--which seems fantastical and almost fictional to think about now--
-- I often found myself wondering what stay-at-home moms DID with their days.
How did they spend their time?
Did they take up a hobby?
Were they all just lazing around on sofas, covered in the neon orange-colored dust of untold amounts of cheetos? (<----probably what I would do.)
. . . were they all Martha Stewart/Rachel Ray disciples, with perfect little Stepford children and flawless homes?
My imagination went wild.***
***The prevailing theory was that the stay-at-homers were THE VERY PEOPLE that kept Maury Povich and his ilk on the air. Because. . . well, it's just that I didn't know tons of stay-at-home moms, and I also didn't know tons of people that admitted to watching Maury Povich every day. . . . And yet he was still on the air.
Sooooo. . . SOMEONE was obviously keeping him there.
. . . I think it's safe to say that I am only guilty of drawing the most logical conclusion.***
Point is. . . I had no idea what these people DID.
And now. . .
Now I do.
And so, in the interest of science,
(SCIENCE OF THE FUTURRRRRRRE, BITCHES!)
(****Please excuse my language. I got excited. Science does that to me.
. . . won't happen again.)
. . . I decided to record here (for posterity) what one actually DOES on days like these.
(For the record: Earth. Southern United States. The year 2013. Summertime.)
Anyway. Moving right along, here's the rundown.
It's not thrilling.
But it's short. =)
WHAT ONE DOES ON DAYS LIKE THESE:
6:20 a.m.: One wakes up.
Because one's child is now awake, and can be heard chirping over the baby monitor and instantly talking about "tars". (Cars.)
It is adorable. =)
("Tars, tars, tars! Tars? . . . tars!!")
Even if I happen to wake up in a pissy mood (--almost NEVER happens--), hearing his sweet little voice animatedly talking about tars and dada and Ash. . . it's just magic. Snaps me right out of my funk.
So I pick him up and bring him downstairs, and we cuddle on the bed while he drinks his strawberry Quik-ed milk (in the blue Cookie Monster cup. . . no other) and we watch 3rd and Bird.
(Great show. Two thumbs. Way, way up.)
7:00 - 9:00: One plays around on the computer while the wee one sits in her lap and eat pop-tarts. He wiggles and scoots and runs his Hot Wheels over the keyboard while I sip my iced coffee and look at memes on tickld and giggle at funny pictures of cats.
Oh cats. . . you so hilarious.
We wait on his brother to wake up, and when he does. . . we make muffins.
And this wiry little kid, while watching Spongebob Squarepants, would put away an ENTIRE recipe of muffins. If I'd let him. (Which I do not.)
9:00 - 10:00: Drink another cup of coffee and make a fort for the boys under the kitchen table.
I drape old sheets over an entire (out of the way) section of the kitchen, stuff the inside with pillows and a certain yellow Big Bird chair, and remove all break-ables from the area.
Let Grey Bear drag the ENTIRE TOY BOX through the house so that it can be situated safely WITHIN the confines of the fort.
Tell Devin that breakfast is over, and he is to STOP trying to sneak muffins.
10:15 - 11:15: Let boys go wild in their new fort.
The older boy is heard to say: "Can we play in here all day?? This is the best day ever!!!"
. . . At first I think he is being sarcastic, and mocking my feeble attempts to entertain them. . . then I realize that he is still only 6, and does not yet have a firm grasp on what sarcasm is. He's genuinely happy, and I am pleased. =)
11:16: Decide that 'Sneak-Muffins' is probably an awesome name for a band.
Also decide that I should start charging for this shit.
I'm like a one-woman think-tank.
11:30 - 12:00: Lunchtime.
One makes a grilled cheese (with chips) for Dev, and a combo tray of yogurt, granola, saltines, and marshmallows for the baby (hoping to hit on something he will actually consume).
Set up tv trays on the living room rug for the boys.
Eat my lunch on the couch while watching Tom & Jerry. The boys slurp their pink lemonade very loudly, and ask many questions about the nature of Tom and Jerry.
. . . I do not have adequate answers for every question.
And we agree that some things are just mysterious.
12:00 - 1:30: Naptime.
Since Dev is older (and I am 100% less likely to get the baby to sleep if he is in the room), he gets to watch cartoons in the den while I lay Took down in our bed.
He fights the diaper-change like a champ ("STAHHHHHP!!!"), and is very vocal with his demands of "Juice!". . . but other than that is a complete delight. =)
I invent the Tickle Spider.
It attacks without warning, either by crawling OR by jumping, and is known to be quite merciless.
. . . there have been several sightings in the area. . .
1:30 - 2:00: One wakes the baby up from his nap, and takes however much time is needed to sufficiently de-"grump" him.
One gets the children ready to go to the pool.
This involves locating three different swimsuits, dressing three different bodies, lotioning three different bodies, readying snacks and drinks for three different bodies, and locating and putting on three different pairs of shoes.
(It takes a while.)
2:00 - 4:00: POOL TIME!!!!
We walk to the pool. (There are stragglers.) Sign in, corral the boys, locate a "spot."
We start out by the baby pool. I figured this was a safe bet. Not too many folks around (which equals not too many folks around to be annoyed with our boisterous antics), and still a good view of the big pool.
. . .We were, by far, the most vocal family there.
