24 That Felt Like 36

13 01 2009

The following is a completely biased, and quite possibly imaginary account of one very loooong Monday. Mid-January. 2009. I think.

3:12 am – I am yanked from my domestic-blister-turned-international-sensation dream by the sound of a screaming Squiggles. Auto-pilot engages, as I pluck her from her crib, give her a boob, and nestle back into bed hoping I can catch the Mediterranean leg of my world tour. And possibly find out why I am so very famous. And why I’ve hired an over-sized iguana in a kilt to be my manager.

3:14 am – Squiggles rudely reminds me that I am not, in fact, an international sensation. I am her bitch. She pinches my boob, pulls my hair, and renews her scream-a-thon with ample measures of both piss and vinegar.

3:17 am – I decide I’m all tough. So I tell Squiggles, “Fine, if you’re going to scream, you can scream in your crib.” And I make good on it.

3:20 am – Squiggles ramps up her campaign to literally scream her head off. Fearing that she is about one wail away from rotating her noggin 360 degrees and unleashing a stream of projectile pureed peas, I decide I’m not so tough after all.

3:21 am – I hobble downstairs, with a red-faced, rather rabid looking baby in tow.

3:22 am – Rabid baby and I snuggle up on the couch to watch a couple of episodes of In the Night Garden. Rabid baby calms down, and says “Ooooo” every time she sees Iggle Piggle. I fall into a semi-conscious state that resembles sleep. Except sleep actually results in some sort of rested feeling. This just made me snore and drool.

4:08 am – Squiggles, sick of Iggle Piggle, and of my snoring and drooling, resumes screaming.

4:11 am – Resigned to the fact that this day has begun, I put Squiggles on the floor to gnaw on a plastic hay hay (or horse, for those who don’t speak Squig), make myself a pot of tea, and plunk myself in front of the computer.

4:12 am – I fix the internet. You’re welcome.

4:15 am – The question “Should I send the kids to school today?” is answered when I hear a cheery, ethereal voice at the top of the stairs say “Hello! My name is Hungry Hayden, and this is my best friend Roberto!”, followed by  fifteen seconds of coughing and gagging, and then the slow thunk thunk thunk of Roo feet on the stairs.

4:17 am – Ever see the episode of the Simpsons where Homer thinks there’s an alien in the woods, and it turns out to be a spaced-out Mr. Burns with eyes the size of dinner plates and big kooky grin, proclaiming that he brings peace? Well, that was Roo when she reaches the couch. Plus more coughing and gagging.

4: 20 am – Juice box, blueberries and Bindi the Jungle Girl for Roo. A bottle, diaper and squirt of baby tylenol for Squiggles and her nearly emerged new front tooth. A hot cup of tea, and the cold comfort of being the day’s earliest riser of all my facebook friends for me.

5 am – You (and by you I mean me) know it’s going to be a long day when it’s 5 am and you’ve already drained an entire pot of tea.

5:23 am – Mr. comes downstairs with the intention of relieving me from my shift. Until he realizes that it is 5:23, and not 6:23 like he thought. And until I tell him that I’ve actually got it all under control. That I’ve released the need to try and force these kids to sleep, and have decided to accept and embrace this day for what it clearly is: karma biting me on the ass for something. For what, I do not know, but it must have been bad. Mr. tells me that I am a wonderful mother. And also that he suspects I may be drunk, but if that means he can go back to bed, then it’s fine by him.

5:40 am – I fix the internet. Again.

6 am – Squiggles is tired of Bindi, tired of eating dust bunnies, and just plain tired. Boob. Cozy. Sleep. Finally.

6:38 – I emerge from another sleep-like stint on the couch to find Roo and Neener hovering over me with wide eyes and kooky grins.

7 am – Crash. And. Burn. I crawl upstairs and send Mr. down for his shift.

7:02 am – The day is officially declared a “Mental Health Day.” That is, for the sake of our collective sanity, we will not even attempt to drag Neener and Roo to school, through a fresh foot of snow, just so they can sit in a classroom and hear all about the colour orange. And the letter M. And get anatomy lessons from other 5 year olds who think “farts come out of pee pees”. Mr. makes the decision official with a call to the school, although, unlike me, he refuses to adopt a weak, wheezing tone of voice and say that the whole family is” cough, cough, very, cough cough, ill.”

7:58 am – I wake to Mr. giving me a kiss on the cheek. Time for him to drag his sorry butt outside to shovel a foot of snow off of Patricia Dishwasher, and thus time for me to drag my sorry butt out of bed to shovel an actual breakfast into the kids who are not at school.

8:21 am- Squiggles and I do our part for the planet and the economy by recycling the toast that Neener and Roo did not eat for breakfast.

9:00 am – Mr. heads off to his secret meeting about his secret new possible career direction, which, I assure you, is not, I repeat not, remotely related to being a secret agent. Shhhhh. If I told you any more I’d have to kill you.

10 am – Breakfast, take two. Cheesecake is much better received than toast.

10:09 am – Lulled into pleasantness by the creamy goodness of homemade cheesecake, I fix the internet without cursing. Outloud, anyway.

10:15 am – 12:59 pm – Evidence mounts that cheesecake for breakfast increases my kids’ ability to annoy the hell out of me, and sleep deprivation decreases my ability to make words not be all lumpy and weird together so people who are not me can read stuff and not get too discombobulated by the no sense of my nonsense jibba jabba. Insert funny here.

1 pm – Mr. and I try to convince Neener and Roo that they should go to school for the afternoon. No dice.

1:47 – The warm fuzzy effects of the cheesecake clearly having worn off, I fix the effing internet a-effing-gain.

