Today was just an ordinary day. Wake up reluctantly at 6:45 a.m. Fetch Babygirl from her crib. Welcome DaycareKid. Send YoungestBoy to school. Wake up twins who think 9:00 a.m. is early. (My Day of Revenge for all those pre-dawn mornings when they were toddlers is nearly here.) Oversee schooling, wash laundry, play with toddlers, wash dishes, make lunch, wash dishes, supervise science experiment, change diapers, empty potty-chair, fold laundry, take little nap while tricking Babygirl to sleep, paint two kitchen walls red, read newspaper, go outside with Babygirl, wake up DaycareKid, etc.

Then, the twins went to their twin-friends’ house to play and after dinner, I headed upstairs to give Babygirl a bath. YoungestBoy appeared and mentioned casually that water covered the boys’ floor downstairs.

WATER? I grabbed Babygirl and ran downstairs to find my fears confirmed. The washing machine hose had come loose from the drain in the wall and all the water from the load formed a gigantic lake on the floor. Water filled the laundry room, seeped under the walls and spread like a pond across the room.

I yelled a bit, threw towels in the vast expanse of water, shook my head, and heard the door open. My husband had gone to pick up the twins and had returned. Babygirl (completely without clothing) met him at the door saying, “Mama is so mad!”

He came to ask questions and watch me sop up water. I do not enjoy being observed while I cope with a crisis. Babygirl stood behind him and said, “You are so mad?” I said, “No, I’m not so mad.”

He borrowed a wet-vac and by the time he returned, I’d condensed the pond to a smallish puddle, but I’d run out of towels. He sucked up the rest of the water with the vacuum and I thought to myself, This sucks on so many levels, and then I thought, Oh, I am so clever! I just made a pun! Sucks! Get it? I planned to paint a final coat of red on the kitchen walls and grocery shop . . . and here I was cleaning up water. Sweating, sore shoulder throbbing, full of annoyance.

But now my laundry room floor is clean and I’d added that to my mental list of Things To Do: “Clean laundry room floor before company comes.” This matters only because the bathroom is accessible through the laundry room and I don’t know about you, but my laundry room tends to collect dust balls and grime and kitty litter (that’s where the box is).

After I finished dealing with the laundry room crisis, I put Babygirl to bed at 8 p.m. At 8:30 p.m., I went grocery shopping. Finished at 10 p.m. Home by 10:15 p.m., groceries put away by 10:30 p.m. I painted the two walls with what I hope is the final coat. Done with that at 11:00 p.m.

Midnight approaches and I will turn into a pumpkin and this fairy tale night will end. Or something like that.

I am depressed. Let me count the reasons why:

1) Tomorrow is Monday and with Monday comes schooling at home.
2) Tomorrow is Monday and that means I have to wake up early.
3) Next Saturday I am having company. I will have to do the impossible: maintain a clean house and cook and look cute. All at the same time.
4) My hair is too long. I look like an unkempt cocker spaniel with long hair.
5) My boys’ twin friends left our house today after calling their mother and telling her they were bored, there is nothing to do here and all my boys wanted to do was watch television and fight. I had no idea this boy was even going to use my phone, nor did I know things weren’t going well. I am embarrassed and afraid my children will never have any friends. They will probably die of boredom.
6) Tomorrow is Monday.
7) My husband reported yesterday that the leftover turkey tastes “funny,” and he didn’t mean “funny, ha-ha.” There go my dinner plans for three nights.
8) Tomorrow is Monday and I didn’t have enough fun or get out of the house enough these past four days.
9) Tomorrow is Monday and the laundry pile is still huge.
10) I have to paint the kitchen wall tonight.

Wow. How quickly the Thanksgiving spirit departs from me. I should be sent to solitary confinement. With a novel. And popcorn with M&Ms sprinkled in it.

Girls don’t pee outside in the flowerbed.

Thanksgiving Day
I have to admit the truth. I don’t even like gravy, but I can make it without a recipe. And cooking Thanksgiving dinner was no more strenuous than cooking a regular Sunday dinner.

My 98-year old grandma and my mother arrived shortly before our scheduled eat-time of 1:00 p.m. Mom told me my brother and his wife would be late–they’d phoned right before they left at 12:30 p.m. and traffic on the freeway was heavy. So we began our Thanksgiving feast without them.

YoungestBoy ate three rolls and black olives. Babygirl ate black olives and spent the rest of the meal spooning cranberry salad from her plate to mine and back again. The rest of us ate heartily.