With the baby and his random, unexpected, and entirely ear-splitting howler-monkey screeches, and Dev and his COMPLETE inability to CONTROL THE VOLUME OF HIS VOICE. . . I'm sure we are, honestly, a SUPER-irritating bunch to be around.
So one administers several poolside time-outs.
One says completely asinine things like: "Didn't I tell you to stop yelling? Go sit down."
Anyway, strangely enough, MOST of the families at the pool today decided to leave about 30 minutes after we got there. . .
Odd. . .
. . . Must've been their lunch time or something?
So one relaxes a little bit, now that there's really only two people left to annoy.
One watches her not-quite-2-year-old take it upon himself to just ease himself, backward, into the Big Pool.
At the 5 foot mark.
He just got on his knees, backed into the pool, held onto the side, and then turned around and started checking out the only lady in a bikini left sunbathing.
One makes sure to distract and subdue both boys whenever they start to step over the "creeper" line.
It is absolutely AMAZING to one how much they already love staring at girls. . . And trying to impress girls. Girls that are 20 - 30 years older than them.
Simply fascinating to watch. =)
4:00 - 6:00: Take kids home and plunk them in the tub.
After threats to the larger one on the walk home:
"Get up here with us, please." "Get away from that person's car." "Put the stick down, please." "It's time to cross the street. . . Please come cross the street. . . . I am going to beat you with my shoe if you don't get your ass across the street!!!"
. . . we finally make it to our door.
One runs a big bath, cleans up two boys, then lets them play in the tub.
Inevitably, arguments occur about which side of the tub belongs to which boy, and which bath toy is the most bad-ass.
Also inevitably, the smaller one, at one point or another, decides to stand up and pee in the tub.
The other one then proceeds to FREAK.
It is awesome to watch.
6:00 - 8:00: Family dinner/family time.
Michael comes home (finally), the kids run around screaming and acting like little banshees, and I try to get out a few coherent sentences to my husband.
. . . Eventually I just hug him and decide to try again later.
He makes chicken nuggets and fries.
He asks me if I am distracted.
. . . while small ones in the living room scream "DIEEE! DIEEEEEEE! DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!".
And I would admit to him that I AM a bit distracted. . . but I quickly forget that he has even asked me a question.
One eats with one's family.
One puts away the dishes and cleans up.
One sits on the back porch with one's boyfriend and watches the boys ride around on their bikes as they screech and squeal and just have tons of fun.
One performs a mercy-killing on the bee that Devin is busy torturing on the driveway with a stick. (Cut off it's head with a rock.)
One has a conversation with Devin about different animals you could potentially cut the heads off of.
One admires the beautiful sunset.
The boys point out the different shades of pinks and purples.
We all agree that it is quite beautiful.
One feels very lucky to be right here. At this very moment.
8:00 - 8:30: Bedtime.
Toys are put away and strawberry milk is handed out.
Big boy snuggles down in his bed while the little boy unwinds on the couch with me.
We tell secrets.
We find another Tickle Spider hiding underneath the couch cushions.
It is eventually subdued.
One carries the toddler to his bed, kisses his cheek, and says goodnight.
And then one snuggles down into her own bed, with her very favorite person.
8:30 - 9:00: Adult Conversation.
One speaks in complete sentences, and engages in adult conversation for pretty much the first time all day.
Me: ". . . I think I could've been a monk. . . . I mean, if I hadn't met you, and didn't have children. I think I could've done it. Just . . . you know. . . planting crops for the local villages, and meditating, and scrubbing the floors of the monastery. I think I would've been good at it."
Mr.: "I think you've lost your mind. There's no way you'd want to be a monk."
Me: " . . . maybe I'd be one of the cooks or something. Maybe I'd become known around the monastery for my blueberry muffins. . . or pancakes. . . I'm pretty sure monks enjoy good food as much as anybody else."
Mr.: "I don't think you could do it. It takes a lot of discipline."
Me: "I could. I'd be great at it. . . . exactly what part of it do you think I'd have such a problem with?"
Mr.: "I don't know. . . it's just not an easy life. You'd have to be really disciplined. . . you'd have to be celibate. . ."
Me: ". . . soooo. . . you think I'm too trampy to be a monk."
Mr.: "That's NOT what I said."
Me: "You think I'm too big a slut to be a monk!!"
Mr.: "You know that's not what I said."
And I roll over.
Later. . .
Mr.: ". . . We might be getting some bad weather later. . ."
Me: "%^&* you, I'd be a GREAT monk."
And we go to sleep.
1:00 a.m.: Be awakened by storms.
It is thunderous.
Devin gets up several times to tell us that the power is out, and that it is dark.
Fortunately, I do not wake up for any of these.
The thunder sounds like someone is beating our house with several large sledgehammers.
The baby does not wake up.
Michael begins coughing loudly.
Sounds like a bad cough.
I reach over in the dark and pat him reassuringly.
I whisper to him sweetly: "You're being disruptive."
He smiles, and we go back to sleep.
. . . .
And that's how it's done.
Or. . . that's how *I* do it, anyway.
Also, a brief list of things that I also managed to fit into this day, inbetween other tasks:
* several bathroom breaks
* a 7-minute bath
* washed a load of clothes (but they are still sitting in the dryer)
* took Toddler to his new potty several times
* remained upbeat and positive, even when Toddler refused to USE his brand new Urine Frog (pictured here):