WHAT. A. DAY.

I had the kind of day one just can’t NOT blog about. It’s a nice example of EVERY DAY I’ve been having for the last 3 months of my life.

TODAY 1.15.2013

I woke up to Starling speaking Spanish into his phone and an explosion against my bedroom wall. After officially WAKING up and becoming coherent, I realized the dude working on our fireplace was chopping up stones and hammering them into the mortar or something loud like that. Before 8 in the morning.

My newest addition, Boeing, was lying beside me kicking ferociously while grunting. ‘I did NOT wake up all night and change him,’ I realized. ‘I unconsciously fed him ALL night, though, so I don’t completely suck,’ I rationalized. ‘Just half way.’ I commissioned Brooklyn, who had emerged from her “big girl bed” that she is BRIBED to sleep in with chocolate “kitty-kats” even though the bed is a mere three feet from OUR bed, to get me a diaper for the baby. Brooklyn obliged. I wasn’t wearing my contacts and Brighton destroyed my new pair of glasses, SO I blindly unsnapped Boeing’s clothes. Since I am SERIOUSLY sight impaired, I had to stick my face like three inches from Boeing’s bottom to SEE what I was doing. I unsnapped the diaper and very CAREFULLY opened it. Immediate regret. Pee shot me RIGHT in the dang eye. NOT kidding. The boy’s got stream and he’s got AIM. I closed it and waited. NOT long enough. The boy’s got a LOOOONG pee. I waited a LOOONG time and finally peeked and dodged. Safe. I changed his diaper and removed his clothing so I could wet wipe wash him. Yeah. Don’t judge. One gets lazy with number 3. Heck I was lazy with number 1.  ANYWAY- he had poop on his shoulder. Not up his back… just chillin up there on his shoulder. I finally got him all cleaned up and dressed.

“All clean buddy!” I told him, feeling quite accomplished. AS he projectile vomited ALMOST simultaneously DRENCHING me. Him. My bed. Awesome. JUST awesome. So I REPEATED, and only half heartedly, the wipe down. Oh. And had to RE-FEED him because we were all wearing the gallon of MILK he previously drank.

While I fed him Brighton woke up. So much for getting ready before all three kids got up. Brooklyn and Brighton climbed all over me and Boeing for the duration of the feeding. I hate being touched after about 5 continuous minutes of fingers poke, poke, poking me. Well really five seconds, but I LOSE it when it doesn’t STOP. And it never stops. My kids would love nothing more than for me to lay on the ground and have no toys. Just me. On the ground so they could just poke, poke, poke me.

 So my nerves were completely shot before I even got OUT of bed and put in my contacts.

So then I spend half a decade feeding my children breakfast. I still hadn’t even gotten to PEE at this point. Then of course after they finished eating breakfast the “I needs” start. Chocolate milk. Well, I let them have some after breakfast EVERYDAY. However. We were out of milk. So I did what any self-respecting fed up mom would do after my one year old refused to comprehend the words “I HAVE TO GO TO THE STORE TO GET MORE” and my three year old said, “OKAY! LETS GO!” I grabbed their two sippy cups, pumped milk into both of them, stirred in some Nesley’s and WA-LA!! Chocolate milk.

Jessie, my friend in a very similar canoe with THREE children, (our kids are a week apart) texted me to see if Brooklyn could go over and entertain her 4 year old, to which I was VERY happy to oblige.

I told Starling, who was working on our house all day, that I was running Brooklyn over to the Spiers’ house and Boeing was asleep in the swing. That was the plan. Easy plan.

No. My battery was dead in my van. WHAT?? OH yes. BRIGHTON had turned my overhead lights on and apparently NO adults noticed. So FABULOUS. Starling has to STOP his project to come jump me off. Not so hard, right?

Wrong. HIS vehicle goes ku-put when trying to jump off mine. Double terrific. So Starling has to get his stone layer dude to stop HIS project and come jump me off. Well, because the whole ordeal is taking FOR flippin’ EVER, I get out of my van to go check on the baby. Because, we would have been BACK to my house by that point. He is still swinging. I look out the window. Starling and Milton, who only speaks Spanish, are trying to explain to Brooklyn how to unlock the door. All I can think is "I did NOT pray for patience. WHY is this happening!?" Apparently her ability to follow directions? She gets from me. For a solid ten minutes my three year old wanders aimlessly from one spot to another completely and totally NOT understanding what to push or pull on while my one year old digs out tootsie rolls from the candy stash under the passenger seat.

