My husband works a day shift on most Saturdays, which I’ve
had mixed feelings of injustice about since we’ve had children. But the rational part of me knows that it’s
not a choice for him to work Saturdays.
He’s a restaurant manager and Saturdays have the highest customer volume,
so he puts in a good 10-11 hours. And of
course, as any mother and good wife would do, I suck it up.
So my permanent list of household chores for Saturdays,
hung onto my fridge in bold letters:
ü
Clean the bathrooms
ü
Change the bedding
ü
Fold and put away the laundry
ü
Sweep and Swiffer the kitchen and dining room
floors
ü
Vacuum the carpets
These aren’t deep cleaning endeavors. They just aren’t things I have time to do
during the week while I’m working. These
5 tasks, from beginning to end, should take me around 2 hours. They could easily be done by 10:00 AM, then
the rest of the day is mine, to play with the kids, and sit outside in the sun
and read, or do whatever the hell I want.
It’s a great life, right?
Wrong.
Just limp, cold, lifeless, no sign of vitalilty, dead
wrong.
Almost always, to my dismay, this small list of things does
not end up happening on a Saturday. Not
for a lack of trying, or inability to complete each task from beginning to
end. My furniture goes undusted, my sink
remains full of dishes, and by trash overflows onto the floor by every Saturday
night.
Why? I ask
myself. What is wrong with me? What is the real reason why I can’t keep up
and maintain around here?
I have a full-time job that I show up to in great spirits
every day. I’ve survived 2 pregnancies
and births. Oh no wait a second, back-up.
I KILLED 2 pregnancies and
births. I’ve written 2 novels, from
beginning to end. I’m a 200 page dissertation
and 6-month residency away from completing my PhD program. I breastfed for 3 straight years of my
life. I’ve accomplished all of these wonderful
thing s in my 32 years, and I can’t keep a god damn 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom,
single family home somewhat presentable?
This doesn’t make sense.
I’ve learned that actually, it really makes more than
perfect sense. The explanation of this
sense can be stated in 1 sentence:
My house is never
clean and the chores are never done precisely because I have children.
Before we had kids, I will admit, it was laziness, and
avoidance, and procrastination. It was,
“let’s go kayaking and fishing and drink beers for the day instead of staying
here and doing boring housework.” It
was, “I don’t really care if my living space is clean, so I’m not going to
invest my time into it.” And those were
fine reasons, I suppose.
But now, I wake up each morning with more of a phrase like,
“How will I survive today without my kitchen becoming a health hazard and my
toilets growing mold, and pay attention to my kids simultaneously?”
So I decided to do kind of a self-observation. I took out a notebook and paper, and wrote
down exactly how my day went, from beginning to end. And from doing this brief investigation, I
learned 2 important things about my kids, and 1 important thing about myself: #1- My son is the constant, parched, and perpetual
victim of eternal dehydration. #2- my daughter
eliminates all of the excess fluid my son takes in, and holds no secrets about
it. And most importantly, #3- I get shit
done on Saturdays. There’s just no
measurable outcome. My work is
thankless, unnoticed, and lacks any type of tangible substance.
Disclaimer: This list
is long. Long, long, long. And full of boring, mindless, thankless,
mundane tasks.
6:00 AM- The alarm goes off.
I turn it off and try to fall back asleep. Why on earth did I set my
alarm for 6:00 on a Saturday morning? This is my first mistake. Ugh.
6:02- My 4-year-old daughter crawls into bed with me to
inform me that she needs to use the bathroom.
I calmly say, “Then go to the bathroom.”
6:08- My 7-year old son comes in, and says, “Mom, do I not
have school today?”
I respond, “It’s Saturday.
Can you please go and turn on a TV show for your sister? Mommy needs just 10 more minutes.” I roll over and fall back asleep.
6:14- My son comes back into my bedroom. “Mom, Amelia just spilled an entire box of
cereal onto the floor. I told her to
wait for you but she was hungry. And also
I’m really thirsty.”
6:15- I roll out of bed, go to the bathroom and come down
the stairs. My daughter is pushing
cheerios around the kitchen floor with her Hello Kitty play kitchen broom, with
tears in her eyes. She looks up at me
and says, “Sorry Mommy.” Lay on the guilt, girl.
I kiss her on the
forehead and say, “It’s ok sweetie. It was
an accident. I’ll get it. Just go in the
living room with your brother.” What a
patient, understanding mother I am.
