A Short Story on the Website of |
A Day in the Life
“They” say these are the best years of our lives. I say it’s from the first day your kids
start kindergarten until they’re in the fifth grade, and fifth grade is
marginal. Some get lucky and manage to
avoid too much sass and eye rolling in fifth grade, but even at its worst you
only have to put up with it from 4pm when they get off the bus until 9 pm when
you demand they get in bed and stay there! I think any parent who lets their
kids stay up after 9 pm is CRAZY. After all, my bedtime is 9:30, at which point
I turn into psycho-mom, shrieking like a banshee and passing out “Paddy whacks”
to anyone in sight. But I digress . . . My name is Bronwyn. I have five children (I have
changed their names to protect the guilty). Grace is 16 and Lilly 13 - they
are, as a general rule, not a problem, Zoe 4 and self appointed queen of the
house, Tucker 3 and a boy, and McKayde 4 months. Did I mention Tucker is a
BOY? As I speak, it is 3 am. My husband is snoring and taking up more
then his fair share of the bed. Mckayde is marathon nursing and snorting to
breathe. Tucker has climbed into his usual spot, between our feet and dead
center at the end of the bed; he intermittently mumbles and yells out – if we
don’t respond the yelling continues.
Zoe then joins him at the foot of the bed. Her spot however is at/in my
feet with her foot permanently planted in my rear-end (no matter how many times
I remove it and not nicely). As if five people were not enough, throw in two
cats. Betty-boop is as long as Zoe and takes up just as much space. If I’m
lucky she’ll decide to sleep on our heads, and Bronco-baby will try to perch on
my hip or curl into a small crock in my legs so I can’t roll over. Thank heaven
the big girls don’t want to join us. Tucker begins his day pleasantly
enough, talking sweetly to Betty-boop.
Of course, it won’t last; within 5 minutes he is yelling in his whiniest
voice, “I want oatmeal,” over and over and over again. So begins the oatmeal ritual. Maple and
brown sugar oatmeal with hot chocolate is the mainstay of Tuckers existence,
supplemented only by cheese and all things sugar (especially chocolate). Tucker must of course pick the bowl and the
cup and the spoon. The spoon is always the same, the “baby spoon” which is in
fact, NOT a baby spoon but a toy ice cream scoop. We have only one of these
spoons, and it is a full time job to keep track of it. So after whining about
his bowl, cup, and spoon he sits in his chair and does the whiny chant until
the bowl and his hot chocolate are in front of him. Then all is quiet and
happy. McKayde swings and talks to his toys for a short time, Tucker eats and
then goes off to play nicely by himself and then . . . Her Highness staggers
out. Just to keep us guessing, she occasionally comes out and talks and plays
with McKayde. This morning however, is more typical with crabby demands for a
bagel. When she is told we are out, the throw-down begins. She throws herself
on the floor and writhes around screaming and crying, “I want a bagel”- as if that will make them magically appear.
Finally, she is done with that fit and decides on French toast. When she is
informed that, “No, I will not make French toast for one,” the throw-down
begins again. After much weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth the fit is over,
and she decides on cereal with milk and a princess spoon, oh, and hot chocolate
in a glass cup. About this time McKayde decides he has had enough swinging and needs to
nurse again. This is the signal for the
“dynamic duo” to get into mischief: trash their room, jump on my bed and throw
all the bedding on the floor, or get into candy. Tossing the laundry and tearing apart the couch are saved for
when I go to the bathroom for half a second. My new favorite activity is scraping gum off their bedroom floor – 10
huge wads yesterday. Gum is a BIG no-no for Tucker because he won’t quit
swallowing it; I guess that’s no longer an issue. The rest of the day is filled
with Zoe teasing, Tucker shrieking like a girl, Tucker running through the
house with his gun behind his head so he can hit his sister, her smacking him.,
he biting her, and the two of them plotting naughty’s in the corner. All day it’s: “Stop pushing the
phone buttons. Hang it up! Hang it up! HANG IT UP!” “I’m calling the
Easter Bunny!” (Santa is too far away to work.) Cat in, cat out, cat
in, cat out, cat in, chase cat, squawk in cats face. (Cats like that you know.) Stick a blue bead up
your nose. Change your
underwear for the sixth time and leave them all over the bathroom and living
room. “I poop.” “I want to wear a
dress; where are my ballet shoes?” Clop, Clop, Clop, Clop, Clop. (Tap shoes are great on tile. “I want a soda,”
throw a fit. Feed the cat 12
scoops of food. Jump on the baby
while he sleeps. Roll around on me
while I try to nurse. “Make cookies; I
want all my friends over.” “What’s for lunch?” “I want grill cheese
on a snow flake plate/” “I hate grill
cheese. I want peely eggs in water.” “Noooo!” “Yes!”
“NOOO!” “Who wants to take a
shower?” “Yaah!” Aaah! 20-30 minutes of peace and quiet!
Hallelujah! But no, it’s time
for McKayde’s weekly blow out. This seems to be a true gift for him. One week’s
worth of poop everywhere but in the diaper – how does he do it? Now I
have to get all his clothes off (two layers worth) without getting poop on my
furniture, me, or his head and face, and when that’s all done he still stinks
like poop and needs a bath. So, it’s a quick bath, lotion, new clothes and a
happy, happy baby, and the dynamic duo is done with their shower. So much for my 20-30 minutes of quiet – I
need a Dr Pepper! “Sit down and eat
your grill cheese” “No, I want a
doggie?” (Translation: Hot Dog) “Then get it
yourself.” “Lets fight!” Whack,
whack, whack “Zoe! Lets fight!” Whack, whack. “Get out of my room
and off my bed! If you wake that baby again I will be forced to eat you!” “I want Scooby Doo.” “Nooo!” “You have to agree
on a show. And put on underwear, or you won’t watch anything!” (The hope is that one or both will fall
asleep). I never thought at 16 or 18 or even
25 that such strange phrases would come from my mouth, like; Don’t lick the
cat, Why would you put a raisin up your nose?
