It’s Only Fourteen Hours… Part II

Part two in my demented series that chronicles that exceptionally naive question: “So what exactly do Stay-At-Home-Moms do all day?” If this post isn’t enough for you, you can read Part One by CLICKING HERE, but by the end of this post I doubt anyone will be so inclined. Are you ready? Well, here we go then…

6:56 a.m My alarm hasn’t sounded yet, but I am jolted awake by the unshakable sensation that I am being watched. My eyes pop open and there sits Jacqui, fingers gripping the mattress, peering over the edge of the bed at me like a gimlet-eyed gargoyle. Then she grins like a ray of sunshine, “It’s morning, Mommy! Bedder wake up afore your clock starts beepin’ atcha!” So much for any intentions I had towards the snooze button.

7:01 a.m. Jacqui has decided she wants a gluten-free toast with jam, soy yogurt and apple juice for breakfast. I smile with relief at the easy order and set everything out on the table for her and she begins to ask a bazillion questions: “Well, you know Mom, why chinchilla’s hab such very big ears, don’t ya? Why are ely-funts so very big? Why aren’t dey little like kitties? Why do I hab toe-nails? Why are dey called toe-nails? Why aren’t dey called toe covers?” I stare blankly at her in stunned silence, pondering for the millionth time how anyone could possibly be so mind-numbingly verbal at such an early hour.

7:10 a.m. Jacqui is finally eating, Ken is awake, and I start to make my move for the shower when Kyle starts decides to start his morning routine about 30 minutes early… “Mommmmm-EEEE!! Ky-yoh want down NOW!! Hep us! Hep uuuusssss! Peeeze, Mommy! Hehhhhhp us!” I weigh my odds of pulling him from the crib and getting his diaper changed in time to beat Ken to the shower and decide to risk it, since Kyle’s kicking up such a ruckus. Bad move. I lose. Halfway through the diaper change, I hear the shower running. I am now doomed to be late all day.

7:14 a.m. Kyle, clad in a fresh diaper zips down the hall to the kitchen shrieking, “Ca-cates! Dooce!” Pancakes and juice. I decide he’s also getting yogurt while congratulating myself for having the foresight to make and freeze that batch of mini pancakes last week — today the pancakes will be ready in a blink. I peek around the corner to the dining room table and Jacqui is nowhere to be seen. Her breakfast looks nearly un-touched. I hear high pitched, conversational muttering coming from somewhere underneath the table and lean down to find Jacqui under the table, happily hosting her own private and highly animated sock puppet show. “Jacqui. No puppet shows until after breakfast. Put your socks back on and go wash your hands again.” She gives me a goofy grin, pulls her socks back on and darts down the hall.

7:30 a.m. Kyle is now in his high chair, happily munching pancakes and smearing boysenberry preserves in his hair. Jacqui is still MIA. I find her in the bathroom, pouring bubble bath into the toilet. “I thought I told you to wash your hands, and come back and eat breakfast.”

She jumps, startled. In slow motion, I see an entire bottle of bubble bath tumble through space and land with a decided ’splosh’ into the toilet. I close my eyes and rub my temples, wishing the scene away. Why is it I am so frequently inflicted with an early morning session of some variation of toilet diving before breakfast has even been finished? Jacqui looks up at me with a perturbed expression and observes, “Well, you know Mom, dis wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t sneaked up on me. Ah-sides… you didn’t say to come back to da table. You only jess said ta wash my hands. I washed ‘em. See?” She holds up her hands for proof.

I yank the bubble bath bottle out of the toilet, throw it in the trash, scrub both our hands thoroughly with antibacterial soap and then slather them in hand sanitizer for good measure. Then I propel her back to the table, sit her back in her seat and take two ‘Good Job Stones’ out of her ‘Good Job Jar’ while she howls in protest.

“Daddy told you last week that you’re not supposed to put bubble bath in the toilet.”

“No. He dint. He said not ta pour shampoo in da toe-let.”

“I think he said not to put anything in the toilet except used toilet paper.”

“No. Dat’s not wat he said. He said, “Jacqui, evvy time you pour shampoo in da toe-let I get to take some of your piggy bank money ’cause shampoo is too spensive to pour in da toe-let.”

“Ok, here’s the new rule… any time you put ANYTHING in the toilet EXCEPT used toilet paper, Daddy gets some of your piggy bank money, I get to take five of your Good Job Stones away, and you get a big time out.”

“Hmmmph. Boring!”

“Jacqui, would you like to lose ‘Good Job Stones’ for talking back?

“No thank you, Mommy. May I ask a question?”

