A Glimpse

I haven't blogged much since the New Year because while life is full, sometimes it isn't all that interesting. However, the moments that are not terribly interesting are the moments, as told by experienced mothers, that I will miss terribly one day. I am not quite sure about that...

6:45 My eyes open to the darkness of our room, "Is it time to get up, or am I just awake?" I look at the clock and decide to do nothing but close my eyes.

7:15 I hear stomping feet. I jump out of bed and run down the hall as quickly as humanly possible and as quietly as a ballerina to make sure that Zoe remains quiet for Aidan to sleep. That child has been so tired that we really want him to sleep in a bit. What do I find, actually, a hoarding Zoe with all her bedding and an awake Aidan who is helping her. I send Zoe out of the room while shushing her, and make Aidan get back in bed. I hiss, "You have been so tired, go back to sleep." "But Mommy, she woke me up when she took her blankets." "Aidan, do you know why she takes all her blankets? Because you showed her YESTERDAY." Clearly, saying things emphatically and forcefully is SO soothing that will surely make him go back to sleep.

7:16 I try to get back in my bed but a very awake Zoe says, "I sleep here like a big girl," as she hogs my side of the bed. I give up and go get ready.

7:50 Feed the cat. Pet him a bit. This poor neglected cat.

7:54 Move the clean laundry into a basket, move the wet stuff into the dryer, and put in another load.

8:01 Make lunch- their schools do not heat lunch for them, so I have to microwave whatever they will be eating in a glass dish and then put them in their metal thermoses (total waste of time!)- today, they have BBQ pork fried rice that I made after dinner last night. Put dishes away from last night's load, settle them down for breakfast, encourage them strongly to not argue with me about what is for breakfast.

8:20 Clear dishes, ask Zoe to please chew her dried apricot before she tries to swallow, direct Aidan to get dressed. Zoe doesn't need to get dressed because her friends are too young to make fun of her unmatched pajamas. I make myself a bowl of super duper fortified oatmeal with Zoe's left over milk and inhale it.

8:31 Remember that Aidan's December reading list is due, was due, whatever. Find the paper in my office pile, run to his room, find all the books we read together, and scribble the titles down.

8:33 Zoe wants to help. "Honey, when you are in kindergarten, I will do this for you. This is my job." My dear child, if you can really write this would be YOUR job.

8:37 Must leave the house in 8 minutes, but oh wait! Aidan has a permission slip that needs to be filled out and turned in for a field trip next week. WHERE is it? Find it in my coat pocket. Scramble for $10. Put it in an envelop and give it to Hubby with specific instructions: Next Thursday is an early start day (we forgot for the last field trip, he had to chase down the bus driver...) and remember to turn this in TODAY.

8:41 Find Zoe's doll, throw it in her back pack. Throw socks at the kids. "Put those on!" Aidan runs outside, Zoe narrowly escapes being hit in the face by the door and runs after Aidan.

8:43 The children are asking, "Who is taking us to school?" After much convincing, they agree with us that Hubby should take them, and I should pick them up.

8:45 Zoe really wants to use the squeegie to clear off the dew of my car. Aidan shrieks that he needs to have a turn. Make the kids squeegie one window each. Encourage them strongly to get into Hubby's car.

8:46 Throw myself in the car, pray that I will hit all green lights.

8:57 Walk into my office, get ready for eight hours of patient care.

9:00 Billable time begins.

You might ask, what is Hubby doing during this time? Well, the poor guy is usually scarfing down some cereal, getting ready, responding to e mails, and occasionally, we make eye contact, and I think, "We used to get ready together, eat breakfast together while browsing the headlines of the Wall Street Journal. That will happen again, in about fifteen years. Please God, let me live to see that day."

Next time, I will tell you what happens at the end of the day...