Then there are days where I think they realize I'm outnumbered and I'm lucky to make it out alive. Today was one of those days. Mondays and Wednesdays are tougher than the rest. My son attends a speech and language program in the mornings. I have to alter our schedule to have our preschool program done and lunch prepared, consumed, and cleaned up by 11am.
I was feeling accomplished. Lunch was on the table. Even the drinks!! Some days I'm slow on the drinks and I have 5 kids letting me know in unison that I've failed. If the 6 month old could join them, I'm certain she would. My son's school clothes were ready (including his shoes!) and the backpack was on the couch. He gets out the door on time, everyone is cleaned and down for nap. Success!
Those that know me, understand that I truly believe unless there is a fire or eminent death, we don't wake sleeping children. Ever. Naturally, my eight year old niece bangs on the door with such force I feel the door rattle just as the last child drifts off to sleep. Twice. I love her. She's just being eight, so I overlook it and go outside to help get my son out of the car. After getting him settled in my room, another knock on the door. Really?
It's also public knowledge that I have a great dislike for answering the door. Unless it is related to my clients and business, I have a strict "Just because they knock doesn't mean I have to answer" policy. I move stealth-like to check the peep hole. I'm not even sure who I fear, I'm not wanted by the FBI. Yet.
Ah, my longtime friend that's been unavailable for 2 weeks has arrived unexpectedly. She's one of the few I'd forgive for an unannounced visit during nap. However, my son associates her with wild, crazy play time and acts accordingly. As we wrap up our visit, my son is jumping up and down on the bed catching impressive air. By then, I lack both the will or energy to either order him to stop or beat him with a brick. I walk out silent, praying at the very least, he doesn't break anything either on his body or in my room of value.
I close the front door and turn to see the cat has vomited. Sweet. At least it's small and on the hardwood. I turn to grab the anti-bacterial spray and find one daycare child crying hysterically. Why? Because the cat threw up in the same room as her. I get her settled just as a second daycare child is waking up saying "Um, Ms. Donna, I think your cat did something?" I turn to see that the cat politely vomited all over his foot while he was sleeping. Awesome. I grab the wipeys and gently remove crusty vomit from between his toes, cussing the cat silently in my head.
My son walks in "I want chocolate milk". The baby wakes and starts crying, it's time for her bottle. The doorbell rings, another part time child arriving. The other three children wake up tossing mats and blankets everywhere. I'm rolling up the area rug, now covered in vomit and wipeys to throw in the washer. "I Don't Know How You Do It" pops into my head.
My response, in that moment? I'm not a drinker, but my reply would be "A great deal of vodka."
~Alter Ego #2
~Alter Ego #2