“One question. Quickly.”

“Where do I put my potties?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and it’s not polite to talk about potty at the table.”

“You said, ‘Nuffin’ in da toe-let ‘cept already been used toe-let paper.’ I need to know where da potties are posed ta go.”

I press my forehead into the palms of my hands and count to ten. “Jacqui, they go in the toilet just like they always have. Only potty and used toilet paper in the toilet, OK? And no more talking about impolite things at the table. Start eating.”

She scowls and begins munching on her toast, “Well, you know, Mommy, it’s not my fault dat you an’ Daddy are so com-fusing.”

7:45 a.m. Kyle is done with his breakfast and Jacqui isn’t even halfway through hers. I wipe the rest of the preserves off of Kyle with a damp paper towel, brush his teeth, and then put him in his crib while I take a quick two minute shower.

7:47 a.m. I come out of the bathroom from my shower to find Jacqui lying on her back in the hall, feet sticking up in the air and thumping against the wall as she munches on the last third of her toast. I sigh and ask, “Are your yogurt and juice finished?”

She blinks rapidly at me and says, “Guess what I can do.”

“Go finish your breakfast at the table?”

“No, Mommy! You’re so silly! I can make colored dots on da ceiling wen I poke my eyes like dis, an’ den blink reely fast like dis…” She commences poking and blinking while I adamantly protest and then she points, “Dair dey are, see ‘em? Aren’t dey such very pretty dots?”

I haul her up from the floor and tell her if she can race me and get done with her breakfast before I get my hair dry, she can have two good job stones. She claps her hands and runs back to the table. I peek in on Kyle who is very quiet. He’s sitting in his crib, happily slurping down the last of Jacqui’s juice. Lovely.

8:10 a.m. I’m dressed and my hair and makeup are done. Jacqui has just one third of her new cup of juice to go after Kyle had so obligingly finished her first cup off for her. I tell her she can drink the rest in the car and to go get dressed and brush her teeth while I pull Kyle out of his crib and dress him.

8:15 a.m. Kyle is dressed and Jacqui is standing on the stool in the bathroom making faces in the mirror. She is wearing a swim suit, fairy wings, and tap shoes. “We already decided what you were going to wear last night, remember?”

“Yes, Mommy. I ‘member. I jess think this looks more pretty, don’t you?”

“Yes, I agree, but you won’t be able to play very well in tap shoes and swimsuit. Plus the fairy wings will probably poke the other kids.” I hand her a toothbrush loaded up with paste and she scrubs away while mumbling unintelligible protests. I take a turn at brushing then I marshal her down the hall to put on the clothes we laid out the night before.

8:23 a.m. Jacqui is dressed in proper attire and her hair is nicely combed, following much screeching. Kyle is now wearing nothing but a diaper and is diligently working on removing even that. I stuff him back in his clothes and his shoes are completely MIA. I ransack the closet and finally come up with a pair that matches, and thank goodness, they still fit.

8:30 a.m. We should be walking to the car right NOW. I tell Jacqui to get her backpack, grab our lunches out of the fridge and the already packed diaper bag out of a locked closet along with my purse. My keys are missing. “Jacqui, did Daddy take Mommy’s keys?” She sticks a finger in her mouth with a guilty expression and shakes her head, no. “Do you know where they are?” She nods her head, yes. “Well, where are they?”

“I was lookin’ at dem downstairs by da ‘puter.”

“How did you get them out of the closet?”

“I unlocked it wif a toof-pick, same as you.”

I stifle a groan and head down the stairs, locking the baby gate behind me.

8:32 a.m. I grab my keys off of the computer desk and run back up the stairs, simultaneously dodging flying leggos that the two little hoodlums are now gleefully launching down the stairwell and demanding an IMMEDIATE cease fire. “Remember the no throwing rule? Leggos are mine for the day.”

Whimpering ensues and Jacqui runs down the haul as I gather up our entourage once more for another pass at the front door. I hear a door slam and look down the hall. The only closed door is the bathroom.

“Jacqui! Time to go!”

“I havta go potty first!”

Kyle bangs on the door and rattles the knob while I remind Jacqui that we are now LATE. She takes her time, humming happily.

8:40 a.m. Jacqui finally emerges and saunters along behind us, out the door, down the front walk, sniffing flowers, talking to bugs…

“Jacqui, we have to leave!”

She breaks into a lope and climbs into the waiting car seat. I buckle her and and we finally back out of the driveway at 8:46 a.m.

8:47 a.m. Jacqui begins up her usual non-stop car chatter… today it’s the ‘what is it?’ game. She asks me what things are that she already knows the answer to. I respond with the exact same answer to every question, “It’s a kind of potato.”

