A Day in the Life – originally published October 3, 2008

If anyone told me ten years ago, or even five years ago, what my life would be like today I would never believe them. In fact, I would probably freak out.

5:25 am – alarm goes off. Feel unusually refreshed as NO ONE WOKE UP LAST NIGHT. Leave the house to go to the yoga studio, after consuming a fruit leather and thinking I probably didn’t need that second supersize glass of wine last night.

7:00 – get home and immediately start feeding the dog and the kids. Prepare breakfast smoothie for Mark and Dino Egg oatmeal for Jake, while simultaneously scarfing down cereal and wondering why the coffee takes so long to perculate. Clean up breakfast disaster and gulp down coffee. Spend the next hour and a half showering, etc., getting the boys dressed and cleaned up, etc., cleaning the bathroom and starting the never ending laundry.

9:00 – feed the children a snack while slicing up grapes, as it is our turn to bring snack to school and apparently preschoolers are not able to eat whole grapes, which seems ridiculous, however, it is the rule and am way too intimidated by Miss Jan to not slice grapes.

9:30 – attempt to make Halloween crafts with the boys while being reminded why it is the boys are inept when it comes to crafts. It’s genetic. The ghost’s head keeps falling off and Jake snaps the tail off the black cat. Stop the craft making process midway through to “let the glue dry” although it is really because I feel like I might lose my mind gluing on the teeny tiny googly eyes that come in every craft package. Resolve to complete craft later.

10:00 – reluctantly get talked into a rowdy game of “Weebleville” while simultaneously playing with the dog so that he does not eat the Weebles. Wonder why boys have to make so many vehicular sound effects and why said sound effects have to be so LOUD. Practice thinking positive thoughts. Have many conversations about different trucks and cars, and what kinds of vehicles I would like to drive someday (in reality, none, but I always valiantly rise to the occasion and say I would like to drive a fire truck or maybe an excavator).

10:30 – boys are happily playing by themselves, so I make stir fry sauce, continue doing laundry, and troll the internet for instructions on how to make turkeys out of pine cones, again thinking positive thoughts. Glue the fucking head back on the ghost.

11:00 – allow children to watch Berenstain Bears while I cut cheese into little cubes for preschool snack, fold laundry and prepare lunch. Feed kids and dog and realize I haven’t eaten, so scarf down a cheese sandwich. Consider writing a witty weight-loss book (“Never sit down! Get so caught up in mundane day-to-day details that you forget to eat!”) but on second thought consider that the reality is more pathetic than witty.

12:00 – get the boys ready for school and read books until it is time to leave. Halfway through Blue’s Big Birthday realize that I haven’t got a gift for my father’s birthday dinner on Sunday.

1:00 – drop the boys and massive amounts of muffin, cheese, grapes, and chocolate milk off at the preschool. Hope no moms hate me for supplying their children with chocolate milk. Realize there is no way I’m getting through the afternoon without a pick-me-up, so stop at Starbucks for a chai. Spend the remainder of the afternoon going to Golf Town for a gift and then walking the dog.

3:30 – pick up boys, come home, prepare stir-fry, realize that there is no chance in hell the boys will eat said stir-fry, think WTF, it’s Friday, make them chicken fingers and oven fries to go with their carrots and peppers.

5:05 – in preparation for becoming a senior citizen, dinner is now finished. Realize, depressingly, how much of my day is spent either preparing food or cleaning up from meals. The boys play outside, Rob comes home, I feed them one more snack, then start bathtime by 7:00. Put kids to bed by 7:30.

7:35 – crack open a bottle of wine, following my general rule of alcoholism-avoidance – do not drink until kids are in bed. Totally relax by reading, oddly, Barbara Walters’ memoir.

I write this as I want to one day look back and see, what exactly did I do all day when the kids were young? Also, I don’t want to forget the utterly sweet moments that occurred during the day that made all the strange drudgery and busyness worthwhile. Like when Jake announced, with regards to our dog, “Barkley is my best friend. Other than Mark that is”. Or when Mark whispered so softly in my ear while I was reading Cars and Trucks and Things That Go, “I have a secret, Mama. I love you.”

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