A day like today

5:40 a.m. Gee is in our doorway with his hands jammed down the front of his pants doing a little jig. Mooooommmmmmyyyyyyyy, I have to peeeeeeee peeeeeeeeee.

5:40 & 1/2. Go! Just go! Why does he have to tell us every morning, why can't he just GO. OMIGOD, is it 5:40 a.m.? Wrap my pillow around my head and huff onto my other side, as if turning my back on the door can make the four children on the other side disappear. Just for an hour. Curse the summer. Curse the sun and its 5:00 a.m. appearance. Curse the chinks in the black out blinds in the snow white room. CURSES.

5:42. FLUSH! LID SLAM! POUNDING FEET! DOOR SLAM WALL BEHIND IT!!

5:42. Shhhhhhhhh!!! Shhhhhhhhh!! It's early. It's still night-night time. Be quiet, or you will wake up...

5:42. Quinnace the menace: DARRETT!!! WHERE YOUR BANKET, DARRETT? DID YOU POO POO, DARRETT??

5:43. Moan. It's your turn to take them to the basement. I'm pretty sure I took them yesterday. I'm pretty sure you didn't. They're going to wake up the baby. Growl. Snurfle. Whiinnneeeee.

5:48. Three oldest children in the basement; baby miraculously still sleeping. An extra hour of ... rest ... is born.

6:48. Happy time over. Get dressed, somewhat clean.

7:00. Change diapers. Dress children times four. Send children down to Matt for breakfast. Pack lunches for camp; cook waffles. Distribute waffles; baby throws a fit when you try to break up his waffle; hand him the whole waffle. Gobble cereal. Gulp coffee.

8:00. Dinosaur train. Ahhhhh. Sip coffee. Clean kitchen. Finish packing lunches, snacks, bottles, etc.

8:30. Shoes. Sunscreen. Grab your lunches. Put your shoes on. Find keys. Find sunglasses. Forgot water; fill water bottles.

8:40. PUT YOUR SHOES ON. Help Quinn. Growl at Garrett.

8:45. Buckle small non-walking child. Buckle Saige. Buckle Quinn. OMIGODPUTYOURSHOESON!!!! Garrett's staying home, Daddy, please put him in his room, because he can't ...

Thermonuclear screaming. You have ten seconds to put your... Thank you.

8:49. Buckle Garrett. Drive to camp. Try to pretend like I'm listening to all four children. I'm listening to Martina McBride. No mocking. She's my happy place.

9:02. Sign Saige and Garrett into camp. Try to pretend you are not in a huge, gigantic obnoxious, rush even though you are because everyone notices that and talks about you later, about how you are always in a huge, gigantic, obnoxious rush, but shitshitshit, I kind of am, because ahem, hi I know lovely, chatty lady that you unbuckled your one-year-old TWINS and carried them in here because you are fantastic mother who does every thing right and would never ever leave her itty bitty precious twins in the car while you threw your four-year-old at a camp administrator, but you see, lovely lady, I SUCK. MY two itty bitty kids are totally in my running car right now and my four-year-olds could give two winks if I stand here for two hours or thirty seconds, they are all, don't let the door hit you on the way out, Mom, so, UM, please don't take this personally, but BYE.

9:07. Drive to Starbucks. Get one for me and one for my incredibly generous friend upon whom I am about to dump Quinn.

9:25. Drop Quinn w/Miss Amy. Drive to photographers.

9:30. Try not to cry at beautiful pictures of Matt and Nate. Try not to spend my children's college education money on beautiful pictures as I try to hold on to his babyness. With money. And tears.

10:00. Try not to let Nate destroy beautiful studio while I cry over pictures and hand over my credit card.

10:15. Back to Amy's. Playdate with friends. Chat while children wallow on me. Try to get Quinn to play with toys and/or other children. Try to get Nate to use something besides my hair as his favorite pull up rope. Remember to change both children before we leave so that they can go straight to naps when they fall asleep on the way home in the car. Parenting score.

11:45. Pack up and drive home. Both babies sleeping. Park in the shade. Unload all our crap out of the car. Carry Nate up to his crib. Return to car. Carry Quinn up to bed. Feed dog. Water dog. Feed me. Water me. Change laundry. Clean up kitchen for dinner. Unload dishwasher; reload dishwasher.

1:00 Turn on Days. Sit down at computer. I still have an hour. Sigh. I still have an hour!!! Catch up with her. And her. And her. And....

