July 2008
Sun	Mon	Tue	Wed	Thu	Fri	Sat
		1	2	3	4	5
6	7	8	9	10	11	12
13	14	15	16	17	18	19
20	21	22	23	24	25	26
27	28	29	30	31

April 28, 2005

Hectic morning

Today started out slightly more hectic than usual. I realize it could be a lot worse, but for me it was pretty chaotic. I woke up later than normal because my husband has the day off. Usually I get up shortly after he leaves for work, but when he's home I tend to ignore my alarm and sleep. So, after getting up and starting the coffee I sat down to my morning ritual of checking my email, browsing the Fox News website, mainly surfing the Internet without interruptions. Apparently, someone else had other plans, because no sooner did I sit down but my son got up at twenty minutes to seven complaining that he felt uncomfortable and needed to have a BM. (Actually, he said "I gotta go poop" but I thought I'd be a bit more mature here.) I told him to go to it.

Let me give a bit of backstory here: about two years ago, right around the birth of my daughter, my son held in his BM's for TWO WEEKS! Amazing muscle control, no? Even after two doses of childrens laxative and a glycerin suppository, that child still held it in. Well, to ease everyone's mind (and bottoms) he finally let it go around 4 in the morning. Not to be gross, but what he produced was roughly the size of my two fists. Ouch! So, when he has to go #2 I don't stop him (not that I ever did in the first place) and he gets encouragement and praise, the whole bit. To be fair, two years ago not only did he get a new sister, but he'd started preschool, and there were just too many changes in his young life.

Anyway, my son finally eliminated and curled up with me on the couch complaining of a headache. So, okay, dose him with Motrin and by this time it's 7:00 and my daughter is awake. Go into her room and she has had a major BM (good morning!!!). Get that cleaned up, diaper her butt back up, and proceed to get breakfast going. My husband was not around for all this, he was waking up, doing his own morning ablutions, so forth.

And so commences the fight to feed the children. My son gets his standard yougurt, juice, vitamin, while I heat water for his dinosaur oatmeal. My husband stumbles out of the bedroom and does his juice thing. I coax daughter into the high chair for her banana, which she promptly holds up to her ear like a phone. Evey day, folks.

Husband gives daughter the rest of the banana (after she shoves the first bit entirely into her mouth) and she goes into her art routine. Squeeze, smash, her highchair tray is covered in squished banana. Ugh. Try then to feed her some Cream of Wheat, which she eats a bit of and then starts to gag. Okay, "moisten" with more milk, look over my shoulder and holler at son to eat that damn oatmeal and quit farting around. He then has to blow his nose, which he really just wipes away at his nose, as if that will do any good.

Finish feeding daughter, give her her medicine and vitamins, clean her up, scoop up smashed banana, set her off to wreck havoc. Holler at son a few more time, threatening a thrashing if that damn oatmeal isn't eaten. Okay, he finally gets that ingested, "FINISH THE DAMN ORANGE JUICE OR YOU'LL MISS THE DAMN BUS AND I'M NOT TAKING YOU TO SCHOOL!" He finishes said juice, takes his cold medicine, and then starts to dress. Now, this is a damn procedure, as he has to take off his jammies and underpants and parade around nude for a bit. He shakes his butt at me and the gets his clothes on. Ten minutes later (I'm not kidding) he has to make his bed, and still doesn't listen to me when I say "tug that sheet and blanket down, smooth it a bit!" We come away with a half lumpy, half smoothed out bed. Okay, he gets 10 cents for making his bed, and he wants pennies today, not a dime or two nickels, not a nickel and five pennies, ten pennies. Ugh, count those bastards out, he puts them in his jar, I mark the day on my calendar, now brush teeth. Okay, get his toothbrush and toothpaste ready, get him brushing, go get his lunch box out of the fridge and get my shoes and coat on to take him to the end of the driveway to wait for the bus. (Somewhere in there I managed to put on my sweat pants in favor of my pajama bottoms.) Now! Shoes! Coat! Backpack!

Where, you ask, was husband? Watching all this and entertaining our daughter. While son was getting shoes on, she comes out to put on his gloves and hat. She loves doing this. As we prepare to leave, my husband picks up daughter and she starts to howl because normally she goes with us, so that was something I was glad to walk out on.

Get to the end of the driveway justintime to wait for the bus, whereupon son has to blow his nose. He does that wipe wipe thing, so get disgusted, grab another tissue out of the glove compartment, and tell him to BLOW. So, fine, after this I'm the one with snot on my hands, and there's the bus! Get him out of the truck, walk him to the bus door (we have to do this, school bus rules) and then I wave like a loon at him while the bus pulls away.

Whew! Every morning, folks, every morning.

Now, here I am, having finished my coffee (which wasn't the bottom of the pot scorched crap I usually have to drink) and my daughter is watching Clifford. Husband is doing something on his computer. I need a shower and there's that load of clothes in the dryer. I should vacuum today, and I'll need to find something presentable to wear to lunch at school with my son tomorrow. Oh yeah, I should go pluck myself (eyebrows). Can't go in all Wookie.