6:26- I go to make coffee and realize the Keurig is out of
water. My son is standing in the dining
room in just his underwear with his father’s pint sized Orlando FL Hard Rock Café
beer glass, halfway full of steaming hot water.
I squint, tilt my head, and ask, “Where’d you find that
glass? And what’s with the hot water?”
He responds, “I told you I was thirsty. And this glass has been ignored for so long. It needed some water from the Keurig.” I never knew pint-sized, collectors item pilsner glasses had feelings and emotional needs.
6:31- I sweep up the cheerios. I fill the Keurig back up with water.
6:38- I pull out a loaf of bread from the pantry and put two
slices in the toaster. I go to get cream
for my coffee but realize we are out of creamer. While the fridge is open, I realize that
something smells, and discover that there is rotten watermelon in the crisper. I take it out and throw it in the trash.
6:44- I take the toast out of the toaster, spread some
butter on it, and stick it on two plastic plates. I bring it to my children in front of the
TV.
My daughter proclaims, “Mom, I forgot to tell you, I don’t
really like toast anymore.”
I snap back with, “well, we’re out of cereal, so this is
what we’re having.”
Then my son proclaims, “Who in this world doesn’t like
toast?” I nod my head. Agreed little
boy, agreed.
Amelia then says,
“Can I have an egg sandwich instead?”
Didn’t you know my dear daughter? I’m only a mother by day.
In the early mornings I take on the role of a short-order cook.
6:56- I crack an egg into a frying pan. I realized I never pressed brew on the
Keurig. I press brew.
7:01- My son yells to me, “Moooom, Paw Patrol is over. Can we watch Alvin and the Chipmunks?”
I say, “yes, find me
the DVD and I will put it in for you.”
My son responds by saying. “Ok, but you forgot to get me a
drink and I’m thirsty.”
7:06- I bring both of my kids a glass of orange juice. I turn on Alvin and the Chipmunks.
7:13- I realize that the egg I was frying has burned. I bring the hot pan over to the sink, scrape
the burnt egg off, take out another pan and crack open another egg.
7:16- As I watch the egg slowly cook, I realize there are
fruit flies swarming around the garbage because of the watermelon I threw in
there. I go to take out the trash, but
then realize that the second egg is close to burning. I set the trash bag down in the middle of the
floor and take the egg off the heat. I ensemble an egg sandwich with hands that
just touched the dirty trash can.
Whatever. Builds immunity.
7:28- I bring the egg sandwich to my daughter. She says, “Thanks mom, can you cut it
please?” I go back into the kitchen to
get a knife.
7:31- Upon entering the kitchen, I realize that the dog bowl
and water is empty. I fill both
bowls. I still haven’t touched my coffee,
but I can smell it brewing. I forget
about cutting the sandwich, and think to myself, I better switch the clothes
from the washer to dryer before they end up smelling musty.
7:42 - I go to switch the clothes over, and realize that the
dog has peed on the laundry room floor. Of course he did, I never let him out
this morning. I go to mop up his puddle, and realize that I
need to change the Swiffer pad. I change
the Swiffer cleaning pad.
My son then hollers from the other room, “Mom, the DVD is
skipping and it’s Amelia’s fault because she never took care of it the last
time and now it’s scratched!”
Amelia responds with a very loud screech, “It’s not my
fault!!”
7:48- I set down the mop and go to fix the DVD. I pull it out, wipe it off, and start it
again.
My daughter exclaims, “But mom, fast forward it, we just
watched this part.”
I fast forward it to get it exactly to where it was when it
skipped, just to learn that it was still, indeed, skipping.
7:56- I tell my kids to choose a different DVD. They fight and argue over which one for 5
minutes.
Avery exclaims, “I will cut out my eyeballs with a dull
knife and slowly watch them bleed before I watch Care Bears Nutcracker.”
I chuckle to myself
and respond, “Avery, that’s a morbid and inappropriate thing to say.”
Stone faced, he looks me right back in the eye and says,
“Nope. Morbid and inappropriate is watching a bunch of colorful bears prance
around on a rainbow to Christmas music.”
Oh my god, he is so my kid. I laugh to myself.
8:03- They finally
agree upon Ninja Turtles after negotiating that Amelia gets to hold Avery’s
creeper toy throughout the entire movie.
Whatever. I put the DVD in.
8:06- I go back to the laundry room to mop up the dog
pee. My cell phone is sitting on top of
the washer. I've received a text from
another baseball mom. “Hey where is the
game this morning?” OH SHIT. Avery has a game at 9. So that’s why I set my alarm! The kids aren’t dressed. I haven’t showered.
