This will be a short post. And, getting a Thankful Thursday post in just under the wire here, I'm determined to find something redeemable about the day. So, here it is: we survived.
This was one of those days where you are brutally awoken much too early, and as the morning creeps on and you start to think "Okay, that was fun, that had to have killed half the day, right?" and then you look at the clock only to realize it is a mere 8am in the morning, you just know you are in for one of those days. [Insert dramatic music here].
So, bear with me. Here is a mega dose of reality. Here is a nasty glimpse into the mundane, the necessary, the reality of how a "normal" day shakes down around here. And here is why I am so freaking thankful it is closing in on 8PM and the house is finally silent for at least (fingers crossed) the next several hours (that's quite optimistic, mind you).
The baby woke up, hacking up half a lung. The poor thing, just barely over the stomach flu now has a horrible cold. Of course she can't complain about it or tell me anything or take a cough drop or Mucinex...so she just stares at you with those giant doe eyes blinking helplessly for you to do something about the frog in her throat that won't go away. She's miserable and sad. Sad enough to cry out and wake her sister up as well. Alrighty, here we go.
We make it through breakfast and for some reason (why oh why) I decide that today would be a brilliant day to start potty training again (why?). I have introduced and reintroduced this to Matilda multiple times now. She has been in pull-ups since the beginning of the year and will go on the potty if I take her, but has yet to jump the hurdle of actually telling me before she goes (sort of an important component in the whole "making it to the potty in time" scenario). Regardless, I get her chattering about panties and potties and poo poos and the proverbial ball is rolling faster than I can teach her the "potty dance". So, okay, so we are just going for it!
This, then, of course, starts an ongoing, all-day battle of constantly questioning her about her (lack of) bladder control. I'm putting her under fierce interrogation all day long: How do you feel? Are you getting that feeling? Do you need to go pee pee? Should we go to the potty? and so forth. It's relentless and a couple hours into it we are both sick of hearing me talk about it. Still, she is super excited about the panty options and decides she does want to take part in today's activity (I can only hope she understands this particular activity will hopefully last from here on out!)
The baby takes an all-too-short morning nap. Lunch is a disaster. I spill banana goo all over my jeans and I'm pretty sure there is still some trapped in between the cushions of the couch (or is that from last week's incident?) and Matilda refuses to eat anything but eggs. Whatever, sure, I'll cook you scrambled eggs for lunch, what do I care. She gobbles them up and pleads for more. Having just done all the dishes, I'm in no rush to dirty the pan yet again for second helpings that she will most likely not finish. I try to entice her with another food, but this only leads to tantrums and screaming indicating that we are already past the magical window of nap time.
About an hour later (and a zillion readings of "Berenstain Bear's Weekend at Grandma's") she goes down for a nap. Not two minutes later (just long enough for me to inhale a deep breath, but not yet exhale) an entourage of blaring sirens go screaming down our street. Of course Matilda wakes up. I put Daphne in her bouncer and go get Matilda back down. Magically, this occurs. Not five minutes later, there is a knock at the door (are you kidding me?) and the UPS guy wonders if I can take a package for my neighbor?! (Not even a fun package for me!?) Fine, sure, of course. I check on Matilda again and she stays asleep (hallelujah).
I finally get a chance to sit while Daphne plays on the floor. She romps around happily, until...SMACK! Daphne slips and goes face first into our jaggedy edged coffee table. WHAT!? She screams at the top of her lungs, wakes Matilda, and I'm scrambling to just look her over and make sure she is okay. Then I see blood. BLOOD! Blood is gushing out her mouth and this is when all the worst case scenarios start racing through my head and I start thinking how am I the only person here to figure this out!? She's fine. Teeth, fine. Gums, find. Lip is fat and bloody, but fine. I get her sucking on an ice pack and she is settled down, meanwhile Matilda is beating down her door like a wild rhinoceros.
Welp, nap time is over. That was it. Done. And now I have the entire afternoon to still kill and then on into the evening since Josh has to work extra late tonight. Argh. Matilda is insisting on more eggs for a snack. Really? Eggs? Okay, fine, maybe I'll just nuke them so as to save myself a pan to not have to clean. I ready the bowl, fix the eggs, and toss it in the microwave. I kid you not, the scrambled eggs literally exploded in the microwave. Exploded. Now...I don't know about you, but scrambled eggs are definitely at the top of my list of things that I wish never to explode in my microwave...right above "bean burrito" and just under "cat food". Gross. It is so gross. So, there was a pleasant little clean up that was unexpected. Bah!
The afternoon is all a blur. We played dress up and reviewed shapes and letters. There were a couple potty accidents and at least a few times I had to yank Matilda up by her arm and move her where she was supposed to go (since I was also holding the baby, this is my polite way of not a) leaving her wherever she is or b) not barrel-rolling her body across the ground by my foot). At one point Matilda found her pancake plate from breakfast and decided to give her feet a maple syrup bath, and then walked all over the carpet (which actually picked up quite a bit of cat hair that our vacuum can never seem too, so there's a plus!)
Luckily, we ran into some friends out front and were able to get through the last couple hours before dinner time with some playmates. Thank goodness!
Now, bed time. There is still macaroni and green beans in my carpet from dinner. There are clothes and toys strewn alllll over the living room. There are shoes and blankets in nooks and crannies where I will never find them. The remote to the TV is no where to be found. My phone has sticky syrup finger prints on it. I haven't peed since like 3 this afternoon. I am too tired to fix dinner for myself and will probably just stick my hand in a box of cereal while I watch a Frasier rerun until my husband comes home and wonders what I've done with his wife.
And there you have it. I've spent my last brain cell pouring out my soul to all you other tired moms out there so we can all just relax and low-five each other (high fives just take too much energy, am I right?) and say THANK GOD, today is over.
Good work, mamas. Good night.