So with a few apologies and without further ado...
When I got downstairs this morning at the crack of whenever, the tile floor was ice cold, three dogs needed to be let out, the pressure in my sinuses was beyond awful, I was out of Coke Zero, and I couldn’t think clearly enough to do anything but shuffle back upstairs, inform Rob that breakfast was now his problem and try to use Facebook as an ad hoc stimulator. It didn’t work. This begs the question: why did I even both getting vertical? Not a good beginning. Stumbled into the shower while Rob got Ashton and Sage all Cheerio’d. Wandered back downstairs and found Sage bright eyed, fed and ready to start her day. Ashton was huddled in front of the fan heater, still eating and refusing to move. She eventually tipped over her glass of milk and went bananas when asked to clean it up. That woke her up. Hustled her upstairs for teeth, hair and clothing. It was now 7 am and we have to be out of the house by 7:30. Things are looking grim. There is no flax seed oil at our house, lemon flavored or otherwise.
Getting Ashton into the car on time was a challenge; she’s in the middle of a ten year phase where she never seems to be responding to me (“Time to put on your shoes, Time to put on your shoes, Time to put on your shoes, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GET THOSE SHOES ON YOUR FEET BEFORE I NAIL THEM TO YOUR TOES ” … No response.) It is the last day of the week and I need to collect various bits of dry cleaning for drop off. Once the kids really understand that I cannot go anywhere without those clothes, they start to yell for Daddy to come help Mommy. Daddy tries, but… Let’s just leave it at that.
Somehow managed to get to school just as the old-fashioned bell rang – by parking a block away, across the street and up a hill on a drizzly 36 degree morning and running in work pumps with Ashton’s pack and lunch whilst she happily ran ahead and yelled for me to go faster Momma, FASTER! She became highly irritated when I admonished her to not run so close to the car line (growing her took nine long uncomfortable months and I have a vested interest in keeping all those bits together) and she snapped at me to leave her alone. We (not so) happily stomped along while I whisper under my breath that she was disrespectful and I am not above having a Wal-Mart moment in front of her friends - just missing the tardy slip lady, and I delivered her to her room in nick of time. Was informed that she passed the 4 minute subtraction test with a 100 – fabulous! Refrained from letting teacher know that timed subtraction tests for seven year olds are archaic and the superintendent needs a good talking-to while I smiled, thanked her, and resolved to be more patient with my little Einstein tomorrow morning. Ashton wasn’t a bit teary today even though I hung around and watched her through the window. In fact, she never even looks back. She’s either incredibly well adjusted, or I am a craptastically crabby mother. I’ll ask her therapist in 20 years.
When all was well I ran down the hill, across the street and another block back to the car as fast as possible but was still late to work – missed the market open by 9 minutes. Did my makeup in the car and slipped my still damp hair into a low ponytail. Rushed through the parking garage, down a flight of stairs, across the windy walk (oops, left wool coat in the car) and took the elevator up another flour flights. On a less manic day – never mind. All of my days are manic. This is my seven hours in the office to work on compliance, place trades, serve as escalated customer service, respond to regulatory inquiries, answer phone calls, answer any and all manner of questions, train the assistant and whatever else I have going on. Like the FlyLady schedule at home, planning my weekly menu, making a grocery list, looking at vacation options we cannot afford, and calling Rob until he wakes up to remind him to put dinner in the slow cooker.
When I am given the all clear I rush out the door, stop by the bank, the grocery store, the dry cleaner and Target to purchase a gift for the birthday party Ashton was invited to at 8 pm last night. If I am lucky and the commute is easy, I tornado myself into the house 45 minutes later with various assorted bags and packages, preheat the oven to 425 degrees, put away groceries, start a load of wash, unload the dishwasher, pop the tater tots in (classy, I know) wrap the gift and then take off my coat. It is to be noted that I’m still in 3” heels and it’s been 10 hours. The family may or may not notice that I am home, but they do eventually hear noises in the kitchen and wander in my direction. What up, Pavlovians.
Dinner is OK. Homemade barbeque sauce, while undeniably healthier, doesn’t have as much going for it as KC Masterpiece. This could be in part because I used a dusty bottle of Old Crow for my bourbon and substituted red wine vinegar for apple cider vinegar. I’m a working mother. We improvise. Finally had a fitting with super stylist Clothing Still in the Dryer for my upcoming trip to the couch. I sifted through a myriad of wee little socks and t’s until I located no fewer than three looks – red plaid pajama bottoms, hunter plaid pajama bottoms, and white and blue plaid pajama bottoms. I had headache by the end of it from bending over at the waist and having all that blood rush to my head while I searched. I managed to finalize the look with a not terribly stained white t-shirt and sank gratefully into the couch to drill spelling words with Ashton and assure Sage that her belief system of God, Santa and Ghosts is perfectly valid.
At 7:30 pm I sent the girls upstairs with clean pajamas and strict instructions to brush their teeth. There was a fair amount of giggling, squealing and blustering (from Rob), but I dozed off sitting bolt upright on the couch without ascertaining the thoroughness of the bedtime routine. I meant to bathe them, but exhaustion prevailed. At 8:30 I head into my office (the kitchen) with a nice 20 ounces of Coke Zero for an hour or two of cleaning and prepping for tomorrow night’s dinner. I am doing this every evening, but today’s session is extra special – I have no idea what to make, and no deliveries from a fishmonger, or any other kind of monger, are forthcoming. I indulge in a huge bowl of oil (not flaxseed) popped popcorn and a recorded episode of the new Hawaii Five-O before bed, but I don’t feel too bad because I am so over my Weight Watchers points that nothing can save my dietary day. It’s all about justification!
