97 Minutes of Chaos

Sir Fish / compfight.com

My day has, so far, lasted exactly one hour and thirty-seven minutes. I have a sneaky suspicion it’s going to be a looonnnnnngggggg day.


I woke up to a small cannonball the approximate size and shape of my one-year-old (who is now wearing 3T clothing) landing square on my midsection, sliding back across my face, and banging on my abdomen while yelling, “Hi, baby! Hi, baby!”


Her partner in crime, Dos, magically appeared on the bed to add her smacks and greetings to the unborn babe in my tummy, grasping a handful of Cheeze-Its.


Somehow in the exuberant greeting something shocking occurred. Little mashed up bits of Cheeze-Its landed all over the bed, in my hair, ears and eyes, and a minuscule amount ended up in Dos and Tres’ mouth.


Good morning, world.


After cleaning up the crackers I headed out to the living room. I noticed a trail of Crayons, broken into bits, leading like a Hansel and Gretel trail to the girls’ bedroom.


We now have cerulean carpeting in specific areas. It’s magenta in others, and in one special area there’s a spot of fuzzy wuzzy brown mixed with goldenrod.


I cleaned up the Crayons as best I could and headed to the kitchen to start breakfast. Tres and Dos tailed me, begging to sit on the counter top while I cooked baked oatmeal.


I complied. The brown sugar has dried to a crystalized hunk. I attacked it with an ice pick after I bent the measuring spoon. (I can’t remember what makes brown sugar soft again.) I looked up at the kids and saw Tres making forays into the spice carousel with her sneaky little fingers.


Everyone off the counter. Oatmeal in the oven. Mama in the shower.


Tres wanted in the shower with me. I had the vague desire to consider my shower a private affair and told her no. She sat on the floor, leaning on the shower curtain, and cried the entire shower at the injustice of the world, particularly her mama.


I got out of the shower, grabbed the oatmeal out of the oven, and headed to my bedroom to get dressed. My way was blocked by Dos using the dog crate as a gymnastics board, she was upside down with her toes hooked through the cage wires.


Crayolas littered the floor. They had been feeling lonely, so some naughty little nymph decided to dump out the single sock bag on the floor to keep them company. (You have one of those, don’t you? The special bag you keep with all the socks who’ve lost their mates to the vagaries of life, laundry, and toddler eating habits.)


I dressed and cleaned up Crayolas and socks. Scooped baked oatmeal into bowls and put them on the table. For fun I added a little pat of butter.


Called to Uno to come out of the bedroom. For some reason she’s been watching a biography of Caesar Augustus on the iPad. She’s cool like that. She also believes Caesar Augustus wears seaweed on his head and I haven’t corrected her.


Crash from the girls’ room. Tres fell off of the bunk bed ladder for the 1,000th time. I comforted her, and found three Crayons. We headed to breakfast.


Uno became offended by the butter pat topping her oatmeal. She picked it off and put it on Dos’ oatmeal. Dos protested and flicked it back at Uno. In the scuffle somehow the entire pat of butter spread lightly over the table.


I texted my husband I wasn’t sure I was going to make it out alive.


He called. I hid in the bathroom to talk.


He talked me down off the ledge, we said goodbye, I opened the bathroom door in response to the fists banging in the semblance of a knock.


Tres. She beamed at me, said, “Bead!” and tried to put her pink plastic bead in her ear. I panicked and slapped the bead away. Tres started screaming and the flyaway bead nailed Dos in the cheek. Dos started crying.


I comforted the crying girls. In the process I found Tres had removed her diaper and donned a pair of Dos’ underwear.


Tres is not potty-trained. But she knows she wants to be like her sisters and her sisters wear underwear. She hasn’t gotten the leg holes figured out, though, so her version of wearing underwear is sticking both legs through a leg hole and sporting Dora the Explorer sideways like a Spanish-enabled belt.


I found her diaper. Took her to the changing table, explaining I would be thrilled if she wore panties but I needed her to use the toilet consistently first. Tres cried at the injustice of the world.


I found four Crayons. I walked out to the living room to put the Crayons away and found Dos hopping like a manic jack rabbit from the table chair to the sofa and back.


I surrender.


I have no idea what happened to the kids to set them off this morning but I don’t have the strength to go on. I’m seriously considering putting all of us back to bed and trying to start the day again after a nice reset-nap.


That’s all I have for you. Hope your morning has been filled with fewer Crayons and a bit less stress!

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3 thoughts on “97 Minutes of Chaos

  • March 8, 2012 at 2:02 pm

    Hope your day got better! Maybe it’s the wind and freezing temps…

  • March 8, 2012 at 3:18 pm

    Oh my goodness, sweetie, what a morn! Here’s hoping your evening goes a little better. (And it’s bread. A slice of bread will soften up the brown sugar.)

  • March 12, 2012 at 6:53 am

    Thanks for the laughs! That was a great story you wrote about a crazy morning.


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