8:09- I run over to the fridge and check the schedule. The game is in Albany. It starts at 9, but we’re supposed to be
early. That means I have about 15
minutes to find Avery’s uniform, and get the three of us dressed and out the
door. I can totally do that. And by the
way, I still haven’t touched my coffee.
8:11- I leap over the mop, and rummage through the high pile
of un-folded, clean clothes on the chest freezer to find Avery’s uniform. I spend the next 8 minutes looking for
matching socks for all 3 of us. I get 2
out of 3 pairs, and then say, “Amelia you’re wearing your sandals, I’m not
wasting anymore time looking for socks.”
She yells back, “Sandals for what?” Oh yeah, I remind myself that the kids are
oblivious to the fact that we will be traveling 3 towns over within the next 10
minutes or so.
8:22- I come into the living room and hand Avery his uniform
and say, “Get changed. We’re leaving in
5 minutes for your game.” I notice
Amelia hasn’t touched her egg sandwich.
I say, “Amelia, why haven’t you eaten?”
She softly responds,
“because I’ve been waiting for you to cut my sandwich.”
What a patient gal she is.
I sigh and run into my bedroom to get dressed.
8:26- I am dressed in yoga pants and an oversized
t-shirt. My hair is thrown into a messy
bun with a baseball hat so that people won’t see that it isn’t washed. I quickly run a toothbrush and Scope-rinse
through my mouth. I still haven’t
touched my coffee.
8:32- I rustle through my daughter’s drawers and choose a
pair of sweat pants and a Dora T-shirt.
I run down the stairs yelling, “C’mon kids, we’re late!”
8:46- I walk into the living room to discover than my son
has not even moved from his chair. I
yell, “Avery, get dressed, NOW!”
He hops up and says, “Sorry mom, it’s the best part of the
movie!”
I begrudgingly shut off the TV and dress my daughter,
pulling a hairbrush through her tangled hair as she cries.
She exclaims, “Mom, I
don’t want to wear this shirt, it’s for babies!
I hate Dora now! I only liked her
back when I was 3!” Mind you, Amelia is
4. Not even 4 and a half. You're growing up girl. Wow, you're really growing up.
She cries and stomps her feet. I ignore it.
I start looking through the mess of shoes in the mud room for Avery’s
cleats.
8:59- I’ve found 1 cleat, and no baseball glove. If we leave now, we might arrive before the 2nd
inning starts. I scream to Avery, “where
is your glove?!”
He screams back, “I think I left it in dad’s car.” Wonderful!
Dad is at work.
9:01 - Avery walks into the coat room with his other cleat
on his foot.
I say, in a
frustrated tone, “Why didn’t you tell me you found your other cleat? I’ve been
looking for it for the past 10 minutes.
And you’ll have to wear your sister’s glove.”
Avery exclaims, “I’m not wearing a girls’ glove.”
I respond, “Oh yes you are, with pride and a smile on your
face.” He frowns. I ignore it.
9:08- We head out the door.
As we walk down the porch steps, Avery says, “Mom we never brushed our
teeth. Remember how you said they’d rot
if we didn’t brush them?”
I look at him and say, “Well not just in 1 day.” I metaphorically kick myself. I should have never said that. It will be the next excuse not to do it.
9:13- My kids are buckled into the car and I pull out of the
driveway. I realize I have left my cell
phone on the top of the washer. The game
started 15 minutes ago. I park the car
at the end of my driveway, and run back in to get my phone and a water bottle
for Avery. Amelia screams out the
window, “Can you get me a Go-Gurt?” I
notice my untouched cup of coffee sitting on the Keurig. I run back out the door and book it the
game.
9:28- We arrive at the field. The game started half an hour ago. There are only 2 innings left. I can’t find a parking spot. We park a quarter mile away. I open the sliding door and say to Avery,
“RUN!” I unload my chair and unbuckle
Amelia. We run down to the field.
9:44- We arrive at the field. Amelia exclaims, “Where’s my go-gurt?”
I say in exasperation, “Oh we left it in the car.” One of
the older children offers to walk back to the car with her to go get it. That was so nice. There really are times when I luck out.
9:49- I watch Avery play ball, and visit with the other
mothers, and smile to myself as two other mothers show up even later with their
children.
Amelia gets back with the melted go-gurt in hand and says
“Mom, I wanted it frozen. I don’t like
it mushy.” Talk about first world
problems. My lady love, I really could
give less of a miniscule shit how you like your yogurt in a tube. And if you don’t want it, I do.