“Mom, what’s a stop sign?”

“It’s a kind of potato.”

“Noooooo! Itsa kind of sign to tell peeples wen ta stop!”

“Mom, what’s a school bus?”

“It’s a kind of potato.”

“Noooooo! It’s a special kinda bus for takin’ kids ta school!”

“Mom, what’s a grocery store?”

I crank up the radio until the sounds of Mendelssohn’s Rondo Capriccioso in E Major, Op. 14 drown out the din. Jacqui giggles, settles in to listen, and the rest of the car ride is blissfully free of chatter.

9:08 a.m. We pull into the parking lot late, get out of the car and walk to the classroom. Late.

9:11 a.m. Jacqui is finally checked in and Kyle makes a beeline for a balloon fastened to a coat hook. It’s pre-school parade day at the center and all the kiddos have made hats and plan to march around the block single file and deliver flowers in honor of the birthday of the center’s founder. They don’t have any extra balloons and I can tell right away that the balloon situation will escalate out of control with Kyle, if I don’t go locate one for him.

9:40 a.m. We head off to the grocery store, pick up a few items we were short on along with a 99 cent blue balloon for Kyle and a purple one for Jacqui so there won’t be a balloon war when we return home.

10:15 a.m. We return back to the center for the 10:30 parade, but have to park several blocks away at a parking meter. I rummage through my purse, but my coin purse is mysteriously missing. Jacqui has most likely pilfered it to replenish her piggy bank after the whole ’shampoo in the toilet debacle’. I make a mental note to have a conversation with her about it later while ransacking the car for loose change. Kyle refuses to leave Jacqui’s balloon in the car, so we bring both along.

10:32 a.m. I make it back to the center in time for the parade. Ken has taken an early lunch to march in the parade with Jacqui and she is delighted to show him off to her friends. Then she immediately begins attempting to wrench the purple balloon away from Kyle. Much shrieking ensues. So much for my efforts to avoid a scream-fest. Jacqui is convinced to march ahead of Kyle and I in the parade, sans balloon at a conspicuously sulky pace while repeatedly turning to scowl her disapproval at Kyle and his two balloons. He couldn’t care less and gleefully yells, “Yay! Ah-rade!! AAAAAhh-rade!” Jacqui consoles herself by muttering, “Bad day” over and over to herself as she marches along.

11:15 a.m. Back to the center for circle time and show and tell, then a picnic lunch with the other families. Jacqui eats at a snail’s pace as Ken cajoles her along while I try to get half a sandwich down in between attempting to get a container of yogurt, some banana slices, and some crackers into Kyle. Kyle snags Ken’s plastic fork and before anyone can stop him, rams it into one of the balloons. The purple one. Jacqui starts howling and we calm her down with a promise to let her pick one out at the dollar store after her evening ballet rehearsal.

12:10 p.m. I drag a reluctant 5-year-old for 8 blocks back to our parked car. The meter is out, but thankfully the parking police haven’t yet been by. I load the kids in the car and notice something hanging from my key chain. It’s my necklace. Well, part of it. The diamond cross pendant is missing. I walk slowly around the car, peering hopefully underneath it. Then I waste a good five minutes crawling around on the patch of grass next to the parking meter in the delusional hope that I’ll find it. I catch a glimpse of the parking police heading my way and reluctantly climb back in the car and start it while Jacqui demands to know, “Mommy, why were you out dair crawlin’ around on da grass like a bug?”

12:50 p.m. Back home. I herd Jacqui and Kyle up the walk while balancing four bags of groceries, a diaper bag, my purse, Jacqui’s backpack, her parade hat, and my keys. Jacqui goes to put her things away in her room and I change Kyle and put him down for a nap. Time to re-pack everything for the three hour ballet dress rehearsal. We need to leave for that at 3:45 p.m.

3:00 p.m. Kyle is still sleeping. My coin purse has been recovered and Jacqui is down two more ‘Good Job Stones’. Jacqui’s ballet bag is packed, the diaper bag is replenished with new diapers, new toys, and new snacks for Kyle and Jacqui’s lunch box has been packed with backstage snacks. Time to suit up the ballerina. She bubbles with excitement as her costume is pulled down from the top rack in her closet and she spends a few minutes trying to convince me that her dark blue sparkley tights would match her pink sparkley costume much better than just plain pink ones. Sparkles with sparkles, you know? She submits to the pink tights in gleeful anticipation of what comes next. Make up. I’m not wild about it, but it it’s a stage thing… all the kids in the recital are instructed to wear light blush, tinted lip gloss and mascara. Jacqui just about hyperventilates with excitement as I brush blush onto her cheeks and lip gloss onto her puckered lips. I pull her hair up into a ballerina bun and then she bolts to the end of the hall to admire herself in the mirror.

