5am – I awake, most mornings, to a howling sound, so loud and haunting that I jump out of bed and hurtle towards Annie’s room, sure she’s in pain, only to find her sleeping peacefully after her little outburst. I walk back to bed like a zombie, praying the neighbours don’t leave for work soon, thus ensuring I am officially ‘up’.
6.30 am – I’m sure I’m chanting ‘please just one more hour’ in my sleep, when I wake to see Henry, the world-class ninja, standing still and staring at me like one of those creepy twins from The Shining. I remember when he would jump in for a cuddle, but he’s already saying “I want TV’. If I stay very still, my husband will think I’m asleep and get up – sucker!
7am – Early morning dreams are interrupted by a child bellowing “CHOCOLATE TOAST” and I flop out of bed, cursing the day I introduced him to Nutella. Trudging down the hall, I try to negotiate a different breakfast, but I’m soon making chocolate toast like a chump and thinking how it’s too early to win an argument with a threenager.
The countdown begins: 80 minutes to get two shorties to kindy. Once upon a time, 80 minutes would have meant a mooch-about morning with slow sips of coffee and The Herald and make-up and a hairbrush… now it means literally RUNNING around the house, yelling like a Deranged Doris, making threats left, right and centre, picking up pieces of discarded toast while trying to tie a moving shoelace and put a sticker on a chart under ‘Dressed Himself’.
8.30am – H-Bomb gets dropped at kindy and the boys who are giggling about how the brown paint looks like poo make me smile. I’m with you, boys. Poo is hilarious.
9am – Driving home, I remember that I left the house looking like grenades were detonated in every room. After making a mental list of all the housework I need to do, I take the smart way out and decide to avoid, avoid, avoid. This is an emergency and surely I can plan a quick playdate, coerce someone into coffee or go shopping for that thing I just decided I can’t live without. One thing’s for sure – I can’t go home till there isn’t enough time for all that housework.
Midday – Baby Girl has gone a little Hulk on me, so she must need a nap. I spend half an hour negotiating with this tiny terrorist, who is cuddling a pink puppy and three bunny comforters. No doubt I’ll need my “stern Mummy voice” in this situation, but as soon as she’s down I dance out of there like I’m Ellen Degeneres, although very, very quietly.
2 pm – Seriously where did those two hours go? Time flies when you finally get some “me” time, which I use to do some contracting work, write this blog, answer emails, prepare dinner or dredge up the deeply-buried motivation to clean something.
2.30 pm – Oh how my heart explodes with love every time I pick Henry up and he runs at me like we’re in a Rom-Com in an airport. That feeling disappears the second I buckle him into the car and watch him go completely postal due to being overtired. The next three hours are a rollercoaster of emotions as the kids oscillate between loving each other madly, and hating each other as much as Romeo and Juliet’s relatives. Spot the poor adult in the middle of it all, looking hopelessly at the clock and waiting for her husband’s triumphant return to the family home.
4pm – At this point, I want Tim to rescue me so bad I start hallucinating that he’s walking through the door, my knight in shining armour, here to save the day. He never does – that bastard – but claims he needs to “work till 5pm” to “keep his job” and “pay for everything”. Pfft.
6pm – The nightly news is on and I haven’t caught a scrap of the latest all day, so I set myself up to fail but caring heaps about trying to watch it. All attempts to grab a tid bit of something I can talk about the next time I’m in an adult conversation fail when the kids decide to turn their yelling up to 11. Oh well, I’ll just keep talking about my kids’ poo and time out techniques and how they smack me in the face sometimes…
7.30pm – Kids asleep. I breathe a sigh of relief and go to plonk myself on the couch before realising I actually have about 460,000 things to do before I can relax.
10pm – According to my New Year’s Resolution, this is my bedtime. A person needs 7-8 hours of sleep each night, apparently. Yeah right! There are more episodes of Parenthood to watch and I need to reply to messages so my friends don’t think I’m dead. I have to take vitamins and drink some water and I should probably shower at some stage today right?
I need to know what people are Pinning and Tweeting and Facebooking and complaining about on Neighbourly. I have boot camp at sparrow’s fart tomorrow, so clothes need to be laid out. I need to Google how to stop a toddler from taking off her nappy and crapping in her high chair. Time to sneak one more look at my gorgeous sleeping babies and re-tuck them in and I need to talk to Tim! That’s right. I have a husband!
Life with two kids… so much to do… so little time… so worth every manic minute!