3:15 pm – Neener convinces me to go outside with her to play in the snow.

3:19 pm – I learn that Neener’s idea of “playing” in the snow is her sitting on the toboggan and me pulling her, pretending I’m a sled dog.

3:35 pm – The sled dog shows Neener how to downhill “surf” standing up on a toboggan.

3:37 pm – The sled dog shows Neener the incorrect way to fall from a standing position on a speeding toboggan.

3:39 pm – The sled dog realizes she is every bit as uncoordinated, but not nearly as flexible as she used to be.

3:43 pm – The sled dog is tired, and teaches Neener how to lay down in the middle of the yard and eat mitfuls of snow.

4:02 pm – We go inside after somehow the game we are playing quickly degenerates into no fun, with snow down the backs of jackets, crying, and accusations of teasing and inappropriate laughter. I won’t say who did what, but I will say this: hahahahahahahahaha.

4:40 pm – I realize that I had grossly over estimated the amount of pizza dough I had for supper.

5:30 pm – We sit down to the thinnest crust pizza ever made.

6:15 pm – I get in the bathtub with baby Squiggles, with the intent of having a nice long soak to myself once I scrub the yogurt crusties out of her ears.

6:25 pm – With Squiggles in the towel-lined arms of Mr, I lay back in the bath and close my eyes.

6:27 pm – I open my eyes to see Neener and Roo standing tub-side in their birthday suits, staring at me with wide eyes and big kooky grins.

6:28 pm – I conclude, a few moments too late, that the tub is just not big enough for the three of us.

6:30 pm – I find myself explaining the difference between nipples and “boobies.”

6:34 pm – I evict the children from the tub.

6:36 pm – Mr. launches his Guitar Hero World Tour.

6:38 pm – Squiggles launches another wave of Scream-a-thon.

6:40 pm – Neener and Roo launch Whinestock ’09.

6:45 pm – I launch into high-speed shower mode in order to get out there and bring the World tour, the Scream-a-thon and Whinestock to a grinding halt.

7:11 pm – I launch the wireless modem at the wall to see if that will fix the internet once and for all.

7:30 pm – 9:30 pm – Various children go to bed at various times.

10:40 pm – I conclude that I do not care who gets booted off that international Micheal Flatley hosted dance off show, and I should go to bed.

11:08 pm – After fixing the internet, I am satisfied that Roo’s nagging cough (which had been nagging me to find out what the hell kind of cough it is so I can stop worrying and fall sleep) is not in fact croup. Or walking pneumonia. Or the galloping consumption.

11:40 pm – I am asleep. Finally. And probably about to find out why dream-me is so very famous. Finally!

12:42 am – I am awake. With a screaming Squiggles in my arms. Mr, sensing my subtle frustration by the way I am whacking my head on the headboard and elbowing him in the ribs, offers to take Squiggles downstairs so she can scream and I can sleep.

1:39 am – Instead of dreaming about international superstardom and an entourage of giant tartan wearing lizards, I dream that I am Susan from Desperate Housewives. And I’m being chased by Freddy Kruger. I wake up in sweaty terror to find myself alone in a bed that usually has a husband, a baby and a cat in it with me.

1:40 am – I dart downstairs to find an un-screaming Squiggles awake in her playpen, Mr. in a sleep-like state on the couch, and the cat with big giant eyes and a kooky grin on its face.

1:43 am – Cat on bed. Husband at side. Baby at boob. All is right with the world. I declare this day over, as we all fade into sleep.

3:05 am – On the Polish leg of my world tour, I learn that I am famous for fixing the internet with the sheer force of my cursing. And that my manager is a kilt-wearing iguana because a) there’s no space for a big spiky tail in jeans, and b) the chameleon was just too damn unreliable.




5 responses

14 01 2009

This too shall pass, if only on to equal if not more sleep depriving times,like when one of the girls takes the van out for the first time after she gets her license. Or a first date ! Or a school trip that you are not on. sleep while you can because someday, hotflashes will keep you a wake if only from the fear that you will spontaneously combust! TTFN!

14 01 2009
Mr. Blister

For the record:

6:36 pm – Mr. launches his Guitar Hero World Tour.
(It was Rock Band 2, not Guitar Hero)

6:38 pm – Squiggles launches another wave of Scream-a-thon.
(That’s called an adoring fan.)

6:40 pm – Neener and Roo launch Whinestock ‘09.
(Those are singers. They’re in my band. And yes, they do whine a lot.)

12:42 am – I am awake. With a screaming Squiggles in my arms. Mr, sensing my subtle frustration by the way I am whacking my head on the headboard and elbowing him in the ribs, offers to take Squiggles downstairs so she can scream and I can sleep.
(Mrs. Blister has never elbowed me in the ribs. Sometimes, when she’s half-asleep, she reaches out with her index finger and touches my forehead, or nose, but that’s another story for the psychologist we hope to afford someday.)

14 01 2009
Kate in TO

As I anxiously await the arrival in 6 weeks or so of baby #3, you are scaring the hell out me. Why do I read this?!! Oh right, because I’ll know we’re not alone and because you remind me that we have the potential to handle the challenges of parenthood with grace and humour…

14 01 2009

Holy crap, that day may go down in the marathon of days, and by the way, I don’t have an iguana as my manager, but I do ride elevators that let everyone off but me, and then they go sideways. I am not sure, but we may have beensmoking something we are unaware of , huh?
You will live through this, but might have fared better a little closer to the drop in, we like cheesecake for breakfast too.

18 01 2009

You should read about my dreams – just updated – http://lastcrazyhorn.wordpress.com/2009/01/17/batman-continued/

As for the rest of your day – oh god oh god oh dog . . . sled dog . . . um.

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