Tuesday, June 3, 2014

...And It's Not Even 9:30

   As I sit down to write this, it's 9:27. I feel like I've been awake for days, when in reality it's only been a few hours. Just for fun, because this morning as I stared at my cup of cold coffee still to be drunk, I became aware of this craziness and decided to make a silly share: a day in the life of me. Or a morning, rather. Just a morning, because if I tried to do a full day I would forget in a matter of hours and it'd be a moot point anyway.
   The alarm on my cell phone beside my bed went off at 7am as usual. I'd been up and down all night because the baby decided snacks every 45 minutes were the way to go. My husband- the incredible man that he is- knew this and before I could reach over and turn off my phone, had it off for me and I took that as my signal to roll over and get a little more sleep. The baby, however, heard the chiming and knew I should be coming out of my room so he commenced screaming at the end of the hall by the blockade. Alright, alright, I'm up.
   Breakfast made, and while I'm working up scrambled eggs with spinach and onions and strawberry-banana kefir smoothies, I brew a cup of coffee for me. Well, honestly it's not coffee. It's four shots of espresso (LOVE MY BELLA! ) with an equal part steamed unsweetened almond milk and a pinch of cinnamon. I call it coffee. It's closer to a Starbucks quad latte.
   Breakfast eaten, dishes in the dishwasher, I chug the last big of the kefir smoothie in the NutriBullet and eat a couple tablespoons of somebody's leftover eggs. Aaaah, breakfast. And my coffee sits. I go to take a swig and realize I've yet to drink water and was an hourly milk buffet all night, so I'd better hydrate before adding caffeine. Fill a 32-ounce Blender Bottle with water and start to chug as I get to mixing up a loaf of Paleo Bread for the hubs. He's on a candida diet this month to try to deal with and heal a nasty gut imbalance resulting from a 21-day stint with Clindamycin for a nasty tooth infection last year, and I'm doing my best to make as pleasant as possible for him. Just as I'm scraping the batter into the coconut oil-slathered bread pan, a little voice downstairs yells, "Mama! I think [the baby] pooped! He smells SO BAD!"
   They were right, and it's a doozy. Bath time it is. I decide to kill two birds with one stone and bathe both boys at once. I bring the cooling cup of coffee in with me so I can sip as I bathe them, but between the cats dipping paws in and splashing the boys' faces(the cats think it's fun, as does the baby, but the 5-year-old with sensory issues is NOT amused) and the 14-month-
old getting angry over wanting his brother's toys and tantruming by repeatedly throwing himself backward into the water- not to mention CLEANING these two dirty birds- I'm too busy keeping people from drowning and having panic attacks over water droplets on their noses to take a sip.
   Boys clean and dressed, water mopped up, I pick up my mug and the baby walks back into the bathroom whimpering and signing, "Milk." I holler to my husband in the office and ask what time it is. "9:00," he says. Perfect. Nap time. Now maybe I can drink my coffee. I pick up my nursling and snuggle into the couch to get him full and sleepy. He has other plans. No friendly, "I'm tired, Mama. Let's just snuggle," nursing this morning. Nope, we're full-on "I'm gonna' pick your nose with one hand, snap your bra strap with the other, and pet your face with my feet," nursing today. I just laugh at him, knowing his days of nursing will end soon, and drink no coffee. Not going to risk dumping it on both of us, especially the freshly bathed one.
   Baby down without his pacifier and the house is quiet aside from the three nuggets happily playing with Legos at the table. WINNING! NOW I can drink my coffee. Nope. I go into the bathroom to change my
shirt that is damp from bathtime and remember I need to put towels in the dryer, and there are wet sheets from last night that need to go in the washer. Coffee in-hand, I go downstairs to the utility room, the unfinished part of the bottom floor, and change the laundry over. When I turn to leave my eyes are assaulted by three baskets of yesterday's clean laundry that need to be folded and put away. I reach for one but have to put my coffee down to do so. NO! I WON'T DO IT. I picked my coffee back up, closed the door on the laundry baskets, came upstairs, and sat my butt down. Taking the time to sip my coffee, cold, but temperature does not affect efficacy. It'll still do its job.
   So here I sit, drinking my coffee, and thinking about everything else I need to do today, or should be doing at the moment. LC just dropped off a big box- my Amazon order of supplies to make more deodorant and some of the components for a "busy box" for the kids for summer. Another reminder of more things I have to do today, all while I hear the laundry screaming sadly from downstairs in a voice like the Wicked Witch of the West, "I'm wrinkling! I'm wrinkling!" Shut up, laundry. My coffee's cold. As I typed that las sentence my five-year-old just walked up to me and asked, "Mama, what's for lunch?" Hmmm.....

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