Today I picked up my little guy from daycare where he’s waiting for me in the playyard screaming “durty” DURRRTY” because he is covered in sand and sweat and water and dirt and, something else, unidentifiable. I nod and smile as they girl explains to me he is very dirty. I chase the little man out to my car (he does not walk anywhere, its all run) where he alternately screams “DUHRTY” and “Momma car movie” and “watch fissile momma car”. “Fissile is Finn McMissile, from Cars 2, just so you know. I look at the time, see its 5:05, remember the ride home yesterday when he entertained himself by eating a tissue “TISSUE NOMMY” and take 30 seconds to cave in and turn it on. I drive him home to the racing sounds of Cars 2. Again. Otherwise there is blissful silence.I pull into the garage. And then begins the best exercise program in the world. Here’s how it works. I take the little guy out of his carseat and put him down. I quickly turn around to grab his lunchbag and turn around again and chase after the little guy running down driveway, not into the house. Man, he’s fast. I herd the little guy inside after grabbing the bug spray from his hands, which he managed to grab while climbing the 3 stairs to the house. How did that bug spray even get there??? I put the little guy in the gated off family room while I drop the 6 bags the 2 of us apparently need for one 8 hour day on the counter. I peek in on him and dash upstairs to run the bath while listening to my son running around in the family room yelling “DUHRTY” like a back-up singer for Christina Aguliera. I speed downstairs, and empty the bags. Or at least unzip one bag before saving my cat from my dirty son who does not get that cats don’t care to be squealed at.. The cat will hide for the rest of the night in terror. I finish emptying 3 bags, then remember the bath water is running. Then things really speed up.So in the next 2 hours I: run upstairs to stop the water. Its cold. And deep. Intend to empty half of it and run downstairs to check on the silent boy. “Jax, what are you doing” “Momma, I got Click-ah” “Jax, you’re not supposed to have the “clicker”. Chase after son to retrieve the remote. Put it up high. Run upstairs to stop tub from draining. The water is all gone. Start over. Run downstairs again to check on son who is sitting watching Octonauts since he turned the tv on by himself. Run upstairs, bath is perfect.
Run downstairs, get boy. Take off his shoes. Marvel at the pile of sand that comes out of them onto the family room floor. Worry about that later. Take boy upstairs, undress him and tell him he’s getting a bath. Stand out of the way of the kicking feet. Put him down and let him run into the bathroom. Chase after him when he tries to climb into the tub himself. Wash his hair 3 times and realize the sand is not all going to come out. Remember I’m still in my work clothes and then don’t move fast enough when the wave of water hits me. I am now wet. Stand up and remove shirt. I am now wet and half dressed because I need to grab the boy before he dives underwater.
Empty tub and grab towel. For the boy, not me. Dry boy and lay him on the bed to get diaper on him while he is trying to kick me in the stomach repeatedly. Expertly dodge little feet. This takes skill. And then I get distracted for a second and take the hit. It’s my fault for suddenly realizing I left his clean clothes downstairs. Ouch, that hurt.
So take boy downstairs. Put him in family room. Realize clothes are really upstairs. Run upstairs and grab clothes and squeeze water out of bath toys so they don’t get mildewy. Run downstairs because son is crying for Fissile. I remembered the clothes, so I dress angry son. Put on Cars 2. Realize he was only asking where his Fissile car was. Give up because at least he’s entertained. Spend 10 minutes looking everywhere for Fissile. Find him in between two pillows on the couch.
Empty remaining bags. Get confused when little guy says “MOMMA DUHRTY” realize his clean feet walked all over the sand pile I left on the floor. Clean his feet. Sweep up sand. Realize I am still half undressed. Although the running around the house has dried me off, so that’s a bonus. Run upstairs, throw on any clothes that look like they belong to me. Run downstairs. Really finish emptying bags. Eat 3 tortilla chips for energy. And diet rootbeer.
