Over the last few weeks I’ve received several requests to describe what an average day in our household looks like, and could I please describe in detail the golden chariot and unicorns we use to get around town. Also, what are the names of the team of people who wash our underwear?
First of all, the unicorns, Larry and Hal, they’re really bitter and have a bit of an incontinence issue. We got them on sale. And the people who wash our underwear? Are we supposed to know their names? Because we usually just shout, “Hey, you! Yes, YOU.”
I can’t wait for you to take me seriously.
Let’s take a regular Monday and add in some snow. Actually, it really is snowing as I type this. We’re pretty indifferent to it, at least, we will remain so until June. If it snows at all in June, Leta is allowed to use her “home words” in front of friends and extended family.
I set the alarm on my phone for 7AM. When it goes off I turn on the monitor to see if Marlo is making any noise. She usually is, so I give myself one snooze. One delicious snooze. By the end of that nine minutes, I hop up, throw on a pair of pants and open the door to our bedroom where I can see the light on in Leta’s room. She most likely has been awake for an hour reading books in her bed. That is the compromise we have reached: if you wake up before 7AM and are not bleeding, STAY IN YOUR ROOM AND BE QUIET. Either that or go learn how to make mama a hot dog.
I open the door to Marlo’s bedroom and hear her squeal from underneath a mountain of security blankets and stuffed animals. No, describing it as a mountain does not adequately capture what is happening to this kid’s crib. She thinks she’s supposed to be attached to every blanket in the house now, so when I pick her up I also have to pick up the seven blankets and four stuffed animals she slept with overnight. She will notice if I forget one. Maneuvering down the stairs with her and all the accompanying paraphernalia is a bit treacherous, especially since this is the precise moment Jon has let Coco out of her crate.
Yes, that dog still sleeps IN A CAGE. A dark, damp, and cold CAGE! Don’t look at me, we were going to try to let her sleep outside of it once, but she kept putting herself inside it. And I was like, fine. If you want the Internet to continue sending me hatemail, GO AHEAD AND SLEEP IN YOUR DAMN CAGE.
Coco hasn’t seen Marlo in, what, twelve hours? So she begins to hyperventilate deafeningly, weaving in and out of my legs. Marlo responds in kind: “COCO! COCO! COCO!” sending two bears and a blanket toppling down the stairs. Just then Coco will notice Leta coming out of her room to follow us downstairs, and then all you can hear is, “YUCK! STOP! GO AWAY! UUUUGGGGHHHHH!”
And then possibly the sound of a human puking.
Chuck gets to sleep outside of a crate because he is not batshit insane. We usually find him on the carpet in the study, and he follows Jon and Coco to the backdoor while I prepare Marlo’s bottle. Yes, she still takes one bottle a day. We’re going to wean her off of it in the next month. Why haven’t we already? Because she is my baby, and I’m not ever doing this again. Plus, she snuggles while she drinks it. Those five minutes are one of the best parts of the day.
Don’t make me cry. STOP. Do not tell me that next thing you know they will both ignore my calls and make fun of my crazy jewelry behind my back with their friends. I know it’s coming like a derailed freight train. Because when I get frustrated with them both now, and it happens quite frequently, I’m juggling that feeling plus the guilt of that feeling plus the knowledge that one day I will long to feel that frustration just one more time.
Also, they’re my kids. So I’ve got this coming: