It’s a Wednesday morning, the oldest girls are ready for school. My mom comes over at 7:45 to watch my youngest P. The rest of us leave for school drop off.
It’s my morning to volunteer in the Kindergarten class. Every Wednesday is parent math, it’s fun to go help but every time I leave exhausted.
Another mom is there, a normal mom, the kind of mom that pulls it together when needed but is also just surviving.
It’s her first time volunteering. She’s asking me about the routine. I smile and oblige.
“So about 80% of the kids are fine, 10% will need extra help and the last 10% will be crawling on the floor. When you’re done you’re gonna want to do a shot.” She claps her hands and laughs at the idea. The thing is…I’m dead serious.
Volunteering goes mostly ok. I was given a game that shoots numbers out. I immediately deduce how this will go.
The kids start seeing who can shoot them the hardest and farthest. It only takes a few kids to derail the show. Kids are rolling on the carpet trying to jump attack their number.
Basically negotiating with kids is like talking to an irrational drunk person. There’s just no winning. I’m mentally taxed.
When it’s over I circle back and ask her how it went. “I’m exhausted” she says. “I don’t know how they do it.”
I say my goodbyes to my kiddo and head back home.
I get the recap on my mom’s morning, snack my toddler and chat with my mom a bit. I notice two dog bowls are missing, not atypical for P to play with them. I don’t think twice about it.
My mom leaves and so begins the lunch routine. I feel a little beat up which is my usual self. As we are nearing the end of lunch, toddler is losing focus. She starts leaving the table and getting “drive by bites.”
As she wanders off I don’t realize what she’s doing. I’m inhaling my lunch, so I’m oblivious.
When I finish scarfing my food I see what she has gotten into. Two out of four dog food bowls are filled with dirt from my plants. The dirt is also spilled everywhere.
It’s a fuggin disaster.
I leave the mess for later and head up for naptime. Then I spend the next 30 minutes cleaning the dirt.
Where are the other dog bowls? I half heartedly look but I’d rather take a coffee break and sit.
The big girl pickup time is looming. No rest for the wicked.
So here I am, groggy baby in my arms, biggest baby on me too. Shit! You have an ortho appointment in 30 mins.
Why me, can’t I just sit on my gloriously round ass.
Up I go, brushing teeth, shoving snacks at the groggy toddler. She is noncompliant so I get out the new neon pink kinetic sand. Table is ready for play and snacks. I leave dad in charge, steal the oldest kid and skip out.
The ortho and CVS are quick. I’m gone for a total of an hour. It’s relatively painless.
Once home I find the toddler playing on the stairs, with an ipad and the neon pink kinetic sand. Perfect.
Dad does a walk by on the phone, it’s a work call.
I see the sand poured out all over the coffee table and ground into the white shag carpet. Perhaps I should divorce shag? There’s an impending sense of doom in this category of my life.
Remnants of sand on the dining room table. It does look like the hubs cleaned up most of it. One point for him.
The vacuum comes out again. I clean up the coffee table, white shag carpet, dining room table and then the stairs. Put away the vacuum and head for some water.
I’m hating my life in this moment.
The toddler has taken the two dog bowls and filled them with dirt again. Threw it all over the floor and covered the shelves. P!! You can’t play in the dirt, this is a no. The dog bowls are for the dogs.
Out comes the hard working vacuum. Clean up is finished again.
I check to see if the kids need anything before I head off to set out school clothes and other boring adult tasks.
I see hubs still on the work call, sitting down looking all leisurely Sunday. It’s annoying. I’m annoyed from cleanup. I’m contemplating smother him in his sleep. This is the 50% of the time I hate him.
I leave him in the room after I laid out the girls clothes. Exiting I see sand on the floor in the hall bath. An empty sand bag in the sink and then I see the bathtub filled with neon pink sand.
That’s it. Max capacity has been hit. Eyes bugging. Steam has got to be coming off my head. I mean how does this happen? It’s through the entire house!!
I unpark the vacuum yet again and schlep my pissed off medium fat ass back upstairs. I sit on the toilet and sigh, defeated, exhausted and flaring pain.
Husband does his play dumb face and tries not to smile as I recap the destruction left in his wake. How? You watched two of your kids…for an hour!
“I mean did you even watch your kids??” I ask.
“Yeah, and I cleaned up the sand.” He tells me hands on hips.
Is he serious??
We clean out the tub and I’m holding a grudge.
The tailspin of the day peeters out.
While I’m doing my daily stretching I ask the hubs if he’s seen the missing dog bowls.
He looks at me clueless and says he’ll look. This falls into the category of the 50% of the time I’m glad I didn’t smother him. You see I think that’s how relationships work. 50% of the time your spouse is annoying, 50% of the time they’re not. It’s just how much you’re willing to work thru the crap determines if you survive marriage. If more people had this insight the divorce rate would likely go down.
Anyhow, the hubs is so confused and can’t find the bowls. As “the finder” of the house he must find them.
I’m still stretching as he comes galavanting thru the room. It’s like he’s parted the Red Sea he’s so proud.
“Well, where were they?”
“Outside, full of dirt and on top of the hot tub.”
How the hell did this happen? It’s in the 20’s. No one even went outside!
Toddlers, they’re like running a blender with no lid.