Little guy starts screaming “FOOD FOOD BIB BIB”. I drop my rootbeer and heat up a veggie ball I keep stockpiled in freezer since it’s the one thing he’ll always eat. Tell him 60 times in 60 seconds that Momma’s making dinner. Bib him and sit him in chair in kitchen with his dinner. Start to get stuff out to make my dinner, eat 2 tortilla chips. Hmm. They’re stale. But food. Stop son from cramming 2 fistfuls of veggie ball into his mouth. Pick up veggie ball from floor after my failed attempt. Cats don’t love spinach and lentils. Grab cottage cheese from fridge after son finished dinner in 60 seconds and is screaming. Concede that the fistful of food technique is very efficient and vow to remember this tomorrow when I realize I am starving. Little guy finishes cottage cheese and screams for yogurt. He already had some at lunch so I negotiate for more cottage cheese. No. Applesauce? NO. Squishy? NONONONONONONO and tears. O’s? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Decide to give him half of a peach greek yogurt. Smells good so I put the other half in a bowl for me. Go back to making dinner.
Screaming son wants my yogurt. I hand it over. He shovels it in. I realize he’s only been eating for 5 minutes and he ate a veggie ball, and adult sized helping of cottage cheese, and a whole Chobani. And milk, and he still thinks he’s hungry. I remove him from his chair before he explodes. Or gets stuck.
Forgot what I was making for dinner. Remember it’s a French bread pizza. Can’t find the bread. Remember its in the microwave. Son is happily watching “Fissile” once more. I make my dinner. Wash dishes while making dinner. Open mail while making dinner. Cringe over daycare bill while making dinner. Check on boy 50 times while making dinner. Answer phone while making dinner. Forgot I was making dinner until the bread is burning. Scrape off burned bits. Put on sauce and cheese and put back in broiler. Promise myself I won’t leave the broiler’s side until its done. Leave broiler when I hear shuffling in family room because it’s just far enough out of sight that I can’t see him. Jax wants to color, I tell I tell him I will find his crayons. I can’t find his crayons. Seriously. Can’t find them anywhere. Really, where did they go?? Silently curse husband who put crayons somewhere I can’t find them. Hope Jax loses interest.
Run back to broiler, cheese is crispy, but not burnt. Celebrate by having a tortilla chip. Put tortilla chips away even though they are a little stale. Drop half of pizza bread on the ground because I burned my hand on the toaster oven. But that’s ok, because it was really too much food anyway. Locate source of funny smell as son’s lunch bag. Wipe it down. Sniff. Wipe it down with soap. Sniff, wipe it down with “green” cleaner. Then soap, then water. And more water. Sniff. Give up. Dry.
Look at dinner that is now cold. Go to have a tortilla chip, but remember I put them away. Gulp some soda. Mmmm. Warm. Hang out with little guy who ignores me for Fissile. Entertain him by singing Taylor Swift’s new song that’s been stuck in my head. He’s not entertained and a cat is crying outside of gate like he’s being gutted. Pretend not to be pissed off as I know I’m not that bad. Get texted by Britney looking for cousin Linda. I’m not Linda and I don’t know Britney. Inform Britney it’s a wrong number. Eat half of pizza bread. Realize when I am almost done it’s the half that fell on the floor. Shrug and finish it off.
Remember my Mom wanted to Skype. Skype while Jax mainly ignores everyone and fights sleep as he’s watching Fissile. Give him his vitamins. Brush his teeth. Change his diaper. Get him is paci and blanket. Convince him he’s tired as he is lying on the ground unable to keep his head up. Say goodbye to my Mom and Dad who watched Jax watch TV for 15 minutes. Picked up Jax awkwardly so had to awkwardly lay him on the ground to open his bedroom door. Couldn’t pick him up from the floor so made him walk into his room. Put him in his crib. Realized he brought Fissile with him so took it away. Tears. Left the room to watch him toss and turn and wiggle with the blanket over his head for the next 30 minutes as he put himself to sleep.
Finished washing dishes, prepped his lunch for tomorrow, got my clothes ready for tomorrow. Cleaned up his toys. Cleaned up the kitchen. Texted Britney back again as she explained she was from the family reunion letting her know that I’m really not Linda. Grabbed my pint of Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer. Sit down. Phone rings. Chat. Smile at little guy asleep with blanket over his head squished up against the corner of his crib. Decide to write. This is what my brain decides to write.
Shake my head and laugh a bit remembering when I used to write about deep feelings and love and everything that goes with it. Laugh harder when I try to imagine doing that now.
Paused to read what I wrote and stopped laughing, when I realized—I did.