3:20 - 3:35 p.m. Jacqui admires herself in the hall mirror…

3:35 p.m. I am forced to wake Kyle up from his nap and he is CRABBY. I change him and stick his shoes on and begin coaxing everyone to the door.

3:45 p.m. I finally resort to a third of a cup of watered down apple juice to appease Kyle and we hobble our way to the car, with Jacqui skipping along out in front.

We pull out of the driveway, on time — more or less.

4:15 p.m. I drop Jacqui off backstage with her instructor (no parents allowed backstage) and wheel Kyle’s stroller into the auditorium. I pull out the camera and find that the battery is dead. I forgot to bring extras. Kyle and I hoof it back to the car to make a battery run to the market across the street.

4:40 p.m. We make it back to the auditorium with lots of time to spare. It’s no where near time for Jacqui’s class to be on stage.

4:45 - 5:45 p.m. I attempt to keep Kyle amused with an assortment of toys, crackers and fruit snacks. He contentedly stuffs down three whole graham crackers, a pack of Gerber fruit snacks, and an handful of Cheerios while pushing a race car around his stroller tray.

5:50 p.m. Ken shows up per our previous plan, to take Kyle home if he’s been too fussy. Kyle is doing just fine, so Ken sits down to await Jacqui’s turn on stage.

6:05 p.m. Kyle starts begging for more crackers, but he’s eaten them all. I hand him over a Gerber baby granola bar, broken into chunks on his tray and he starts munching. The group before Jacqui’s comes on stage and halfway through their number I hear a horrible, oh-so-familiar sound. I whip around with cupped hands just in time to shove them under Kyle’s chin as he starts puking up buckets. “kennnnn!!” I holler in a saw-mill whisper. He’s fidgeting with the camera. Kyle’s still puking. I unload a second handful on the stroller tray and scramble to catch the next wave while stretching to kick Ken in the shins.

I hear a “hey!!” in an annoyed whisper and then Ken scrambles to put away the camera once he realizes what is going on.

“blue plastic diaper bags — quick!!”

Ken can’t find them in the diaper bag. “front left pocket! same place they’ve been for five years!”

He finds them and pitches one in my lap while climbing over my seat to hold an open one under Kyle’s chin in the nick of time. I empty my hands into the bag in my lap and then initiate our standard family HAZMAT procedure while bemoaning the fact that this particular situation is so familiar to us that we have even have our own family HAZMAT procedure. Ah, well… life with reflux. Ken whispers that he’s going to take Kyle home and I give him the thumbs up as he wheels Kyle’s stroller back up the aisle.

6:15 p.m. I realize that my car keys are in the stroller tray. I call Ken on his cell phone. He’s a little annoyed and tells me I’ll need to come get them just as Jacqui’s class marches onto the stage. “jacqui’s on… can I call you back in a sec?” Ken laughs, knowing I’ve been looking forward to this one moment all day, and agrees to wait. My one sure shot at getting some photos while she’s on stage and I wasn’t particularly keen to miss it.

6:30 p.m. Jacqui’s group does beautifully and I head out to the parking lot for my keys. I find Ken waiting with Kyle stripped down to his diaper and Kyle’s rancid clothes appropriately quarantined in a plastic bag. Ken gives me a sympathetic grin and tosses me the keys. I sprint back inside to finish any remaining clean up duties, pack up the diaper bag that Ken left behind, and then pick up Jacqui backstage.

6:35-6:45 p.m. I indulge in 15 minutes of snapshots…

6:50 p.m. We leave the auditorium to go pick out Jacqui’s promised balloon and Jacqui starts working on her packed dinner in the car.

7:45 p.m. Home at last. Welcomed by the sight of Kyle’s hosed off wardrobe dripping over the porch rail…

7:50 - 8:30 p.m. Jacqui slowly finishes her dinner. Kyle has already been fed his dinner and put to bed.

8:45 p.m. Jacqui is finally in her PJ’s, gets her bedtime story and bedtime song.

9:00 p.m. Ken and I pass out on the couch with a collective sigh of exhaustion. Only a few short hours of recovery time before breakfast — best make the most of them!

Make it through clear to the end? Congratulations — you’re officially just as certifiable as I am!

parenting children motherhood kids humor funny stay at home mom day in the life SAHM ballet recital pre-school