I don't think I have days anymore. I am beginning to think that days have me.
Most days begin in a crazy rush to get something into my tummy before I become to nauseous to help the kids get ready for school. Usually, if I eat something, I can handle the rigorous work out Galen and Ian present in the morning- and of course the obligatory lost sock, shoe, and forgotten back packs.
Then I usually go back to bed with Clay. Yup, he got up in the morning commotion and is too tired to face the day. So after an hour or so of a kid sleeping next to me, I wake up to a kid crawling on top of me. Then I eat again and try to accomplish whatever business stuff my customers have begged me to ship to them.
Then time speeds up and it feels like a mad dash to get out the door to school to pick up Ian, do a few chores in town and come home utterly exhausted, tired and nauseous- ready for a nap. I have found that if I keep a few good snacks in the car, them I can handle the errands with out wishing to disapperate into painless oblivion. Don't tell me kids I have snacks in the car now- or they will disapear faster then I ever could.
And then I eat and nap while Clay and Ian get into something and make a big mess of it. If I am lucky then I am able to get Clay to nap again- that helps avoid the worst messes.
The other boys come home and all hell is loosed- there is noise and screams and bouncing balls and crashing pictures and all sorts of unauthorized snacks being eaten- while I do my best to ignore it.
When I can no longer ignore it, because me bladder makes me get up, then I emerge. "Here comes Mommy, out of her cave, better stop and hide what ever it is we were doing." That includes throwing clean towels over spilled gallons of poorly made hot cocoa.
And the kids run up to me with all sorts of school papers and things they want out of catalogs. I nod and try to quietly explain that I will look at it later- like at a time when the house is quiet enough for me to think. Of course, they don't hear me, but they do stop shoveling papers in my face when I start to growl.
And I drag myself into the kitchen and stare aimlessly at the hideous mess that covers every surface- and I just cleaned it yesterday. But at least this time Clay baby walked away smelling good- like hot cocoa and not like Italian season- too heavy on the garlic.
I clean up enough space to cook in- but am still sticking to the floor with every step. And slowly commence the process of making what, was not eaten as an unauthorized snack, left for dinner. I make it simple. I make it bland. If I cannot stomach it then it will do no one around here good. Besides, they can always add salsa (if the do it in the other room from me).
I curl up to the table by the time dinner is ready- and hope I can eat enough to get some energy back for the required after dinner chores.
Yup, we get to entice, beg, threaten and in all ways cohearse, our children to do their 1 little chore to help the kitchen get clean. Somehow, we still manage to do most of it ourselves. Out of the 5 chores we have the task divided into, Daddy and I usually pull of about 4 of them. And then I sit down on the floor to attempt- yet one more night- to get all the sticky and slippery stuff off of it- at least so I can walk with out falling or becoming stuck.
Then it is time to let them run wild for a few minutes while I sit down, before yelling at them to get the PJs on and starting the daunting prospect of homework. I have basically reached a point that if the kids do not want to do it- it is not my grades they are hurting. But I do have to make the time and Mommy energy available for it. And that I do, every school night. When their homework, pens and Mommy are all at the table- and they refuse to come- no matter how often I call- at least I did my part.
Sometime after we have given up (or on rare occasions, completed) homework then we have family prayer, and either a DVD show or stories. I am more likely to read stories, Daddy likes to have them watch something and then it is bed time. Which just mostly seems to mean that the kids get sent upstairs to play.
Galen and Ian have a real hard time calming down enough to sleep- They do a lot better when I read to them- But they can be upstairs for hours before they finally zonk. And of course, as soon as the kids are down- Daddy wants my attention. It is often Daddy's attention that steals story time from the kids. Sometimes, when I am lucky- I can get him to read to them. Then everybody wins. As soon as I am able, I usually crawl back into my cave and forget the rest of the world exists- at least until my bladder reminds me.
I usually have enough energy to head the worst of the disasters off and prepare things in advance and all that kind of good stuff- but hey = that is what little parasites- I a mean babies do to you.