A typical day in my life occurs somewhere along the spectrum of being thrown into the deep end of a swimming pool (sans floatie), treading water in effort to keep my head up from the moment I wake up am woken up until the moment my lifeless body collapses into bed. It's delightful. And exhausting. At the rate neurons are degenerating, I may not always remember these moments, so I thought I would document a typical DITL.
6:30am*: Wake up to the pitter patter of feet running down the hall and Elise's infallible sing-song "Good morning!", immediately followed by "I want somethin' to EAT!" and the ever-popular "I wanna dip my waffle in my yogrit!" which is the latest breakfast rage in the Golding household.
*Wakeup time varies between 5:45 and 7am, the former of which occurs exclusively on weekends and the latter exclusively on days I need to be at work early on time.
Wakeup till 7:15: Varying degrees of success getting big girls up, dressed, and waffle-dipping, shoes and socks on, hair occasionally brushed and pigtailed, lunches packed, field-trip or camp paperwork and fees appropriately managed for Elle, water play items gathered for Elise.
Wake, diaper, feed Em. Feel momentarily guilty for dressing her in her onesie for the next day at bedtime so as not to be bothered with changing her clothes in the morning. Gather extra diapers and bottles packed for baby. Be sure pump parts/bottles ready for work. Coffee. Make breakfast for myself, then promptly parcel it out to pleading children whose waffle, yogurt, sausage, cheese toast, berries, and eggs were a mere drop in the bucket of their cavernous tummies.
8:00: Leave daycare after surmounting challenges incumbent to each child's station in life. Be glad I didn't forget Em's bottles today. Soothe a brand-new separation anxiety stricken Elise. Patiently Repeatedly explain to Elle why she doesn't really need spending money for the gift shop at the bowling alley today.
5:30-6:00: Pick up kids from daycare and head home to dinner, which is mercifully near completion upon our arrival thanks to Chef Dad. Settle various in-car disputes, save baby from her well-meaning sisters' attempts to feed her mulch, and get debriefed about each of their days on the way home.
6-7: Dinner, which should more aptly be titled "Constant-barrage-of-Mommy-I-
7 - 8 8:30 9:00: Varying degrees of rambunctious (i.e. exceedingly messy) play with E1 and E2 followed by universally unsuccessful coaxing toward bed. Consider bathing them, then remember they went swimming yesterday and that is essentially the same as a bath.
Targeted wiping of smelly areas, removal of macroscopic dirt pieces. Barter the book reading request down from 24 to 3. Read "Just One More". And one more "One More". Say prayers, distribute kisses. Redistribute kisses that were accidentally rubbed off while I attended to the sister. Say goodnight, close door.
Stand near door waiting for the inevitable, "Mommy! Can I ask you something?" Use firm voice. Several times. Anticipate several fugitive attempts by the Tazmanian Devil that Elise becomes at bedtime. Redirect. Use firmer voice. Repeat.
9:00 - 10: Clean to a basic level of tolerable-ness. Prepare lunches, bottles, countless other items for the day ahead. Repair enucleated stuffed animals with whatever tools are available to me. Collapse into bed.
*Not included are items that occur in an essentially continuous fashion such as me asking, "Do you need to potty?!"
**The exclusion of items such as my personal hygeine and grooming is completely intentional as these, of course, do not occur.
**The exclusion of items such as my personal hygeine and grooming is completely intentional as these, of course, do not occur.
Wake up. Do it all over again.
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