I knew it was going to be One of Those Days when the baby woke up at 5 am. I need him to sleep until at least 5:30 am to avoid his second, for-real-and-serious waking two hours later happening smack-dab in the middle of my window to get Noah out of bed and dressed and eating breakfast.
Now, I have never, ever been one to brag about my time management skills, because prior to having all these children I never HAD any time management skills. I was someone who routinely lied to her dayplanner to give herself an extra crucial 20 minutes of lead time for meetings and who, back when I had one teeny tiny solitary little baby, it once took over two hours to get to a Starbucks less than six blocks away. So while I don't know EXACTLY what it means that now my days are so hyper-regimented that I can basically predict that a day is completely fuxxored by 5:03 in the morning, but let's just call it "personal growth" and get on with things already.
Anyway. 5 am. I nurse the baby and put him back down and briefly debate just staying up and showering and getting a head start on work and haaaaaaaaaaa as fucking if I totally go back to bed.
The morning went exactly as expected. Ike started howling for second breakfast the minute Jason got in the shower (WHATEVER, MR. FANCY WORKING IN AN OFFICE PANTS) and I was trying to get Noah's breakfast on the table, which I know, doesn't sound that hard, but considering Noah's breakfast consists of...
1) Dark blue bowl (NOT TURQUOISE) of dry Cheerios
2) Yellow spoon
3) Banana, peeled, on yellow plate
4) Waffle with honey, on any color plate because he's JUST SO SUPER FLEXIBLE
5) Green fork
6) SpongeBob sippy cup of fruity milk (milk, plain yogurt, frozen fruit and vegetables, blended, mixed with a bunch of overpriced hippie herbal serums that are supposed to keep him calm, focused and from like, losing his shit over the wrong color spoon)
7) Trader Joe's multi-vitamin, please be a lion shape please be a lion shape oh it's a hippo EVERYTHING IS TERRIBLE
...there's actually quite a prep work involved, and it takes him approximately two-and-a-half hours to eat all that. If I can get everything on the table by 7:30 am and keep him from launching into long-winded recaps of the Smurfs movie, he has 45 minutes before we have to leave for the bus stop.
Back upstairs, feed Ike. Check on Ezra, still asleep. Go downstairs, make coffee. Back upstairs, put on pants. Jason leaves, babysitter arrives, probably immediately finds seventeen things to silently judge me for but AT LEAST I AM WEARING PANTS. TODAY. THIS TIME.
I put Noah's second-string lunch bag in his backpack and remind him to please please please check the lost-and-found for the one he lost yesterday, then head out to the bus stop with him, quietly panicking every few seconds because it's garbage pick-up day and EVERY. FREAKING. TIME. I hear the garbage truck somewhere in the neighborhood I think it's the school bus and that we are missing it.
We do not miss the bus, but right as it turns the corner into view, someone points out that Noah's backpack is leaking. I open it to discover that I didn't screw the top of his water bottle on correctly and the entire thing has flooded both his lunch box and backpack. I dump as much water out as I can into the grass and tell Noah his backpack will dry and luckily everything else in there was encased in plastic containers or laminated.
One of the fifth graders snottily informs me that "there are water fountains at our school, you know." I shoot them a look, because I am an asshole.
Back home, upstairs. Ike is sleeping again. Advice column. Kind of a sad one. Require consolation nacho chips at 9:15 am. An interview with Carla Hall for Mamapop at 9:45, and probably the main reason I put on pants, because I think that kind of professionalism comes through over the phone. Approve mass of moderated comments at Amalah's West, attempt to get email under control and make sense of half-written notes I took during the call with Carla.
Babysitter and Ezra head out to the playground -- she asks if I want her to take Ike too, but oh, he's sleeping so nicely, we're fine, have fun, wear sunscreen, etc.
Front door closes, Ike wakes up. Okay. I type the rest of the interview one-handed while nursing. Then more nursing. Change his diaper. Put him down on the bed next to me for some song-singing and tummy-tickling and...
Oh. Time to wash the bedspread. And...the sheet. And the sheet under that. Probably the mattress pad too, just to be safe. And give the baby a bath. And never speak of that particular diaper again.
Ezra goes down for a nap.
Ezra gets up from his nap.
Ezra goes down for a nap, DUDE, I MEAN IT.
Realize there's a series of increasingly-annoyed voicemails on my phone from an appliance repairman who was supposed to come to look at our non-freezing freezer today but I forgot about it and didn't hear the phone and now he is leaving the neighborhood and we need to call to reschedule and why didn't he just knock on the damn door? Whatever, FLOUNCE CAT. And whatever, three-year-old malfunctioning WHIRLPOOL PIECE OF CRAP.
Nurse. Sense that I have forgotten to do something, as usual.
Ike goes down for a nap. Oh my God, the impossible dream. Achieved in my lifetime and...
Ezra gets up from his nap.
I find myself explaining -- in great detail, too -- why we don't wipe our butts with paper towels.
Ezra goes down for "I don't care what you do, but you will do it in your room, and you will do it QUIETLY."
The toilet gets a good plunging.
Text Jason about the repairman snafu and that we will probably need to by a new bedspread, or else buy another decorative pillow that brings a delightful shade of mustard yellow into the room. Also we should probably not talk about the hallway bathroom for awhile.
Try to finish up assorted odds and ends, start this blog entry...and realize that hey. If I can wrap this up within the next 10 minutes before Noah comes home, I'll have gotten everything done after all! Unbelievable. See, self? This three-kids thing really isn't that bad, provided you have help when you need it and prioritize and don't let little things rattle you too badly. I mean, going back and re-reading this I'm actually not seeing anything that went too neglected or...oh.
MORAL OF THE STORY: Hire part-time babysitting help. Then skip every last basic aspect of your personal hygiene, from showering to brushing your teeth, and eat nothing except a handful of nacho chips at 9:15 in the morning. You'll be fine.
EPILOGUE: OH MY GOD I AM SO HUNGRY.
And also you smell like poop, a little bit.