So. Today marks the start of the second week of winter break. Since my family didn't go anywhere this year, this means it's my tenth straight day of having the kids off of school, Husband in town, and a whole day stretched out in front of us with little to no plans.
You have no idea how much anxiety this causes me.
I started chronicling the first day of winter break for a new blog post, not because anything significant happened but for the same reason that I kept a diary in middle school - so that one day I could look back at how ridiculous life is at this exact moment and laugh about how far I've come.
Only, 15 years from now instead of thinking "See, you finally got your first kiss!" I'll be reading this and thinking "See, you finally got to take a shower alone!"
Oh, how our fantasies change over time.
Eight days later, I'm only halfway through describing that day, partly because it was a long one, but also because in the past eight days I have not been able to sit down at my computer for more than five minutes at a time before someone needs something from me.
So here goes--
6:15 am Wake up to the sound of Husband brushing his teeth. I know that seems weird but seriously, no one in the history of oral hygiene has ever attacked their gums with as much force as my husband does. I don't know what his teeth did to deserve this but I wish he would tell me so that I don't make the same mistake.
6:30 Hear Husband leave the house at exactly the same time that Kid #2 walks into my room and let's me know that it is time to start the day.
6: 31 Start the coffee. Kid #1 walks into the kitchen, eyes half-shut. He looks like he could use another hour of sleep, but like most first-borne he has serious FOMO.
6:32 - 7:05 Kid #1 and kid #2 proceed to fight about everything including (but not limited to):
1. The toys they just received for Chanukah.
2. The toys they've had for the past three years but haven't played with until the other one decided that that's they toy they're going to play with this morning.
3. Which of their electronic devices to play on. This officially falls under the hashtag white children problems. My kids have no concept that there are children in Africa with no electronic devices to play on. Or that there are children in Asia who are making those electronic devices as we speak.
4. What number comes after 100. I can't even. I just can't. It's like they're creating conflicts out of thin air so they have something to fight about.
5. Who touched whom with whose foot, who looked at whom with mocking intent and whether or not kid #2 is a toddler, a preschooler, or a big kid.
I threaten everything from throwing out all of their toys, hiding the ipad until they can share, sending them to Math Monkey for the duration of winter break and amputation.
We all know I'm full of shit. Those toys cost money, the ipads are my most reliable babysitter, and two weeks of math camp is cruel and unusual punishment (well, it would be for me anyway) and I'm not quite at that point yet - talk to me in three days.
Also I doubt our health insurance would cover amputation and a prosthetic leg would probably turn out to be just one more toy for the kids to fight over and then hit each other with.
7:06 I tell them that they're both behaving like toddlers.
All the fighting has woken up Kid #3 so I go and get him and then I feed the kids breakfast. It's a super healthy meal of Lucky Charms and orange juice because clearly my kids need sugar. I feel guilty about this, but I tell myself that by eating 2/3 of the artificially colored marshmallows before the bowls get to my kids, what they're getting is mostly just grains.
7:15 - 7:30 Fill holiday goody bags for the staff at the babysitting room at the recreation center where I work out, also known as The Kid Zone. You might think this is unnecessary ass-kissing, but these women are more integral to my mental health than my Zoloft prescription. They allow me to exercise three times a week by providing a fun and safe place for my kids and they remember their names and their favorite toys and that's more than I can say for myself on most days.
It's at this point that I notice that the kids are finally playing nicely together in the basement. There's no rush to get out the door, right? Check email, empty dishwasher, throw a load of laundry in and look at the clock and OMFG it's--
8:20 We need to be out of the house in 20 minutes. Kid #1 needs to be dropped off at Sports Camp and then Kid #2 and Kid #3 are coming with me to the rec center to play at the Kid Zone while I work out.
8:36 Each of the kids is 2/3 dressed and I'm sweating. Kid #2 has paused not once but TWICE to go poop (apparently its the fiber that makes those charms so magically delicious), Kid #1 has half of his clothes on backwards and Kid #3 is emptying a box of Ritz Crackers onto the kitchen floor. I read somewhere on the internet that telling kids to 'hurry up' causes unnecessary emotional damage.