I’m not even sure what time my brother and his wife arrived, but by then, I’d put Babygirl to sleep and the boys had all left the table to play Nintendo. I’d started moving the food off the table when they finally appeared, so then Mom and I began reheating stuff and rearranging food back on the table. I was picking turkey from the carcass while they ate.

Wouldn’t you know it? An elderly church woman was taken to the hospital, suffering from what turned out to be a type of stroke, so my husband had to leave to make a hospital visit. She’s already doing a lot better, but I felt really sorry for her family.

I’ve been debating about whether I should go on and on about my brother here, and I finally decided that I ought not. But I will share this one incident.

Towards the end of the evening, just when I was thinking I would have to be unpardonably rude and tell my company, “Bye! I’m going to watch Survivor now!” my brother finished working on my computer. (He added a couple more programs to keep spyware away.) I’d gone upstairs and noticed a Bible story book on my bookshelves and remembered that I was going to give it to him. The inscription in it indicates it was given to him in 1971 from my grandparents (the same grandma who was at my house for Thanksgiving). I somehow ended up with it and always meant to give it to him.

So, I carried it downstairs, behind my back and said, “I have an early Christmas present for you!” With a flourish, I presented it to him, opening the book to the inscription. He barely glanced at it before he said, “Do you still have the bookshelf that Grandpa built for me in 1971?”

I said, “Bookshelf?”

He described it and said it was in a particular room in my dad’s house (where my husband and I lived during my dad’s illness and after his death). My brother said I told him we needed it, but would give it to him at some point.

That never happened. The conversation never happened. The bookshelf was never there. My brother remembers stuff that never happened, which normally doesn’t matter to me, but in this instance, he remembers me saying things I didn’t say and doing things I never did.

I didn’t want to point out that he was wrong, so I said, “Well, I don’t remember that bookshelf and I have no idea what happened to it.” We would never give away a bookshelf. We have too many books. We buy bookshelves–we don’t discard them. And we wouldn’t dream of giving away a piece of furniture constructed by my grandfather.

My brother acted as if I had personally torched this bookshelf to spite him. So, I just let it drop. I did say one more (pointless) time, “I don’t remember that bookshelf and I hope you know we would never have purposely given it away, if we’d had it in the first place.”

He clearly didn’t believe me. He’ll always think I threw away his bookshelf, the only thing he had that was from Grandpa. Well, besides the book with the inscription in Grandpa’s handwriting, but why quibble over details?

I am so happy that my brother found his wife, a lovely, kind woman who clearly adores him. Let’s just leave it at that.

Friday
I forgot that my husband had to work, so I found myself at home with the children Friday morning while my husband worked. Even so, since I had no Daycarekid and no schooling to oversee, the day seemed like a holiday. I cleaned up the remaining Thanksgiving mess and when my husband came home after lunch, I was set free! I joined the post-Thanksgiving Day shopping crowds, but mainly, I just meandered about, free of demands, free of children. I went to Costco, wandered about while my film was being developed at the one-hour photo shop, and then went to Toys R Us for a quick look-see. I have no problem figuring out what to get my daughter for Christmas, but the boys are more tricky because everything they want is expensive.

Anyway, I came home at 4:00 p.m., refreshed from my jaunt away from home.

Then, I realized that the staff potluck I’d suggested for “sometime in December” had turned into a reality and the date of that reality is December 4. In other words, in one week.

What have I done?

I spent the evening industriously working on the church nursery schedule and on the Vacation Bible School report (from last July’s event). At 11:00 p.m., I finished. I have no idea where this burst of unprocrastination originated, but I am so relieved to have those chores behind me.

Today
The day began slowly and fueled by donuts, I decided to shop. I had a Bath & Body Works coupon burning a hole through my pocket. And since YoungestBoy was going to a birthday party, I needed to buy a gift for him to take.

And lucky me! Babygirl was going with me. Not that I mind, really. She’s a fun little companion, but do you remember how a two year old slows you down? I guess that’s the good and the bad–toddlers slow you down. You really can’t hurry them along. That’s why it took me a good ten minutes to actually get out of the driveway with Babygirl.

First, I had to move the carseat from the van (she calls it “the man”). I hate refastening carseats.

Then, I buckled her up. I said, “Do you need to pee in the potty?” She said, “Yes.” So I unbuckled her and we almost reached the front door when she changed her mind. “I peed in the potty!” she exclaimed.

Back into the car and I realized I didn’t have my cell phone. Back to the house to retrieve it and finally, we were on our way.

At Bath & Body Works, Babygirl picked up everything, smelled it, carried it and then tossed it back on the shelf. I was trying to keep the translucent soaps from getting all dented while trying to figure out how to get the best bargain. I began to count in my head, pondering how many soaps to buy, who the recipients would be and then Babygirl said, “I need to pee.”