FINALLY Brooklyn presses the right button and the car is open. I promptly removed my keys so I could load my THEN awake baby who was AGAIN ready to nurse. So I haul ALL my kids a full minute down the road where, instead of dropping Brooklyn, I drag us all in and vent my worldly woes to my friend with a new born stuck on her stomach with one of those carry your baby things, with a one year old pulling chairs up to the cabinet and a four year old having it out with Brooklyn over a mermaid outfit. Lets just say… SHE CAN RELATE. So we had our little moment. That lasted 2 hours. And I got what I needed to get off my chest and left Brooklyn in HER hair so she could get equally woeful.

And then it was lunch time. Back to my house I went to babysit the little girl I babysit four days a week. I tried to keep the kiddos occupied, but Brighton was more interested in watching the completion of the fireplace. When the stone layer would go outside to get something, Brighton would try to hurriedly grab the trowel and get his dig on. It was like policing a kangaroo in a pasture with one foot high barbed wire. He was hopping around me, going under me, etc. It didn’t help that I was trying to nurse Boeing and chase him at the same time without flashing the poor, innocent man who just came to work.

And then, like manna from Heaven, Kaylee showed up to help me with the kids so I could piddle. OH and did I! With Brighton thoroughly occupied- POOR Kaylee’s back- no telling HOW many times she threw him into the air- I washed dishes, put dishes in my finished cabinets! (And really- don’t ask about the cabinets. I would have had them finished BEFORE I ever went into the hospital- but NO- Starling really thought they should be sprayed instead of all brush stroky from my NOT professional painting. So we hired one of my FRIENDS to do it. And he did a pretty good job. The first day. But the second day when he was supposed to FINISH, I don’t know if he got HIGH or just went brain dead, but he went over EVERYTHING he had SPRAYED with a ROLLER and had my cabinets looking like a hot mess straight out of a student hair salon. AND didn’t spray the doors and drawers at ALL. AND even though he said he’d return and FIX the cabinets for the amount we had already PAID him, he won’t return our calls, texts, nada. TOOK that money and RAN with it. So when you see the cabinets that “I” painted and their brush strokes, just DON’T SAY ANYTHING. Its KIND OF a SORE subject). Now finished cabinets is only referring to the part of the cabinets hanging on the wall. I am STILL painting the doors and drawers. And I’ll never finish. BUT I did work on those, also. All while Kaylee held my grunting, farting, little man. Referring to Boeing. Brighton eventually passed out.

And then Susan made us dinner which was divine and I’m fairly certain Brighton hasn’t jumped up and down and said, “BITE! WAN BITE! MINE BITE!” that fast ever before. Definitely broke a record.

We tried to get the kids to WIND down after dinner and let us take a bubble bath to ease our tired muscles. Yeah. You should see us take a bubble bath. Starling and I in tub. Brooklyn and Brighton hopping up and down beside tub, laying over the side of the tub playing with bath toys, asking every five seconds, “Are ya done yet? Is it cooled down enough for us to get in yet?” So after about five minutes we are like, “YES. We are DONE. YES you can get in now.” And Brighton readily hands us a towel before we can even ask. And Boeing takes the ONLY opportunity I MIGHT would have to just VEGGITATE for JUST a second while the kids are playing in the tub, to get famished.

And can he just EAT and be done? No, no. Even though I can pump TWO sippy cups full of milk in ten minutes, Boeing- who only drinks like 2 oz at a time- supposedly, takes FOR. EVER. TO. EAT. It’s like watching grass grow. He takes a sip. Rests. Falls asleep. Has to take a poo. Takes another sip. Chokes. Unlatches. Milk shoots him all in the face, his eyes, up his nose. He starts sneezing. Relatches. And when I think he is FINALLY done I burp him. And then try to put him on the other side. NOPE. He’s good. So I lay him down. He’s asleep, after all. NOPE. Got the poops again. And this time he needs help. Its stuck. So I get to bounce him for twenty minutes until he’s about exploded my arm off with grenade powered gas and singed my nose hairs from stench of rotten egg, and I lay him back down. OH WAIT! NOOOOWW he’s ready to nurse the OTHER boob.

SOOOOOOOOOO glad I can blog again.