I look her in the eye and say, “Amelia, tell me something
that you do like. I now know that toast,
Dora, Ninja Turtles Movies and mushy yogurt are on the NO list.”
9:56 Avery makes a 2-base hit. I miss it because I am pulling his sister’s sandal
out of a quick-sand like mud puddle.
10:17- Amelia walks up to me and says, “Mom, I’m
hungry.” I respond, “Should’ve eaten
your egg sandwich.” Another parent
kindly offers her a half-eaten bag of goldfish. I thank them.
10:48- The game is over.
I’ve offered to drop Avery’s friend off at home. Amelia has spilled her goldfish remains on
the ground. I help her clean them up.
11:24- I buckle my kids into their seats and turn my car on.
Avery’s friend climbs into the back and
proclaims, “Wow, your car is mess.” Tell me about it, buddy.
11:32 I pull out of
our parking space. Amelia says, “Mom I
have to go to the bathroom so bad that I’m gonna pee my pants.” Story of your life, girl.
11:36- I stop the car, and run Amelia to the nearest porta
potty, which is not near us at all. We
get back into the car. Avery says, “mom,
do you have anything to drink? I’m
thirsty.” I look at Avery and say, “You
are permanently thirsty. I swear to god
you’re a half bread camel.”
Avery rolls his eyes at me, “I get the camel part from you,
Alice the camel.” Good one Avery, good one.
Yet another reminder that he is so my child.
My smiling, sweaty son is on his second gallon of fluid intake for the
day, and I haven’t even had my coffee yet.
I find a half-drunken plastic water bottle on the floorboard of the car
and hand it to him.
11:44- I drop Avery’s friend off at his house. I chat with his mother who has a brand new
baby. I hold the baby. It relaxes me. It makes me wish I had another baby. But really, just no. Never.
11:58: I hand the sweet baby back to his new mother. We talk about breastfeeding and pumping for
20 minutes while the kids play on their swingset.
12:22- I load the kids back up. Avery realizes he has left his sister’s glove
at the field. His sister is wild about
it. We drive back to the field and he
runs and grabs it out of the dugout.
12:56- As we drive by the grocery store, I remember that we
need a few things, including coffee creamer. I limit myself to a $30 budget for
milk, creamer, and dinner. I pull in, unbuckle the kids, and attempt to
tame them the entire time we are in the store.
I end up walking out with a cart full of food, most of which my kids
insisted on having. I have spent $76 and
change. Hey, at least I got some nice steaks
for dinner. Life is all good.
1:29- I just really want a coffee. I go through the McDonald’s drive-thru and
order one. The line of cars is wrapped
around the building. I wait in the line
for 20 minutes before they take my order.
It’s worth it for the coffee.
I order and pay for my
coffee.
My kids then complain they are
starving. They neglect to mention this before I order my coffee. I’m starving too but I vowed a
month ago to not eat fast food. I whip
the car back around, wait in line for another 20 minutes, and buy them each a Happy Meal. Easier than making lunch. They fight over the toys. I have to park and go in and exchange the
girl toy for the boy toy.
2:26- We pull into our driveway at home. I unbuckle the kids and send them
inside. Amelia lets the dog loose when
opening the door, as I’m unloading groceries.
I drop the gallon of milk and chase after the dog. 15 minutes later, I catch him over in the
neighbor’s yard.
2:52- My neighbor Jane is out raking her lawn. She ends up chatting with me about her
gardens and the flowers she plans on planting this year. We talk for 12 minutes. I say, “I better go in I’ve got groceries
melting in my car.” I secretly admire
that she is an empty nester in her late 60’s who has time to plant flower beds.
3:28- I recruit the kids to help me unload the car. My daughter insists she is strong enough the
carry a heavy bag full of cans. The bags
breaks and the cans roll everywhere. One
of the cans rolls underneath my car. My
son climbs underneath to get it, and bangs his head on the bumper getting
out. I console his tears and give him a
bag of cold green beans to stop the swelling.
3:53- I go into the house and put the groceries away. My son asks to borrow my phone to play a
game. The bag of frozen green beans I
gave him has burst open and left a trail on the living room floor. They wouldn’t have eaten them anyway, I just
got them for well-rounded meal building.
That’s a thing, as 21st century parents. Maybe they won’t eat them but at least we
served them.
I realize my phone battery is almost dead, and my husband
took my charger to work with him. I
search through the junk drawer for another charger. 10 minutes later, I find it. I plug my phone into it by the kitchen table
and Avery sits down to use it.