We had to leave that store (no bathroom) and go into T.J. Maxx, next door, which meant a long trek to the back of the store. Then I had the bright idea to look for a toy for the birthday party while I was there. Bad, bad idea. Babygirl had to touched and hold all the toys and at one point, I thought I might have to purchase a doll in a box for $14.99. Babygirl was so insistent about holding it. Finally, we left the store, but only with one purchase, a book for less than $4.00.

Then back to Bath & Body Works to ponder soaps. At last I made a decision, tossing soaps randomly into the basket, no longer caring, and then we paid and headed to Target for the birthday present. I was in the Goldfish cracker aisle when my cell phone rang. It was husband, wondering when I’d be home and if I was bringing lunch. It was 12:15 p.m. I said I’d bring bread and be home soon.

You just can’t hurry with a toddler. That’s the bottom line.

My husband spent the afternoon with YoungestBoy at the bowling alley birthday party. While he was gone, I prepared my entryway and kitchen wall for paint. Tonight I painted the entryway. Tomorrow, a second coat, then Monday, the kitchen wall will be primed for red paint.

Because I lost my mind invited company over for a potluck next Saturday night, my house has to be pulled together. The walls have to be painted. I have to get out my big, old fake Christmas tree.

And think–next week at this time, it will all be over.

Thanksgiving Day
I have to admit the truth. I don’t even like gravy, but I can make it without a recipe. And cooking Thanksgiving dinner was no more strenuous than cooking a regular Sunday dinner.

My 98-year old grandma and my mother arrived shortly before our scheduled eat-time of 1:00 p.m. Mom told me my brother and his wife would be late–they’d phoned right before they left at 12:30 p.m. and traffic on the freeway was heavy. So we began our Thanksgiving feast without them.

YoungestBoy ate three rolls and black olives. Babygirl ate black olives and spent the rest of the meal spooning cranberry salad from her plate to mine and back again. The rest of us ate heartily.

I’m not even sure what time my brother and his wife arrived, but by then, I’d put Babygirl to sleep and the boys had all left the table to play Nintendo. I’d started moving the food off the table when they finally appeared, so then Mom and I began reheating stuff and rearranging food back on the table. I was picking turkey from the carcass while they ate.

Wouldn’t you know it? An elderly church woman was taken to the hospital, suffering from what turned out to be a type of stroke, so my husband had to leave to make a hospital visit. She’s already doing a lot better, but I felt really sorry for her family.

Friday
I forgot that my husband had to work, so I found myself at home with the children Friday morning while my husband worked. Even so, since I had no Daycarekid and no schooling to oversee, the day seemed like a holiday. I cleaned up the remaining Thanksgiving mess and when my husband came home after lunch, I was set free! I joined the post-Thanksgiving Day shopping crowds, but mainly, I just meandered about, free of demands, free of children. I went to Costco, wandered about while my film was being developed at the one-hour photo shop, and then went to Toys R Us for a quick look-see. I have no problem figuring out what to get my daughter for Christmas, but the boys are more tricky because everything they want is expensive.

Anyway, I came home at 4:00 p.m., refreshed from my jaunt away from home.

Then, I realized that the staff potluck I’d suggested for “sometime in December” had turned into a reality and the date of that reality is December 4. In other words, in one week.

What have I done?

I spent the evening industriously working on the church nursery schedule and on the Vacation Bible School report (from last July’s event). At 11:00 p.m., I finished. I have no idea where this burst of unprocrastination originated, but I am so relieved to have those chores behind me.

Today
The day began slowly and fueled by donuts, I decided to shop. I had a Bath & Body Works coupon burning a hole through my pocket. And since YoungestBoy was going to a birthday party, I needed to buy a gift for him to take.

And lucky me! Babygirl was going with me. Not that I mind, really. She’s a fun little companion, but do you remember how a two year old slows you down? I guess that’s the good and the bad–toddlers slow you down. You really can’t hurry them along. That’s why it took me a good ten minutes to actually get out of the driveway with Babygirl.

First, I had to move the carseat from the van (she calls it “the man”). I hate refastening carseats.

Then, I buckled her up. I said, “Do you need to pee in the potty?” She said, “Yes.” So I unbuckled her and we almost reached the front door when she changed her mind. “I peed in the potty!” she exclaimed.

Back into the car and I realized I didn’t have my cell phone. Back to the house to retrieve it and finally, we were on our way.