2:00 How did that happen? Pack snacks; swimsuits; more water; sunscreen, hats, drycleaning and annoying UPS package containing phenomenally expensive clock that I ordered for the mudroom because I've wanted it for two years and that is an overpriced piece of crap that will not run for more than five minutes no matter how many times I scream obsenitites at it. Load car. Wake up baby, change baby, put baby in car with bottle. (We have a very shady, gated back yard, but yes, I probably would do that even if we didn't and no, I don't really care about your opinions on the subject and I mean that in the nicest way possible while still not caring about your opinions on the subject.) Wake up Quinn, glance at clock.

2:18 Crappity crap crap. How did that happen??? Bust ass to car, load and buckle crying Quinn. Hand him a graham cracker. He needs his naaannnannnannayyyyy blaaaaannnnkkkeeettt. Crappity crap crap. Run upstairs, grab blanket, get back in car. Remember water bottles, rush back inside, grab water bottles, rush back out. Remember dog when I see him in the front yard as I put car in reverse. Run inside, let dog in, grab cheese for bribing dog that is now stronger than I am to go into his crate, lock dog in crate. RUNBACKTOCAR, try to avoid looking at clock but see it anyway and oh NO.

2:29. Late; late; late; I'm late for camp pickup. And in a huge rush. As usual.

2:35 (and some change) Park on the playground side of the school and pray, pray, pray that they finished up outside today. Come on. It's such a nice day. Comeoncomeoncomeon.

2:36 The are not outside. Crappitycrapcrapcrap. There's no shade. It's too hot. This parking lot is too far from the classroom. ARRRGGGGGGG. Unbuckle baby, pull him out of the car, swing around to other side, unbuckle Quinn.

2:38 QUINN IS NOT WEARING SHOES.

2:38 & 1/2 ?

2:39 I can't carry Quinn and Nate. It's really hot. I'm sweating. Start begging Quinn to walk in barefeet. He's not having it. Come on, it will be fun. I'll buy you a pony.

2:39 & 1/2 Someone calls my name.

2:40 Matt* is walking across the parking lot with Saige and Garrett. My personal fairies have heard my bleats of distress. (*Matt's work is right across the alley from this school. Sometimes he can run out & help me with pick up & sometimes he can't. It's a complicated variable equation that depends on how many nursing home denizens are feeling poorly on any given day and need medication.)

2:45 Buckle. Fish! Look at our fish! We have fish! Buckle. Each of my campers is holding a zip lock bag full of ... goo ... with paper fish "swimming" in it. Buckle. I am horrified by the goo. Buckle. There is no way I'm getting those bags of fish goo out of their hands and they are totally going to leak all over my car. Buckle. Kiss Matt.

2:50 Drive to dry cleaners. Try to keep my eyes on the road and not obsess about the goo fish. Fail.

3:00 Drive back up the hill to the UPS store. The goo fish are burning my brain. I'm plotting the demise of the goo fish. The goo fish CAN NOT enter my house.

3:15 Give UPS guy the package and the code that the customer service lady gave me while promising me that I would not have to pay another $11 to ship BACK the defective, crapasstic clock that I already had to pay $11 to ship TO me. UPS guy looks at me like I'm insane. He had no idea about the code. I am talking to him from the door of the tiny UPS store, which I am holding open so that I am sort of kind of almost in close proximity to my running car containing my four children who I absolutely was not unbuckling and carrying and rebuckling again in this heat, have I mentioned that Quinn is not wearing shoes. ALSO GOO FISH, MAN. I can't even concentrate on what you're saying. It's like your blank look is a black, black blight on my soul. THEY ARE ALONE IN THE CAR WITH GOO FISH. Okay, okay, you win, UPS guy, you win, crappy clock marketers, you win, universe, my fear of the goo fish is stronger than my ire at paying return shipping. Hand him my credit card. Ask him, humbly, to bring slip out to my car.

3:30 ISTHATBAGOFGOOFISHINYOURMOUTH? Give it to me. GIVE it to me. One bag of goo fish down, one to go. Give daughter the evil eye. I dare you to let those fish approach even the vicinity of your mouth. I dare you.

3:40 Arrive at friend's swimming club. Early. Un.heard.of.

3:45. While changing children into swimsuits in the shade of a tree, notice that people are leaving friend's swimming club in large numbers. Very kind lady with three kids tells me that the pool is closed due to poop contamination.

