I used to have daydreams: Perfectly clean house, perfectly respectful children, exciting job, invincible husband… you know, the perfectly happy family. Now I have “daymemes”.
This occurs when I see my day as a series of memes.
Take this day for example…
First thing in the morning, I grab my dirty clothes hamper, and dump it in the laundry chute. When I walk into the kids’ bathroom (where the chute is located):
First load of laundry running, I make breakfast for the kids. Since it’s the beginning of summer, I’m inclined to make a big breakfast every now and then. One or two of the smaller kids will offer to help, but I can never manage to work fast enough for the three-year-old. He likes to insist on my personal attention in all matters:
After breakfast, we clean up and start on chores. When I explain, explain again, and then find that my child still can’t complete the simple task as requested:
I tend to identify with Ezma often. She tries to be patient, but really all she wants in life is to be in charge. It’s just so hard to find good help these days!
This is what it looks like when I do my own chores:
When I decide to leave the house, I get myself ready before working on the kids. It’s safer this way; if I do it the other way around, the kids manage to get either dirty or undressed while waiting on me. Number 7 is fully potty trained… mostly. He has a dependence thing on his toddler toilet seat; if he doesn’t sit on the seat, he poops his pants. Not shall he go upstairs to the potty seat. Not shall he tell anyone that he has to poop so that they may take him to the potty seat. Not shall he go anywhere near my nose if he knows he pooped in his undies. By the time I realize that I’ve missed the signs, he has messed his undies and left rabbit pellets on the floors. After cleaning his mess, I look at the clock:
Finally ready to go, I tell the kids to get into the van. The wee lambs obediently climb into the van after the 8th or so time I tell them to. I start the engine, and take a quick check to make sure I didn’t lock anybody in the house. *shrug* It happens. While I’m repeating, “First buckle up, and then you can talk to me”, I notice that not all boys are fully ready to go:
If we get back to the house with everybody that left, and we actually have what we went out for:
More often than not, the girls (both in their teens) take care of making lunch. Before I sit down, I ask my three year old if he has to go potty. He answers with a solid and convincing, “No.” So I sit down with him to eat our lunch. Just as my full weight comes to rest on the seat of my chair, Number 7 suddenly and inexplicitly has to pee urgently. I look at him and think:
After lunch, it’s nap time! I grab the best excuse for laying down in bed (my three year old), and warn the others not to wake us… I mean, him up.
By the time we wake up, my husband has found us right where he left us that morning before driving to work. We enjoy a few minutes of adult conversation, then start working on dinner. Dinner, otherwise known as: “Eww, What’s That?!?”; “What Is That Disgusting Smell?!?”; and “Sure I Had Three Bowls Last Time, But This Time I Hate It!”.
The day comes to an end after a relaxing evening. It never fails that at bedtime, one or two of the kids decide they are “hungry”:
My husband and I go through our nighttime routine, and then I pray for my children:
Most days everything runs smoothly enough. Some days I don’t even tell my husband about because I don’t want to relive it. I guess identifying with memes is just a way of keeping the stress level low, or maybe… just maybe, I’ve lost it.