Apr 15, 2012

A Day in the Life

So I recently read an article in which a woman defends the fact that stay-at-home mothers are in fact busy. I concur.

After reading about a typical day in this mom's life I was inspired - and thoughtful. When my husband arrives home in the evening I am usually pooped. I thought about what I do all day that makes me feel as though I've been hit by a truck. I decided I would share a day in OUR life. Enjoy.

At 7am the princess wakes and promptly begins screaming for mommy because she has a child safety cover on her doorknob so she doesn't escape during the night and again attempt to light her talking big bird on fire. After chasing her into her tent and dragging her out by one leg, I change her diaper and put her pants (which she removes periodically during the night or upon waking and places in her sock drawer or hamper) back on her.

Next order of business is breakfast. She cries for waffles and "tell-o" (Nutella) so while the waffle is in the toaster I flip on Cat-in-the-Hat and attempt to fry eggs for the hubs and I. Apparently the Cat isn't doing anything of particular interest so she begins screaming for her tell-o again. I then remember the waffle I put in the toaster which is now, um, nice and crispy and while checking the freezer for another, realize we are out. I spread the Nutella over the blackened parts and hope she won't notice. Adam wakes up and he and I attempt to eat eggs while MC spreads Nutella on her hands like lotion.

After cleaning up a chocolate explosion, Adam is off to school and I am off to the shower since our playgroup starts in less than an hour. I have to close every door in the house which is also equipped with a child safety knob and make sure all outside entrances are locked and dead bolted. Then, I attempt to shower while sticking my head out every 35 seconds telling MC to: put the nail polish back in the cabinet, take my high heels off her hands and feet, stop pulling the toilet paper off the roll, and Bath and Body Works body mist is not a toy. Slightly clean I step out of the shower and hurry to get ready so I'm not "that mom" who's late to playgroup.

After bribing MC with an old eyeshadow brush, I finally get her hair fixed, diaper changed, and dressed. I pack her book bag with milk and snacks which she immediately sees and begins screaming for. It is now all of 9:45.

I spend most of playgroup chasing her around because she doesn't understand the concept of suicide and neither do most playground equipment manufacturers. After 2 hours of running, jumping, and otherwise keeping my child from certain death, its time to head home for lunch. This is always fun because dragging a two year old from a playground is about as much fun as being dressed as the statue of liberty holding a sign outside one of those Check-into-Cash places.

While preparing a nutritious lunch of hummus, pita chips, carrot sticks, and cheese cubes, I attempt to reheat leftover Chef-Boyardee ravioli my princess refused to eat the night before for myself. After bit number 2 MC is usually finished and now leaving a hummus hand print trail across the living room. We clean up hands and hummus and since she doesn't nap anymore we spend the next 2 hours in a schizophrenic montage of playing dress up, stacking blocks, doing puzzles, reading books, and having tea parties. In the midst of all of this I try to sneak away momentarily to unload and load dishes, do laundry, and clean up toys. When I make it all the way to 277 counting in our hide and seek game and no one has "seeked" her yet because I'm in the kitchen chopping vegetables for dinner, MC attempts to find me and promptly throws a tantrum because I'm not participating.

I remember I need one more thing for dinner and add "WAFFLES" in all caps to my list. I change her diaper, pack the bag, and run out the door to the grocery store. When we get to the car I realize I've forgotten my list but refuse to go back through the door, across the breeze way, through the next door, into the elevator and down the hall to our apartment to retrieve it. After loading up MC in the car seat and listening to 5 minutes of screaming because she wants to watch the "Big Bird's Wish"DVD for the millionth time, we arrive in the parking garage of the grocery store. We get inside and buy our items, stopping at each and every sample station because we all know at age 2 MC has never tried things like oranges and cheese. After we check out and get back in the car to drive home I realize I forgot the waffles. Go back in? Not happening. I make a mental note for tomorrow - go to grocery store. Again.

After loading the bags in the stroller (because we all know we never leave a grocery store with the one item we went in to get) I push it the half a mile to our apartment door while telling MC to stop touching elevator buttons and poking the bug she's found on the breeze way. We get in and I unload while she begs for me to put on the tiger mask so she can play vet. I put it on and roar and cough while she listens to my arm with her stethoscope. I remember I forgot the laundry in the dryer and try to get it folded while my doctor beats on my head with her thermometer.

After laundry is folded and put away, I suggest we walk to the park so I can finally have an excuse to get out of the tiger mask I have been wearing for the last half hour. This requires changing another diaper while she screams she wants to go down the slide and me explaining girls with pee-pee diapers aren't allowed on slides - and maybe a comment or two under my breath about not having to deal with diaper changes if she would just use the potty.

We make it outside and pass the apartment complexes playground. Screaming ensues again.

After making it across the street to the park we begin the 1 hour walk because we have to stop and pick up or touch every caterpillar, bug, ant, or stick-we-think-might-be-a- caterpillar on the way. By the time we make it to the playground and repeat the process of attempted suicide, MC is tired and insists on being carried the rest of the way home. Its about a mile. Uphill.

We return to the house and after being carried, MC is ready to go. I want to effing die. I make some water and we have our 10 minute battle of "MC you need to drink some water" "NO! I want chocolate milk!". I may or may not give in to have 25 seconds of silence.

Its now dinner time and we usually like to play the "MC-what-do-you-want-for-dinner-I-want-M&M's-No-you-can't-have-M&M's-for-dinner game. This continues about 15 minutes until I finally just chose something only to have her turn up her nose and not eat at all. I give her a bath while singing "do your ears hang low" approximately 36 times and then get her in a clean diaper and pajamas. By the time I dry her hair she has pooped in her diaper and we get to change it while listening to her scream that now she wants to play dress up. I change her dress up outfit about 9 times because she takes after her mother and could qualify as the world's most indecisive person. We play princess and put spells on stuffed animals until I tell her its time for bed. 100th tantrum of the day.

We get her back into her pajamas, well, new pajamas because she has decided that Dora is no longer acceptable and wants Minnie mouse. She cries again because Minnie mouse is dirty. I somehow convince her to settle on Elmo pants and a cupcake shirt.

We brush her teeth which also requires an energetic rendition of a Barney song, then we're off to choose two books to read. This takes no less than 10 minutes because, as previously mentioned, she is utterly indecisive. If I attempt to choose for her there is yelling. If I hear more yelling I will go into a coma and then she'll never get put to sleep. So I wait.

We get into bed, read our two books, say our prayers, turn on our ladybug star light, nightlight, and music. After kisses and hugs I close the door and look forward to eating my 8:30 pm dinner. I sit down on the couch with my meal and wait for the inevitable. There it is. "Mommy! I scared!". I ignore it for as long as possible but when the fingers stick out from under the door I succumb to guilt and go back in her room and put her back in bed. We do this for about and hour and then I get to eat.

A few minutes later, about 10pm, Adam walks in and asks how my day was."Good."

1 comment:

Mary Pauline said...

Oh this sounds so very familiar, except ours would include school lessons. I promise, Jessica, parts of the day WILL get easier..... but then you will face challenges that you never thought possible! But I also promise, that in a few years, you will look back on this and miss it! These days - tantrums and all - are precious and go by so berg, very fast..... It seems like just yesterday we were dealing with all of that with my oldest, he just turned 7!


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