Yesterday was really tough. Arguably, it was one of the most challenging days of parenting I have had in a long time. I knew it was going to be heading off of the weekend, but the kids inevitably threw some of their magic into it to make it extra special. It took me a full day of pondering to sit here and laugh while writing about it.
I had a long list of calls that I needed to make. Mondays are my jam. I get so much done on Mondays and I feel like it kicks the week in the pants if I screw that up. M’s kiddos were sick, so she was staying home yesterday. Crap. I can work from home with the kids just fine. I did it for a year and a half! Easy peasy. That’s why they make DVR and high chairs, right?
Call number one. Kids were fine. 20 minutes and they were snacking and playing. I got this. Call number 2. This one was a bit more sensitive. I needed to keep cool and focused. No problem, right? The kids were antsy at this point and about 28 minutes into the call, they decided that they needed to each be in separate parts of the house. I chased S to try to motion to her to go poop on the potty because of course I’m thinking about how S hasn’t crapped in 24 hours as I’m on an important work call. As I’m corralling her while maintaining focus on work, I hear B in the actual bathroom. The call ends and I finally get S out of the kitchen where she was taking pots out of the cabinet that she learned how to “unlock” the child locks. #kidcoFAIL. The toilet flushes. I didn’t know he had the dexterity to flush the toilet. I scurry across the foyer to find him pulling something out of said toilet. It was a diaper. He flushed (what I gather to be) 4 freaking diapers down the toilet. OMG. I pull B out of the bathroom and shut the door. We have literally the worst luck with plumbing and this can’t be good.
Meanwhile, S had taken her little potty out without me noticing, and was seated on it in front of the TV. Mama! I pooped. Good lord. The freaking tupperware full of poop is back. I gag EVERY time. Like puke gag. I was on FaceTime with C one day and she witnessed the poop in little potty gag, and it is a spectacle. Just ask her. I praise S for pooping on the potty and secretly want to burn the freaking thing.
Lunch time. The kids know I am distracted today, so they are extra special at lunch time. B refuses to eat with anything other than a large spatula that says Best Mom on it. Ironic. So I let him. Then S wants a spatula, so I give her one and we are all sitting there eating with spatulas and getting food everywhere. Don’t care. This is why we have dogs. Kind of. Call number 3 is brief and to the point thank goodness. It looks like a macaroni and peanut butter bomb went off at the table but again, don’t care.
Call number 4. This is the one I CAN’T be around kids for. I strategically plan naps around the call. This one is a video one as well, so no one wants to see my children harassing me as I am working. B goes down without a hitch. One bullet dodged. S fights it. Sing me Paw Patrol. Paw Patrol, Paw Patrol, Paw Patrol, Don’t know the words…. Now sing me 3 more songs and I watch paw patrol on your phone. Ok. Hard no. Its nap time for heavens sake. I leave the room and turn on the monitors. S is wide awake and likely throwing things from her crib. Can’t care. Onto the call. Don’t forget to plug in your phone. Accidentally unplug the internet box. Crap. I’m slightly late. But I made it. 52 minutes into the call, B gets up. I would leave him, but he does this glorious thing where he sounds like he is puking because he is yelling so loud. Can’t ignore it. He joins for the last 10 minutes of the call. Not too bad. S never napped.
I head upstairs, defeated and get S. No nap today. Great. Hubs gets home and I realize I have to go to Mariano’s. The mom guilt settles in, and I realize that I haven’t spent alone time with S where I wasn’t rushing around. So I take her.
18 minutes into the trip, she empties the contents of my extremely messy wallet onto the floor of Mariano’s. Don’t lose your S–t, AF. Don’t do it. I bend down to pick up my 38 pieces of spare change and I get hit with a bag of frozen veggies. That S threw at me. There are people staring at me and the devil possessed tiny human who is abusing me. Don’t lose it, AF, don’t lose it. We move to another aisle and I have a talk with my slap happy 2 year old that clearly did not resonate. Head home. Defeated.
The silver lining? My kids ate their dinners. I went to my workout class, and MY KIDS ATE THEIR DINNERS. Like all of it. For as much of a crap day as it was, I came out alive. The kiddos are alive, fed (albeit with a spatula) and clothed (sort of). Its the days where I put on the imaginary super woman cape as soon as I prep myself for the insane day ahead that really kick my butt. But I got through it. Un-showered, with some tears and lost dignity, but I made it. Now please, dear, sweet children, give mommy a break tomorrow. I don’t think I can handle spatulas, broken plumbing, and getting hit in the face with frozen veggies two days in a row. And they did. Which is why I am able to write and laugh about this today.
Coffee. Workout. Wine. Repeat. AF 