I wonder if the author of that article has children.
I wonder if she has ever met children.
I wonder how much therapy my children are going to need as adults from hearing me scream "PUT THAT DOWN WE ARE LATE AGAIN SO GET IN THE FREAKING CAR!" on a daily basis.
8:42 We are almost out of the development when I realize I forgot my phone. Turn around and go back to get it. You never know when the director of Sports Camp is going to call you to tell you that your kid broke his arm playing soccer or when your husband is going to need to ask you to stop at the store for more floss picks and Pert Plus (we keep it real around here), which is what happens as soon as I turn out of our driveway.
8:43 Add a trip to the grocery store to the day's agenda.
8:44 We have just turned out of the development when Kid #2 starts to freak out because even though he brought enough goldfish crackers to survive the apocalypse and five Lego action figures who will inevitably be lost somewhere in the abyss of the minivan, left to survive solely on the remains of said goldfish, a few broken crayons and a sippy cup of milk that more closely resembles a solid at this point than a liquid, he forgot to bring his 'teddy.'
Reflect on whether security objects are a blessing or a curse. Wonder how much of my life has been spent searching for or retrieving security objects for my children.
I am not turning back. He begins to scream.
8:46 Strongly consider turning back. My threshold for tantrums is on the low side. If I was ever captured by terrorists all they would have to do is lock me in a room with a screaming three year old and I'd sing like a canary. Unfortunately for the terrorists, I know nothing of CIA operations and would probably be singing Taylor Swift's song Blank Space, which is the song currently playing on the radio. I drown out Kid #2's screams by blasting it and singing along. Who's torturing whom now, kid?
9:16 Have deposited Kid #1 and his cousin at sports camp and arrive at the rec center. Wipe Kid #3's nose with my sleeve and make sure I have the bribes-er-gifts for the caretakers at the Kid Zone. Wonder why I'm doing a cardio workout when my heart has been racing for at least the last 45 minutes.
Remember my breakfast of marshmallows shaped like teeny tiny Irish charms and throw in ten extra minutes on the treadmill before my Power Sculpt class starts. Take that, you creepy leprechaun.
10:30 Done with my workout, I collect the kids and announce that we are making a quick stop at the grocery store. Kid #2 is not happy. I agree to let him pick out an extra special snack from the bakery department and he grudgingly grants his consent.
Wonder if Kid #2 will become a hostage negotiator when he grows up.
10:45 The grocery store is only two minutes from the gym and yet it has taken 15 minutes to get two of my kids into the car, buckled up, and at the store. This has to do with but is not limited to:
1. Kid #2's need to run out of the Kid Zone without a coat so that I have to chase him, tackle him, and wrestle him into his coat in the atrium of the center while the staff and other rec center guests stare.
2. Kid #3's need to make a beeline for the automatic front doors, completely ignoring my screams to "STOP RIGHT NOW" while laughing maniacally. When he reaches the doors he stops, walks through them and then turns around and walks back into the center. He then proceeds to walk in and out of them about twenty-five times to make absolutely sure those automatic sensors are working correctly before allowing us to move on. You're welcome, City of Solon.
3. Kid #2 deciding that the only way to properly make it from the rec center to the car is to shuffle his feet really really slooooowly while staring at the ground and ignoring both the cars in the parking lot and my increasingly impatient pleas to hurry up.
At this point I'm pretty sure he's just trying to fuck with me.
Finally we arrive at the store, only to look in my diaper bag and realize that my wallet is in my purse at home.
That's right, sometimes I go places where I don't need a week's supply of diapers, a package of baby wipes, three different kinds of snack foods and a clean sippy cup.
Adult places.
Places where you can put your bag on the ground and not wonder what is going to stick to it.