We don’t pick gum off shopping carts and eat it. Get your teeth off my
table. Eggs are not for throwing. Get that out of your underwear; it is not a
pocket. Stop peeing on my car tires. Who knew? No, really, who knew and didn’t
tell me? It’s 1:45 pm, tick tock, tick tock.
3:15 will never get here. The second that bus pulls up I’m making a break for
the shower. Did I brush my teeth today or was that yesterday? Oh well, I’ll do
it again in the shower just to make sure. 3:15 pm, here comes Lilly. Shower
here I come! “Mom, Sherry said my notebook was stupid so I need a new one
and John called me the B word cause I told him to stop saying the F word around
me and people are always calling me that because I don’t like them to swear
around me. They’re not suppose to anyway – but I don’t tell on them so they
shouldn’t call me a B and they should just stop it! And I have to go to WalMart
right now cause this one is ugly.” At this point a breathe is required, and I
catch myself not listening for a moment as I look up and see make-up all over
Tuckers belly and he proudly and
stupidly announces “Look Mom, make-up”. Lilly’s face puckers up, and I know
she is going to blow - it is her make-up. Myself, I currently own one eyeliner, one mascara, and some blush;
everything else has been confiscated into teenage land and is apparently no
longer mine. I again, remind Lilly that she is supposed to lock her bedroom door
before leaving for school, and “You didn’t do your dishes last night - so get
on it!” 20 minutes later, ”Why aren’t you doing dishes?” “I’m starving. I have
to eat a snack” (Translation: meal with the TV on). My response, “Get
your dishes done NOW!” Grace comes through the door. “I thought you were going to do laundry-
I need my work shirt and did you sew that seam on my skirt? I want to wear it
tomorrow.” I announce loudly, “That’s it -I’m taking a shower – by myself! Don’t bother me unless the
house is on fire or someone is bleeding from their eyeballs! Got it!? As I walk
out, I hear “Geez, what’s her problem? It’s not like she’s done anything
today.” I contemplate her demise, but then who would drive Lilly to WalMart to
buy her new notebook. So instead I yell
back, “And when I get out, that kitchen better be spotless – that means pots,
pans, counters and stove, and you miss smarty-pants can pick up and vacuum the
living room. And don’t sigh at me.” I crawl out of the bathroom 45 minutes later. I drug it out as long as
I could. I even shaved my legs and washed the shower walls (It’s a sickness. I can’t even stand under the water and do nothing.) Eventually
the water turns cold, and you have to return to reality. So I dry my hair and dress. Grace and Lilly run to WalMart and are
forced to take one little kid with them. If
you can divide them, you can conquer them! Eventually my husband returns home and starts dinner. Yes, it’s true!
Can you believe I scored a cook! It’s a good thing because I hate to do it and
pretty much suck at it. Oh, I can do it if I have to, but I don’t have to very
often. I can bake! And even better, he is teaching the kids to cook. This is my down time. I vegetate with the baby or set the table or kick
a path through the house. Today, I kick toys with my feet from one room to
another while bouncing McKayde on one hip to keep him happy. Dinner is fairly uneventful: we put food on Tucker’s plate, he cries
because it’s there and throws it on the table, then cries some more. My husband
then excuses him from the table until he is ready to act civilized. This
involves two or three trips back to his room before he can stay. Homework, crying, and roughhousing all ensue until the magic hour of
8:45 pm when I declare, “Get PJ’s” This is a major activity often involving
several dress rehearsals ‘til we find the perfect PJ’s for the night. Then it’s
off to bed. This includes begging, “Can I sleep with you?” “NO!” “I want to
sleep on the couch.” “NO!” “I need my sleeping bag.” “Fine, get in!” Sometimes we read short board books – no Dr.-last-forever-Seuss.
Sometimes we sing, but, whatever we do, it’s in pairs - one for Zoe and one for
Tucker! Tonight we sing “I’m So Glad When Oma Comes Home’ and “Popcorn Popping
on the Apricot Tree.” It is now 9:15 pm, and McKayde is getting crankier by the minute. The
big girls have gone right to bed and are grateful to go. Lilly makes her
nightly rounds to kiss good-night - she will probably have to come back home on
her wedding night just to kiss me good-night, it’s nice to have one! I put the PJ’s on that I had on most
of the day and head to bed. I put McKayde in the middle of the bed and nurse
him to sleep. Just as I start to drift off I hear “Thump, Thump, Thump” coming
through the house, and then I feel someone staring at me. Finally, a little
voice says, “I firsty.” We get him a drink, he climbs back into the sleeping
bag, and I warn him, “Not again.” I climb back into bed and sleep until 1:30 am. As I lay here nursing
and reflecting on my day (I do this because I have had just enough sleep to
not sleep), I realize how ridiculous it would sound if I read it in a book.
I would think they exaggerated or, at the very least, crammed a week’s worth of
shenanigans into one day - if only that
were true! Alas, it’s time for the whole cycle to start all over again! |
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