfelt rendition of “My Banana Has An Infinitesimal Brown Spot And Therefore Is Now Inedible” by Sarah Cate.  Bite off brown spot and hand it back. 

Listen to them laugh in the back seat all the way to Carter’s school.  

I know you wanna be me.  And that was only half an hour.