The alarm comes sickeningly early in the morning. After years of complaining about the jarring wake-up call provided by a screaming baby through the monitor … I’m suddenly realizing that the predictability of the same noise at the exact same time every morning is far more annoying. The fact that the boys always play with my alarm setting it to go off in the trumpeting sound of elephants just sets the tone for the morning.
I miss the screaming. Because honestly, if we’re going to do honesty here, I’ve been known to make the whimpering hold off in the hopes that the darling baby of mine will be nice to Mommy and go back to sleep.
Now I have to shower, remember how to put on make-up and match my socks to my shirt … it’s not all it’s cracked up to me. Somehow I think my noon time showers and my boxers and t-shirts chic style was the epitome of spoiled.
I do actually like my job. Well, strike that. I LOVE a paycheck, the job is okay too. There are worse jobs out there in the world and now that the learning curve is starting to wear off into actual productivity … things are bound too hit the usual roller-coaster of life. I am in an industry where I don’t bring my work home with me (yay!) and it also doesn’t make for thrilling coffe talk so you’re going to have to just pretend that the me from 8-4:30 isn’t the one on public display in this blog.
As for Daddy.. I doubt he’s going to take over for me in the blogging realm. Frankly that’s something I’m totally okay with. I’m still hanging on, by the smallest thread, to the notion that I’m not missing out on anything. Should he start posting the stories about kids in toilets, the playdates and the usual chaos I would be smothered under the guilt that every working parent experiences. Right now, I’m holding that at bay because the working thing is just so darn sparkly, shiny and new that it’s holding my attention for the time being. When I come crashing down from this perch be prepared for a sloppy crying mess of a post.
That should happen right about the time one of the kids gets sick and I have to go to work instead of sit on the couch cuddling.
The routine right now is that I get home just after 5 and we have a fraction of the day to spend as a family. Which I say with sarcasm but that’s not easily conveyed over, you know, the boring black and white of internet text.
For the next 45 minutes the kids cry in unison and I run around trying to get dinner on plates and Daddy out the door for his job.
The upside is that Daddy is getting a crash course in cooking. I send him instructions over email talking him through the finer points of baking chicken, operating the slow cooker (easily a guy way to cook) and suggesting sides that aren’t easily grabbed from a bag. (Goldfish, the key to toddler eating success)
I’m certainly not domesticating him.. don’t get me wrong, that’s not the role that we’re trying to make for each other. Neither job is less important that the other - where my paycheck is good his benefits are to die for - where I got three years uninterrupted with the kids he worked 14 hour days to support us. Family life is always a trade off. You have to be working together, moving forward and keeping track of your future. But, alas, no one is spared from laundry so the role definitions blur into a cohesive unit.
Daddy leaves, and I clean up the table choosing to either do dishes or try to catch kids before the climb on the table and attempt to dive off of it.
(Side note: Boys are dangerous creatures. The twins are in a new lovely stage where they like to climb onto the table and then chickenfight their way into the seat of the same highchair. Two boys, one highchair = screaming, hair pulling and someone trying to throw the other to the floor. If you ever come over and all the chairs are on the table, just grab it off should you need it - just put it back when you vacate it!)
Then thanks to the H-O-T Texas weather we hit the back deck and the kiddie pool in an open attempt on my behalf to tire out the kids and make bedtimes easier.
Bath, cookies (or recently popcorn as A-man can eat his body weight in popcorn if you let him) and then bed for the twins at 8pm. If I’m really blessed by the Gods on a good night the Little Miss will be asleep by 9pm.
Daddy gets home a little before 11 and I’m asleep but pretending to wait up for him. Or in cases like last night - I’ll type 99% of a blog post and then fall asleep while reading a book and singing songs to Avery in bed.
It is what it is, the routine is certainly not perfected nor is it immune to the occasional hiccups - tantrums, traffic jams and kids undergoing a change of not only environment but caretaker. I’ll take it any day over the uncertainty that we had prior.
In the meantime.. my lucky charms are calling.













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