My night to lay with Sage so I kiss Ashton’s sleeping cheek, say a prayer and go into my room with a Sookie Stackhouse novel for some quiet time with my book and a snoring and loudly thumb-sucking four year old. At least she’s drooling on Rob’s pillow. As soon as all was quiet, I flung myself into bed. 11:29 pm, exhausted and have to do it all again tomorrow!
Getting Ashton into the car on time was a challenge; she’s in the middle of a ten year phase where she never seems to be responding to me (“Time to put on your shoes, Time to put on your shoes, Time to put on your shoes, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GET THOSE SHOES ON YOUR FEET BEFORE I NAIL THEM TO YOUR TOES ” … No response.) It is the last day of the week and I need to collect various bits of dry cleaning for drop off. Once the kids really understand that I cannot go anywhere without those clothes, they start to yell for Daddy to come help Mommy. Daddy tries, but… Let’s just leave it at that.
Somehow managed to get to school just as the old-fashioned bell rang – by parking a block away, across the street and up a hill on a drizzly 36 degree morning and running in work pumps with Ashton’s pack and lunch whilst she happily ran ahead and yelled for me to go faster Momma, FASTER! She became highly irritated when I admonished her to not run so close to the car line (growing her took nine long uncomfortable months and I have a vested interest in keeping all those bits together) and she snapped at me to leave her alone. We (not so) happily stomped along while I whisper under my breath that she was disrespectful and I am not above having a Wal-Mart moment in front of her friends - just missing the tardy slip lady, and I delivered her to her room in nick of time. Was informed that she passed the 4 minute subtraction test with a 100 – fabulous! Refrained from letting teacher know that timed subtraction tests for seven year olds are archaic and the superintendent needs a good talking-to while I smiled, thanked her, and resolved to be more patient with my little Einstein tomorrow morning. Ashton wasn’t a bit teary today even though I hung around and watched her through the window. In fact, she never even looks back. She’s either incredibly well adjusted, or I am a craptastically crabby mother. I’ll ask her therapist in 20 years.
When all was well I ran down the hill, across the street and another block back to the car as fast as possible but was still late to work – missed the market open by 9 minutes. Did my makeup in the car and slipped my still damp hair into a low ponytail. Rushed through the parking garage, down a flight of stairs, across the windy walk (oops, left wool coat in the car) and took the elevator up another flour flights. On a less manic day – never mind. All of my days are manic. This is my seven hours in the office to work on compliance, place trades, serve as escalated customer service, respond to regulatory inquiries, answer phone calls, answer any and all manner of questions, train the assistant and whatever else I have going on. Like the FlyLady schedule at home, planning my weekly menu, making a grocery list, looking at vacation options we cannot afford, and calling Rob until he wakes up to remind him to put dinner in the slow cooker.
When I am given the all clear I rush out the door, stop by the bank, the grocery store, the dry cleaner and Target to purchase a gift for the birthday party Ashton was invited to at 8 pm last night. If I am lucky and the commute is easy, I tornado myself into the house 45 minutes later with various assorted bags and packages, preheat the oven to 425 degrees, put away groceries, start a load of wash, unload the dishwasher, pop the tater tots in (classy, I know) wrap the gift and then take off my coat. It is to be noted that I’m still in 3” heels and it’s been 10 hours. The family may or may not notice that I am home, but they do eventually hear noises in the kitchen and wander in my direction. What up, Pavlovians.
Dinner is OK. Homemade barbeque sauce, while undeniably healthier, doesn’t have as much going for it as KC Masterpiece. This could be in part because I used a dusty bottle of Old Crow for my bourbon and substituted red wine vinegar for apple cider vinegar. I’m a working mother. We improvise. Finally had a fitting with super stylist Clothing Still in the Dryer for my upcoming trip to the couch. I sifted through a myriad of wee little socks and t’s until I located no fewer than three looks – red plaid pajama bottoms, hunter plaid pajama bottoms, and white and blue plaid pajama bottoms. I had headache by the end of it from bending over at the waist and having all that blood rush to my head while I searched. I managed to finalize the look with a not terribly stained white t-shirt and sank gratefully into the couch to drill spelling words with Ashton and assure Sage that her belief system of God, Santa and Ghosts is perfectly valid.
At 7:30 pm I sent the girls upstairs with clean pajamas and strict instructions to brush their teeth. There was a fair amount of giggling, squealing and blustering (from Rob), but I dozed off sitting bolt upright on the couch without ascertaining the thoroughness of the bedtime routine. I meant to bathe them, but exhaustion prevailed. At 8:30 I head into my office (the kitchen) with a nice 20 ounces of Coke Zero for an hour or two of cleaning and prepping for tomorrow night’s dinner. I am doing this every evening, but today’s session is extra special – I have no idea what to make, and no deliveries from a fishmonger, or any other kind of monger, are forthcoming. I indulge in a huge bowl of oil (not flaxseed) popped popcorn and a recorded episode of the new Hawaii Five-O before bed, but I don’t feel too bad because I am so over my Weight Watchers points that nothing can save my dietary day. It’s all about justification!
My night to lay with Sage so I kiss Ashton’s sleeping cheek, say a prayer and go into my room with a Sookie Stackhouse novel for some quiet time with my book and a snoring and loudly thumb-sucking four year old. At least she’s drooling on Rob’s pillow. As soon as all was quiet, I flung myself into bed. 11:29 pm, exhausted and have to do it all again tomorrow!