At Bath & Body Works, Babygirl picked up everything, smelled it, carried it and then tossed it back on the shelf. I was trying to keep the translucent soaps from getting all dented while trying to figure out how to get the best bargain. I began to count in my head, pondering how many soaps to buy, who the recipients would be and then Babygirl said, “I need to pee.”

We had to leave that store (no bathroom) and go into T.J. Maxx, next door, which meant a long trek to the back of the store. Then I had the bright idea to look for a toy for the birthday party while I was there. Bad, bad idea. Babygirl had to touched and hold all the toys and at one point, I thought I might have to purchase a doll in a box for $14.99. Babygirl was so insistent about holding it. Finally, we left the store, but only with one purchase, a book for less than $4.00.

Then back to Bath & Body Works to ponder soaps. At last I made a decision, tossing soaps randomly into the basket, no longer caring, and then we paid and headed to Target for the birthday present. I was in the Goldfish cracker aisle when my cell phone rang. It was husband, wondering when I’d be home and if I was bringing lunch. It was 12:15 p.m. I said I’d bring bread and be home soon.

You just can’t hurry with a toddler. That’s the bottom line.

My husband spent the afternoon with YoungestBoy at the bowling alley birthday party. While he was gone, I prepared my entryway and kitchen wall for paint. Tonight I painted the entryway. Tomorrow, a second coat, then Monday, the kitchen wall will be primed for red paint.

Because I lost my mind invited company over for a potluck next Saturday night, my house has to be pulled together. The walls have to be painted. I have to get out my big, old fake Christmas tree.

And think–next week at this time, it will all be over.

Here are Babygirl and Smokey the kitty hanging out on Thanksgiving Day. 

The stockings are hung by the chimney with . . . oh wait a second. Wrong holiday. The children are nestled all snug in their beds. I am thankful for that. I am also thankful for a myriad of miscellaneous things:

1) I am thankful for rainy days and dancing leaves.
2) I am thankful for my kids, even the one who stomped his feet and yelled at me today. Not so long ago, I feared I’d die a bitter, childless woman. Now I know I will die an exhausted, worn out mother.
3) I am thankful for my husband, even though he doesn’t cook. Or build things. Or fix things.
4) I am thankful for a kitchen full of food, even though I can’t find any chocolate in it.
5) I am thankful for stuff that makes me laugh, including the sight of Babygirl dancing to the Wiggles.
6) I am thankful for a shower that drains properly so I can take long, thoughtful showers.
7) I am thankful for my husband (yes, I know I already said that) because he’s so funny–this morning he woke me up saying, “Do you want me to tell everyone you are unavailable today?” I mumbled, “Yes.” And then he told me he had a great idea: “Personalized bobbleheads. I really think there is a market for them.” I said, “Why are you awake?” and stumbled to the bathroom.
8) I am thankful for my marriage. I know it will not crumble or explode without notice.
9) I am thankful for books and chocolate, and wish for an endless supply of both.
10) I am thankful for friends, far and near, especially the ones who think I am amusing and smart and cute.

I am hosting Thanksgiving dinner at my house tomorrow and I think I am ready. My 98-year old grandmother had to invite herself over because it didn’t occur to me to invite her. I am glad she took action, rather than offense. My brother and his wife are coming. So is my mom, so it’ll be a small gathering of ten of us.

God bless us everyone. Happy Turkey Day!

Here. Try a little experiment.

Shampoo your carpets.
Wait.
Hypothesize.
How long will it take for pee and orange juice to contaminate the clean carpet?

That’s right. Three days.

Babygirl in the family room, standing in front of her potty-chair: “I peed on the carpet!”

Me, shrieking and running: “NO! NO! DO NOT PEE ON THE . . . oh, you peed on the carpet!”

Upstairs, later.

Me, putting away clothes in Babygirl’s dresser. Her, sprinkling orange juice from her sippy cup onto her carpet.

Me: “NO! NO! Do NOT spill orange juice on the . . . oh, you spilled orange juice!”

My husband, from the bedroom where he is reclining, watching Fox News: “Don’t yell at my baby!”

Me: “SHE SPILLED ORANGE JUICE!”

Well, okay, maybe I overreacted and was just a bit too loud, but hey, at least I didn’t go into the stands and punch a cup-throwing fan.

Naps
Naptime has become something of a nightmare. Well, can you have a nightmare if no actual sleep is involved? At naptime, I put DaycareKid to bed on my son’s bed. He sucks on his blanket and goes immediately to sleep.

Babygirl and I lay on my bed. She never really wants to nap, so I give her choices, which confuses her.

