Stepping on Cheerios

Happy 26th post to me! I've been faithfully blogging for six months. Hard to believe. Every year of my life seems to fly by faster.


Have any of you followed the challenge? I hope someone, somewhere, has written something down. That's not asking much. Just a pen and a scrap of paper put away for later. Or maybe computer print-outs of your blog with your name written (super neatly using various colored felt-tip Sharpies) at the top. That's what I do and it's more than enough. Personally, I am feeling a sense of accomplishment. A little bit of me, okay perhaps a little bit too much, now exists beyond my head.


If you haven't done any writing yet, please know that I forgive you. And now that you are formally absolved, consider trying this writing prompt. It's super easy and mundane and I'm pretty sure my answer below may cause a narcoleptic episode.


Describe your typical weekday.


With every blog post, I imagine how my mother would have answered whatever question or idea I pose. I almost always come up blank. I have no clue how she felt about cooking, her most memorable Halloween costume, how she would spend a sudden windfall, what she was like at ten, her thoughts on heaven.


But this week's challenge would mean the most to me. Her daily routine when I (the youngest) was a baby? Fascinating! It's not a story or speculation or opinion. It's just life. As it is. At a frozen point in time. Which won't be how it is in another 26 weeks. Everything is always changing.


So here goes. Give yourself a quick pinch or grab a cup of caffeine. You will need the stimulation.


Some mornings I wake up and run. It's early and it's sucky. On mornings I don't run, I set the alarm for 7:15 and hit the snooze button once. A promise of coffee is all that motivates.


I then wake up the big girls at 7:30 and race downstairs to make breakfast – peanut butter toast for Lu every day and toast, eggs or waffles for Edy. Orange juice. A banana. Gummy vitamins. If I'm lucky, Bea will sleep through the entire morning rush. If not, she's up and needing things like a fresh diaper. It throws me off. I also pack lunches. Good ones. Balanced ones. And I always write a note. I bitch a lot about what a chore it is to pack lunches and sometimes I wonder if my crankiness counters any happy correspondence I jot on post-its (super neatly using various colored felt-tip Sharpies). It's all my fault. They are demanding of good lunches with sweet, creative messages because I've always packed good lunches with sweet, creative messages. It's impossible to stop now. Someone save me.


The bus is early a lot which is completely unfair. I am usually yelling and throwing backpacks and screaming "I love you!" and "Have a good day!" and "Don't step in dog poop!" as they cut across the lawn. If they miss the bus (some days it's super stealth) or if, for instance, Lu has a diorama due, I drive them and wait in the car loop. Is there anything more "suburban housewife" than driving your daughter to school while she carefully cradles an artfully decorated shoe box?


Now it's just Bea and me and more food prep. Cheerios and raisins that end up all over the floor. If I wrote a true "Mommy" blog (gag), I'd name it Stepping on Cheerios. Witty, right? I've been stepping on Cheerios for a decade now. You realize it's happening, but it's too late to pull back and then *crush* a dusty pile of crumbs.


Housework comes next. Emptying the dishwasher, making beds, laundry. It's repetitive and slightly soul-crushing, but the socks don't put themselves away. I also do some sort of cleaning because our cleaner decided to get a real job over a year ago and I'm sort of weird and private and don't mind doing it myself. Except for that it takes me so long to do anything with Bea underfoot. I turned my head for one second yesterday and she grabbed a water bottle and spilled it all over Jon's nightstand. Then while I was mopping it up, she went in the bathroom trashcan, which is in a drawer we try to keep shut, and got some yummy used dental floss. At 16 months (today!), you can't get mad, or yell, or discipline. It doesn't help. You just need to be on top of trashcan drawers and husbands who leave loosely-lidded water bottles on nightstands.


Bea also holds my pant leg a lot. It is very difficult to do anything efficiently with someone clutching your clothing while walking in unpredictable patterns.


Lunch is boring and never good. Noodles. Grilled cheese. Fruit. Yogurt. I eat what Bea eats because I'm too lazy to concoct something original. I also make sure I eat simultaneously since nap time is next and I'd rather not waste it on lunch. I always have grand plans for that precious 2 hour stretch. Grand plans.


Nap time arrives and I spend most of it on the computer reading silly articles or looking up ridiculous things like everything ever written about the actress who played Mary on Little House on the Prairie. Or tracking down viral videos I somehow missed. How did the honey badger slip under my radar?


When Bea wakes up, I squeeze in an errand. Typically it's a quick trip to the grocery store because I am the world's most terrible shopper. I wish with all my might that I could go once during the weekend and get everything I need for a week's worth of healthy dinners, but that takes a type of practical planning I do not possess.


Big girls get off the bus just before four. Then I get them snacks and dig through their bags to assess the homework situation. I also clean out the lunch boxes and do some more lunch-themed complaining.


Dinner is boring and never good. Chicken. Tacos. Meatballs. Spaghetti. Chicken. Sometimes it's before activities. Sometimes it's after. Sometimes Jon is home and sometimes he is in another city or country enjoying a big decadent meal with other adults who have smart and lively things to say.


When Jon isn't traveling (and a Flyer's, Phillies', college basketball or European soccer game is not creating an impossible to ignore distraction), he is the master of bath, book and bed. A pleasant and streamlined way to cap the day. When it's just me, it's a whirl of bubbles and rapidly repeated prayers. Luckily, all of my children love to sleep and happily crawl under the covers every night. I think this might be my favorite thing about them and I am not joking. It means their minds and bodies are content and I can finally relax.


When kids are asleep, I watch a little TV, do some more cleaning, and then melt into my own soft bed. That's what it feels like.


The end. My apologies if you are now sleeping, too.