3:46. Briefly and fervently thank every possible god in the entire existence of humanity that it was not MY children's poop that closed down private swimming club. Call friend. Plan to meet at local splash pad. Brace self for unpleasant, "change of plans" temper tantrums.

3:48. Endure change of plans temper tantrums while rebuckling one, two, three four. Hand out snacks and water. Close van doors on change of plans temper tantrums.

3:58. What? I needed a minute. Drive to splash pad. Threaten oldest son with sitting and watching at splash pad if he whines about the pool one. single. more. solitary. time. Turn up Martina. Happy place.

4:05. Splashing. Sunshine. Mostly happiness. Chatting. Playing with my baby. Playing with her baby. Still mostly happiness.

5:00. Dry and dress cold two-year-old. Dry and dress cold four-year-olds. Pack up. Push everyone on the swings. Buckle. Buckle. Buckle. Buckle. Load bags, load stroller.

5:20. Home. Unbuckle. Unbuckle. Unbuckle. Unbuckle. My entire life is one long series of buckling and unbuckling. Shoes off. TV on. Argue about goo fish. NO! BAGS OF ! GOO! FISH! IN THE BASEMENT!

5:21. Sigh.

5:25. Must make something for dinner. Throw wet suits downstairs, put all the snack/water/lunch box/stuff away.

5:30. Sigh. A little news? Just a little.

5:45. Peanut butter and jelly, for the win! Check downstairs. Step in weird gel like goo on the floor. ?? GOO FISH!!????!!! This gel is white? Fish goo is blue? One fish, two fish, I hate goo fish. Is it on their hands? No. Mystery. CURSE GOO FISH. CURSE CRAFTY PEOPLE AND PROJECTS OF ALL KINDS. CURSE CAMP.

5:47. (Just kidding, camp. You are so pretty, let me pet you.)

5:49. Make peanutbutter and jelly and raw carrots. Call children. Wash children's hands. There is more white gel on the floor. ARRGGGGGG. Curse GOO FISH AGAIN. This gel looks vaguely familiar. It doesn't look like the fish goo. It's squishy, but pellety and silicony. Something is nagging at the back of my mind. I have seen this type of gel somewhere before. Where is this gel coming from? ARRGGGGG.

5:50 Feed children. Feed dog.

6:15. Start cleaning up. Wipe older children. Quinn is hard to see for the peanut butter. Start wiping Quinn. Stand him up in his chair to wipe crumbs off of his front. The front of his diaper, the diaper that I failed to change after his nap because I was late, and then failed to switch for a swim diaper at the splash pad because I forgot, and then failed to change after the splash pad because I am dumb, EXPLODES pellety, silicony goo all over the table, his chair, and the floor. Ah yes. That's where I've seen that type of goo before. In my washing machine, when I washed a diaper.

6:16. ARRRGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!

6:17 Strip Quinn naked. Leave mess. Take all children upstairs and put them to bed, which yeah, I'll leave to your imagination, but just imagine A LOT of talking and A LOT of reminding and A LOT of whining.

6:45. I'm a record setting put to bedder.

6:46. MADLY clean up kitchen and get out wine glasses and wine. MADLY straighten front room. MADLY clean up dining room. Glance at diaper explosion zone. Wipe off table top and push chair under table.

7:15. Amy. Wine. Happy.

7:30. Meggan carrying her tiny sleeping baby. She hands him to Amy.

7:35. Meggan carrying her sleeping four year old. We put him to bed upstairs.

7:40. Meggan and Amy. Wine. Ahhhhhh. Laughter. Tears of laughter.

8:45. Matt comes home from work. Matt takes dog out for beers.

10:15. Meggan and Amy leave carrying sleeping baby and very sleepy four year old.

10:45. Get ready for bed. Crawl into bed.

10:46. ARRRGGGGGG. DAMN DIAPER. I can do it in the morning. It will suck to do it in the morning. I'm tired. It will suck. I'm tired. Do it now while you have a happy little buzz.

10:48. Deal with diaper. Clean up chair. Clean up floor. Take gel covered clothes to basement. Go ahead and throw a load in so the suits are washed.

11:00. Bed. For real. Good night.

Everyone has days like this, right? Often? Just say yes.

(P.S. Yes, I know, I'd take a lifetime of days like this too. I'd do it every day over and over and over like ground hog day, exploding diaper and all, just to see them run under the rainbow water sprayer, laughing, with water and sun and joy all over their faces. Just to hand Nater a cracker in his car seat and feel him take it with his tiny, gentle, mousy touch. It's the good stuff. I'm still tired.)