Monday, Monday

5:05
Baby cries.
Nurse baby.
Baby sleeps.
5:15
Try to sleep.
5:20
Try to sleep.
5:25
Try to sleep.
5:30
Give up on sleep.
Make coffee.
Make lunches.
Drink coffee.
Check e-mail.
Get dressed.
5:50
"Wake-up" alarm goes off.
Make more coffee.
Put lunches and work bag on stroller.
6:00
Get boy clothes.
Change toddler.
(Toddler remains asleep. Good sign.)
Attempt to cloth Boy One.
Boy One refuses to cooperate.
Drink coffee.
Regroup.
6:20
Peruse Facebook.
Ponder the significance of my friend's post about which Disney Princess she is.
Decide I would like to be Mulan.
(That girl kicked ass.)
6:35
"Wake up the Boys" alarm goes off.
Attempt to pry Boy One from bed.
Resort to bribing Boy One to get up with promises of a yougart smoothie for breakfast.
"I hate yougart smoothies!"
Drink more coffee.
6:40
Toddler wakes, demands to be carried around the house.
Boy One resigns himself to the day.
Husband readies.
6:50
"Do you have the car keys?"
"You had the car keys."
"I don't have the car keys!"
Begin looking for car keys.
7:00
"Time to Leave" alarm goes off.
Continue looking for car keys.
7:05
Boy One asks incessant questions about God knows what.
"Please stop asking me questions right now, as it is very difficult for me to look for the keys, stay calm, and answer your questions. Could you do that for me?"
"Why haven't you found the keys yet? Where are they? Why is it hard to stay calm when I'm asking questions?..."
"Where did I put my coffee?"
7:10
"Are the keys still in the car?"
"I hadn't considered that."
Load kids and things into stroller. Stroll downstairs.
Roll stroller next to car door, try to activate touch-lock.
Door remains locked.
Remain calm.
7:15
Remove toddler from stroller.
Carry toddler upstairs.
Try to open door.
Door is locked.
Remember: I am a beautiful and unique snowflake.
Carry toddler downstairs.
Answer constant questions from Boy One.
Arrive at car.
No husband. No car key.
Remain calm!
7:20
Dig house key out of work bag.
Carry toddler upstairs, again.
Ignore Boy One's constant questions.
Find husband inside, seething.
"Did you find them yet?"
"No, not yet."
Try as hard as I can to remain calm and find keys while distracted by wiggly toddler, questioning child, and frustrated husband.
Try to think through the last time I drove the car.
Consider everything I did on Sunday.
"Laundry!"
7:30
Check the pockets from yesterday's pants.
Check the bin where we keep the laundry card.
Check the blue Ikea bag used for clean laundry.
Check the pocket of the other random bag I use for laundry.
EUREKA!
7:35
Take key, husband, Boy One and Boy Two back to the car.
Unlock car door.
Pour children, lunches, and innumerable additional items into car.
Move make-up case, old McDonald's bag, and a brush from seat.
Sit down.
Allow my amazing husband to drive.
7:45
Exit garage.
7:55
Drop toddler at daycare.
8:05
Say good-bye to husband.
Drop Boy One at preschool.
Return to WoW  (World of Work).
8:10
Conquor the world, again.
Happy Monday, Everyone. May every single one of your mornings go better than mine did today.

Comments

Post a Comment

Thank you very much for your comment! I look forward to approving it.

Popular posts from this blog

Haircuts Are More Than Just Shorter Hair

Image
I cut the baby's hair yesterday. It wasn't the first time, but it was the most significant. Previously, I had simply trimmed, shortened his baby curls in a formation that allowed for at least cursory containment. But now, I have done the irreversible. His baby curls are gone, likely to never return, and with this unique action, with the use of a simple machine to trim and cut and shape, he has irrevocably left the baby world for the world of an older sort. He has become, with no reservations, a toddler. In the conservative Jewish tradition, a boy's hair is not cut until he is three year's old. Once he has arrived at this ripe old age, there is a ceremony called an  upshernish , an event in which members of the religious community ceremoniously cut the child's hair, a symbolic cutting away of  infancy as the small human enters into childhood and the beginning of his formal education. It is at this point that the boy...
Read more

Building Community with a Non-binding Vote

Image
As my little blog has now earned its first pennies, I thought it time to spend more than 3,000% of my earnings on business cards while simultaneously keeping my day job. However, here is where you, dear reader, can contribute and show your love for my continued reflections and rantings. Here, you can take a moment of your precious life to vote on which style of card from the "Elegent" list on Vistaprint best embodies the style, mood, and tone of my illustrious blog.  Yes, I know what you're thinking. How could one tiny rectangle of heavyweight cardstock possibly do justice to all that my blog contains? Well, obviously, or at least hopefully, it can't, but at least you can have some input as to which example does the least crappy job. I will take all votes into consideration, then do whatever I want to do anyway. Artists and writers are fickle and capricious like that. And with all seriousness, thank you for reading my blog. It brings me great joy to know that...
Read more

Victims of Anger

Angry people do angry things. They throw papers off of the table, Scatter dinner across the floor, And refuse to brush their teeth, Unconcerned by the consiquences. The older one sings a song Despite requests for quiet. He repeats, louder each time, Disrupting the ever-shrinking peace. The small one cries. Not the cry of the sad, but the cry of the angry. Angry that he is small; angry that he cannot speak, And his anger seethes out, staining the hopeful darkness of the night. No one rests. No one sleeps. Everyone lives in the angry, vengeful rage. And yet, we still dream of sleep... Peaceful, restorative sleep. Perhaps, one day, it will come, As easily as the sunset, As quiet as the moon. Until then, we suffer, Victims of our own choices. Victims of the children we were born to love.
Read more