Who am I kidding? The only thing in my diaper bag right now is a few crumpled tissues, some godlfish crumbs, a Target receipt and a pair of dirty socks. But carrying a diaper bag around makes me look responsible. Also it's designer and can be wiped down and both of those things matter to me very, very much.
Decide that Husband's dental floss picks and shampoo can wait a day and head home.
11:00 Arrive at home. Kid #2 refuses to get out of the car. He has been promised his choice of artificially flavored snack foods and he will not vacate the vehicle until we are parked in front of a grocery store that sells them. But first he needs his teddy. I get him his teddy, because I am his bitch.
11:03 Head back to the store, telling myself that it really makes sense for me to do this shopping trip now when I only have two kids with me rather than tomorrow when I will have three. This makes me feel more like I am in control of the situation and less like the terrorists have won.
At the store I make a quick stop at the sushi counter and grab some maki for lunch- because I deserve a treat too- before making it to the personal hygiene aisle. Kid #2 is happily eating the Christmas sprinkle cookies he selected from the bakery department as his snack. Kid #3 looks like a mucous-y Christmas sprinkle cookie. I am standing in front of the floss picks having a panic attack because Husband told me this morning that I have been buying the wrong ones and there are at least 8 different varieties to choose from. Decide I'd better call Husband.
While I wait for him to answer I wonder what ever happened to using regular old spooled floss? Americans are so lazy.
11:30 Have a five minute conversation about whether the correct floss picks are blue or green, whether heir handles are curved, shaped like a "P" or straight and shaped like a "Y", and whether the floss is thick or thin. Ask Husband what makes a floss pick a good one. He tells me one that doesn't make him bleed. Consider telling him that maybe it's not the picks, maybe it's the fact that he's treating his gums like they cheated on him with his best friend.
Meanwhile Kid #2 is howling because I won't let him have another cookie and Kid #3 is halfway out of the cart pulling every toothbrush in his reach off the rack and throwing them into the back of the cart.
11:35 Hang up on husband. Grab the cheapest pack of floss picks and hope for the best.
Proceed to self-checkout and manage to annoy every two-days-before-Christmas-grocery-shopper standing in line behind me as my four year old insists on scanning every. single. item himself and my 18 month old plays a fun game of "let's see how much I can freak everyone out by standing up in the cart and leaning really far over the edge." I pretend I am in control of this situation by repeatedly pushing him back down like I'm at a carnival playing the whack-a-mole game while grabbing the 15 electric toothbrushes in the bottom of the cart and stuffing them behind the tabloids and--
Wait a sec, Cameron Diaz is engaged? I need this one.
11:40 Laugh hysterically at the notion that I will be able to read a magazine anytime in the next six years and put it back.
Pack up the car and drive home. Halfway there I notice Kid #3 starting to doze. Time to turn up the Taylor Swift. It's a good thing this song is always. on.
Ohhhh it's "long list of ex-lovers" not "I'm a closet Starbucks lover." Wonder which one applies more to me.
12:00 Pull into the driveway and immediately text my little sister to ask if liking Taylor Swift makes me basic. She lives in New York and doesn't have kids which makes her infinitely cooler than me. My sister, that is. Personally I think I could hold my own in a coolness competition between me and Miss Swift.
My house is a disaster. I wonder briefly if someone broke in while I was gone and threw all of the couch cushions on the floor and made a tower of magna tiles in the middle of the kitchen.
Doubt that any burglar would take the time to pour out a box of crackers and then stomp all over them and decide this is probably the condition the house was in when we left this morning. I have already blocked most of that out but know from previous experience it's is more than likely.
It is now noon. I am home, with two kids crashing from their grocery store sugar high, a trunk full of groceries that need to be unloaded and a body in need of a shower.
Will the kids eat a healthy lunch? Will the baby sleep after is five minute power nap in the car? Will I clean up the house before Husband gets home or will I stick to the 'we've been burglarized' story? Stay tuned to hear how the rest of the day unfolds...
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