A Day in the Life

Its 5am and I’m awakened by the rapid pattering of barefeet. Seconds later my two year old hoists himself and his bevy of bedtime essentials into our bed. He snuggles in and I hope for another couple hours of sleep. At 7am I waken again after a fitful attempt to sleep with a thrashing toddler and realize that I’m wet. I’m hoping this is due to a leaky sippy cup as opposed to a leaky diaper but I am not so lucky.
I put on a clean pair of pajamas (getting dressed means I’m ready to be productive, and I’m just not there yet), and start making breakfast for the other kids groggily emerging from their rooms. I’m feeling industrious so I make bacon and eggs.
The boys sit down at breakfast and begin complaining that they wanted cereal. “Children all over the world would love to have bacon and eggs for breakfast. You’re lucky to have food at all!” I respond.
Halfway through breakfast I realize that Ben has not touched a single bite of his food but has opted to grab the dry cereal off the baby’s tray and shove it in his toy sharks mouth and pulverize it to dust. He then takes his toy truck and begins running it through the remnants in order to assure maximum destruction. My husband looks contemplatively at his son and his untouched food and says “How does he grow?” “I have no idea” I respond.

Seven complaints and a tantrum later, breakfast is cleaned up and Brett is off to work. I start a pot of coffee and inform the troops that they are to get dressed, brush their teeth and make their beds.
I settle down in front of the computer to read the news with my cup of coffee and, upon hearing ten pounds of Legos being dumped on the floor, realize that it has been 20 minutes since my last finger sweep of Sam’s mouth where I find a mangled mass of cardboard which I soon identify as a puzzle piece.
Overall, the morning is quite peaceful as the boys are careful not to fight because they know that at the first signs of discontent, they will bring to my attention their blatant disobedience to get ready for the day.

After working at the computer for a bit, I decide it’s finally time to get dressed but at the sight of Ben’s soaked diaper hanging between his legs, I chose to change him first. It is only hanging mid-thigh and I usually try to wait until it hits his knees but I’m feeling industrious. For good measure I grab Sam as well and secretly praise myself for being so efficient. I grab 2 diapers and set them both on the hallway floor for changing. Upon opening Sam’s diaper, I am met with a pungent odor I had not expected. “UNDIAGNOSED POOP! UNDIAGNOSED POOP!” I shout. The alarm is sounded and my boys respond with the efficiency of soldiers at the wail of a bomb raid. William runs and throws his body across Sam while I struggle to keep his legs and hands from spreading the mess. Josh runs for the box of baby wipes and Ben lays in utter stillness and silence. It is a serious moment and we all exhale a sigh of relief when it is over.
When I come in from disposing of the soiled diapers, I find Sam sitting in front of the computer as if waiting for my presence before he reaches up to push the power button. As I am ½ an hour into writing a 45th Anniversary letter to my parents, I streak across the house and dive for his hand. In the scuffle, it is MY hand that brushes the power button and deletes all my heartfelt musings. I teach Ben a few choice words to reveal in front of company while I do another finger sweep of Sam’s mouth to discover a honey roasted peanut and a wadded mass of paper that looks a lot like a check stub. I remove the paper and give him back the peanut.

I make lunch then put the younger two down for a nap while the older two escape outside and begin digging a trench in our newly seeded yard. I sigh and decide to be content that at least they aren’t trying to dig up our dead cat again and that the house is quiet.
I start washing sheets and realize that I can no longer put off cleaning the bathrooms as I find that the toilet in the boy’s bathroom is no longer fit to urinate in.
While hanging the sheets on the clothesline, I see the boys have created a small pond in their trench and have taken their $30 Playmobile Pirate ship to sink into its muddy depths. I close my eyes and decide to go inside and clean the kitchen then start in again on my 45th Anniversary tribute to my parents (“Congratulations guys, I think you’re neat” is all I seem to manage). I hear whoops and hollers outside and see that the boys are now jumping on the trampoline – naked.
Ben wakes up from his nap and staggers out of his room, also naked. I go to investigate and find a completely dry diaper sitting on the floor and his bed completely soaked from mattress pad to comforter. I strip the bed and begin yet another load of laundry.
By 5:00, the boys beds are still unmade, their teeth unbrushed and I’m still in my pajamas. Ben has dumped all his toys bins so I call the boys in to begin cleaning up the mess. There is much protesting as they begin to whine that it is Ben’s mess so I take the much anticipated moment to delve into my speech of how I clean up their messes all day long and maybe this will help them to have a little more appreciation for what I do. They roll their eyes and decide to just clean it up before I can start in on my “You should be thankful to even have toys” tirade.
Brett calls from work to tell me he is going to be late. I’m bummed but decide to look on the bright side that I can just throw some granola bars and bananas at the boys for dinner.

It’s 7:00 and we’re approaching Zero Barrier. Bathtime.
I attempt to stem the flow of disaster by informing the boys that they are to get in the shower, get wet, soaped, rinsed and OUT of the shower. There is to be no splashing, playing, yelling or fighting.
An hour later, the boys are running around the house naked and screaming. I’m trying to sop up the water on the floor and wipe the water droplets ominously hanging from the ceiling like stalactites while yelling over my shoulder at several sets of deaf ears, “Just how hard is it to keep the water INSIDE the tub??”

I’m harried and ready for the house to be quiet again and try to rush through bedtime prayers, but Ben finds it necessary that every item in his bed, including the Spiderman on his pajama shirt, has a turn to pray and the quickie ritual is stretched out an agonizing 20 minutes.
The baby starts crying and Josh begins praying for the safety and provision of the whole world. I sigh heavily and try to get my mind on what is important (the spiritual growth of my son) but after he begins to pray that everyone he knows does not have nightmares that night, I begin to get antsy. Sam is still crying when Josh closes his prayer “Thank you God that I have such a good mommy who is pretty and smells good. Amen.” I silently leave his room and return with a package of cookies for him to sleep with and then go and put the baby to sleep. From the rocking chair I see the stack of inedible items on the counter that I rescued from his mouth – an eraser, 3 legos, a piece of plastic, a knarled up page from a book, 2 more puzzle pieces and a baby wipe which I desperately hope was nicked from the wipes box and not the trash.
By the time Brett gets home, I am sitting down on the couch for the first time that day. “So, what did you do today?” he asks. I look around me and realize that the house looks as though I’ve been in bed reading romance novels all day. I give a heavy, defeated sigh and respond, “Nothing.”