4:07- My daughter walks into the kitchen with no pants on. “Mom, I peed on the couch.” Of course you did, sweetheart. Her brother laughs at her. She hits him in the head and screams at him. Evidently she hits him in the same spot where
he bumped it on the car. He begins to
cry and over-react. i ignore him. I find Amelia a pair of
clean pants in the laundry room and hand them to her.
“I don’t like these pants” she exclaims.
I sarcastically respond, “Amelia, I’m still patiently waiting
for you to tell me something that you do like.”
4:19- The coffee I bought at McDonald’s is cold, and I have
a splitting headache and feel dizzy. Oh
that’s right, all I’ve eaten today is half of a cold piece of toast that my
daughter refused and a mushy go-gurt. I
grab a banana off the counter, and pop my McDonald’s coffee, which I haven’t
even sipped yet, into the microwave.
4:36- I put the steaks in a tupperware to marinate them for
dinner. I walk into the laundry room and
trip over the mop I left sitting out, and fall into the dog pee that’s still
sitting in a rotting puddle on the floor.
I stand up and mop it up. I go to
switch the clothes from the washer over to the dryer, but realize they smell
like must from sitting in the washer for so long, so I re-start a rinse cycle.
My son comes into the laundry room to tell me he’s
thirsty.
I throw a clean folded washcloth at him and bark, “Then go
get a drink!!”
4:48- I precede to fold the clothes on the chest freezer for
a full, uninterrupted, 4 minutes.
4:52: My son comes
into the laundry room once again with a bag of 65 waterballons. “Mom, can you fill these? You said we could do it this weekend.”
Waterballons? Fuck
no.
Actually, maybe it will occupy the kids and buy me some
time.
4:53- Ok but I’m only filling just 2 for you and 2 for your
sister.
4:54- Filling water balloons.
5:02- “C’mon mom, just like 4 more.”
5:18- Finally finished filling waterballons.
Avery says, “Oh I see how it goes. I’m like the prince and the pea. My balloons are the size of a pea, and Amelia’s
are near the size of Antarctica.” Who
taught my kids to use similes that closely compare rubber ballons filled with
water to green vegetables and world geography at a mere 7 years of age? It may or may not have been his mother, in
her daily dialect and quick witted sarcasm.
The kids go outside and burst each balloon within 30
seconds total. That was a great waste of a
valuable 15 minutes, for less than a minute of kid entertainment. I throw the rest of the bag of ballons in the
trash. Not doing that again.
5:22- My husband walks through the door from work with the
warm gallon of milk I had dropped in the yard while chasing the dog. He says, “I found this milk in the flower bed. I think it’s gone bad.” I nod as he pours it out in the sink.
“So what’d you guys do all day?” He politely asks.
Well, Avery had a game, and other than that, pretty much nothing.” Truth.
“Oh nice. What was
the score?” he smiles and slips off his shoes in the middle of the laundry room
floor.
I turn to get my coffee out of the microwave. “I have no idea what the score was.” How do I attend a game for a full 90 minutes
and have no idea what the score was? He
probably thinks I’m an idiot when it comes to sports.
Oh wait, I am an
idiot when it comes to sports. It doesn’t
take any thinking at all to come to that conclusion.
“What’s the deal with the green beans all over the house?” He walks past the garbage bag I left in the
middle of the kitchen floor and picks it up to find a puddle of rotting
watermelon juice beneath it.
I exclaim, “I’ll mop up that puddle I just need to change
the Swiffer pad, there’s dog pee all over it.”
He shrugs and sets it back down on the floor.
5:28- My son walks up to me and says, “Mom the couch is wet
and it smells like pee. And Amelia has dumped
her littlest pet shops all over the recliner.
There’s no place to sit. And I
need a drink, but not water. Like juice
or something. How come you never buy
juice? How come we never really have any
food in the house?”
I silently remind
myself that I went grocery shopping 3 hours ago. I just roll my eyes and walk away. There are no words for this.
My husband rubs his head and responds, “How about some milk,
bud? It helps you grow.” No Josh, remember? You just poured an unopened gallon of milk
down the sink because it went bad. I'm not going to bring it up once again.
5:46- My husband walks over the Keurig to make himself his post-work
cup of coffee, finds the untouched cup
of cold coffee, and says, “Oh are you going to drink this?”
And this, ladies and gentleman, is what I’ve accomplished on
a Saturday. I don’t want to talk about
it anymore until I have my coffee.
Well Alice, no two days are ever alike!
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