Dear Chris (my wonderful father-in-law),
Thank you for calling to check on me. I assure you that I am still alive although you'd never know it by reading my blog.
I'm going to share with you an actual day in the life of me . . .
This day just happened last week and will leave you with a much better understanding of why I haven't been blogging. As you read this, you may be tempted to believe I am exaggerating. You may be tempted to think this much ridiculousness (is that a word?) can't happen all in one day. I assure you, it can . . . and it did.
7:30 am - Megan gently wakes me up by screaming in my face, "Momma, wake up! I'm starving."
7:31 am - Up and at 'em!
7:32 am - Why is Brendan so quiet??? Is he still sleeping? Maybe I'll be able to eat my cereal without a baby wiggling on my lap. NOPE! No such luck. He is quiet because he is busy smearing poop all over the crib, wall, bumper pad, sheets, etc. (for the second time in 2 weeks.)
7:33 - 7:45 am - Carry Brendan to the tub (trying not to get any poop on my nightgown), bathe Brendan, and listen to the pleasant background music of Megan whining about how hungry she is and begging me to "HURRY UP!" ahhhhhhhh
7:45 - 8:00 am - Run downstairs, give Brendan his breakfast, make Megan her breakfast, hurry up and try to sit down to eat *my* breakfast before Brendan starts whining to get down from his highchair.
8:00 am - Finally sit down to try and eat my breakfast. One bite in and . . .
8:01 am - Brendan starts whining to get down. Stop eating, get Brendan down.
8:02 am - Resume trying to eat my breakfast. Brendan starts whining for me to pick him up. Pick him up, now he's wiggling to get down. Put him down. Now he's whining for me to pick him back up. Pick him back up. Now he's wiggling for me to put him back down.
8:03 am - Who need breakfast anyway? Throw plate in sink, start playing with kids.
8:04-9:00 am - Pull out every toy, game, puzzle, etc. in the whole house, making sure there isn't one single inch of it that is presentable . . . should someone happen to unexpectedly knock on the door later. (foreshadowing)
9:00 - 9:30 am - Make beds, throw in laundry, fold laundry but leave it in a great big pile on the couch downstairs, walk through the cornstarch that Brendan got out of the cupboard (child locks are useless) and track it all over the house, notice the stupid dog peed in the dining room, about to go up and get dressed but . . . oh yeah . . . the whole crib is full of poop still.
9:30 - 9:50 am - Change crib sheets, use fingernail to chip off dried poop from crib rails, run and check on kids downstairs, sanitize everything in Brendan's room, run and check on the kids again . . . why is it so hot in here? . . . wash hands 50 times, hope the kids aren't killing each other downstairs.
9:50 am - Blood curdling scream from downstairs. Brendan bumped his lip on the coffee table and it is bleeding everywhere. Run down the stairs, jump the baby gate, use my nightgown (yep, I'm still not dressed) to prevent the blood from staining my cream sofa and light beige carpet (both of which I bought before I knew anything about the staining power of a child).
9:51-10:50 am - Soothe Brendan, make Megan a snack, trip over some toys, check the thermostat certain it is broken . . . it says 72 - not broken - why am I sweating like a pig if it is only 72 . . . make Brendan a bottle and finally get him down for a nap. About to go try to get dressed again when . . .
11:00 am - Doorbell rings . . . dog goes crazy barking . . . JUST PUT THE BABY TO SLEEP!!!!!!!! I open the door a crack to tell them to go away and guess who it is? A TV reporter asking for an "on camera" interview about a city council related issue. Seriously? I'm in a nightgown (long after it is even close to appropriate to still be wearing pajamas) smeared in blood and a perhaps a tiny bit of poop, yesterday's mascara smeared down my cheeks, teeth not brushed . . . can you picture it???? Now I've got a news camera on my porch! Perfect . . .just perfect . .
11:01 am - Politely decline interview (hoping they can't smell my breath through the crack in the door.)
11:02 am - Doorbell rings again . . . (I'm not kidding) . . . dog starts barking . . . ahhh, Brendan is sleeping . . . open the door to tell them to go away and it is the Vice-Mayor! He is here to warn me the news cameras are coming to my house. *too late* Through the crack in the door, I ask him to hold on just a second.
11:03-11:05- Jump baby gate, dash upstairs, remove blood and poop stained pajamas, put on a t-shirt, shorts, brush teeth, brush hair, wipe mascara from my face with one hand and put deodorant on with the other, dash back downstairs and open front door again, pretending to be pleasantly surprised by the unexpected visit. Oh, you want to come in? Sure, that would be just lovely. *insert fake smile*
11:06 am - Walking through the house with the Vice-Mayor . . . kicking toys aside as we go . . . the smell of poop still lingering in the air . . . can't sit in the family room there is laundry all over the couch . . . can't sit at the kitchen table, Megan is there eating ice cream out of the container with a giant spoon . . . what, Megan is eating ice cream out of the container with a giant spoon????? I'm so embarrassed I almost don't notice Megan wearing princess underwear, and ONLY princess underwear.
Needless to say, we decided to sit outside on the patio . . . it was such a lovely day and such.
As I was sitting there, dying of embarrassment, I wanted to tell him so badly that there are days when I'm dressed by 8:30 am. There are days when I proudly display pristine vacuum lines on all my carpets with the toys neatly stacked. There are days when there is room on my couch to actually sit down. There are days when Megan wears more than princess underwear and my house doesn't smell like a port-a-potty.
I just haven't had any of them lately.
And now I leave you with concrete proof that we are alive . . . and occasionally dressed enough to actually go to the park . . .