Babygirl: “I not sleep!”
Me: “Do you want to lay in Babygirl’s bed or Mommy’s bed?”
Babygirl: “Mommy’s bed.”

Pause. Climbs onto bed. Whines.

Babygirl: “No go night-night!”
Me: “Would you like to lay on Mommy’s pillow or Daddy’s pillow?”
Babygirl: “Mommy’s pillow.”

And so on. I curl on my side, face away from her and perch on the very edge of the king-sized bed. She presses her tiny body against my back and wiggles. And rotates like a giant-twirling earthworm. She flops a hand over my back, then inches up and back. Sometimes she leans over me to look into my face. She kicks my back.

Today she sang. “I. Love. You. You. Love. Me. We’re. A. Hap-Py. Fal-i-my.” And “Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you.” Then she launched into a rendition of “She is a super-dooper pooper. She can potty with the best. No more diapers to get in her way. We are very impressed.” But she sang only every other word, so it took me a while to figure out the song. It was like playing “Name That Tune”: “I can name that tune in 10 syllables.”

Anyway. I am personally in an unsatisfactory wake-sleep cycle in which I stay up past midnight, wake at 6:30 a.m., drag through the morning, fall asleep while I try to trick Babygirl into sleeping, and if I’m still tired, fall asleep again while I put her to bed at night. Then, tided over by my naps, I stay up until midnight again, kicking myself for staying awake so late.

Getting Babygirl to nap takes longer and longer these days. Today she sang and kicked and wiggled for over an hour. She finally fell asleep and so did I–long enough to have a nightmare about losing my purse on a bench in the city of Chicago and then boarding a train heading out of town, so far out of town that I was suddenly in the country. My twins were supposed to be following me and I lost them in the crowd, but I was more concerned about my lost purse than my lost kids.

Over the weekend, I thought I’d just abandon nap-time altogether. Saturday, I sneaked out of the house for an hour to make a thrift-store drop-off. Five minutes after I left, my husband suggested to Babygirl that she lay on the couch and she fell asleep immediately and slept the whole time I was gone. Sunday, while I was busily cleaning out the storage room and sorting through the toys, I realized I hadn’t seen her for a long time. I went upstairs and found her sound asleep on her tummy, stretched out on the gliding rocker footstool, her feet propped on the chair and her head dangling over the edge of the footstool. (I did take pictures, but they aren’t digital, so you’ll have to be patient.)

So, she clearly still needs to nap. I need her to nap, who are we kidding?

Dinner Plans
I have a clear vision of Thanksgiving dinner, which I will host at my very own home with its still-green, not-gold hallway. I’ll be cooking a 22 pound turkey, mashing my own potatoes, creating gravy from scratch, preparing my delicious corn souffle’, and baking a pecan pie, from scratch, even the crust. I will set the table with Mikasa French Countryside, light orange candles and even mop the floor for the occasion. I have a puzzle with a pumpkin-autumnal theme, which I will have set up on a spare table so visitors and children can meander past and put together a few pieces as Norah Jones plays in the background.

It’s the days between here and there that have me perplexed. I didn’t plan to eat this week, prior to Thursday. Yesterday we had breakfast burritoes. Today? I have no plan. It’s 3:38 p.m., and we have dinner at 5:00 p.m. around here.

If you had to take a test prior to becoming a homemaker . . . well, I’d probably be a pediatrician right now. No one in their right mind would license or certify me to run a household.

I’d better go search the bottom of the freezer for inspiration. For some reason, my kids and husband like to have dinner every single night. Even on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving.

People go to horror movies all the time–voluntarily. When I was a teenager, my friends (Dean, Dean, and Shelly) took me to see Friday the 13th in 3D. Granted, it wasn’t much, beyond gore and screams, but I watched it with my hands in front of my face. I lied and told my parents I’d seen “Pirates of Penzance.” I’ve never been interested in horror movies.

Who needs horror movies when you can read in the local paper about a 35-year old mother who let her 7 week old and 16 month old babies starve in their cribs? The police found 307 empty beer cans in the apartment, along with a 2 and a half year old malnourished toddler who’d been foraging in the cupboards for dry rice and noodles. The mother’s blood alcohol level was 0.40. How long does a baby scream from hunger before it stops?

On the news tonight was a story about a 51-year old father who killed his 11-year old and 8-year old daughters and then himself.

And then I heard about a mother in Plano, Texas, who cut off her 11-month old baby’s arms. The baby died in the hospital.

I just finished reading First They Killed My Father, a story told about a child who survived the war in Cambodia in the seventies. The atrocities, the killings, the violence . . . how does that happen?

The world has gone insane. I can even see that with my hands held in front of my face.