Yet again, this question was posed to me yesterday by a person who shall remain nameless, but kicked in the shin none the less!

I do not like this question.

But, out of a need to prove a point, and because I have nothing else to do,  I thought I would chronicle one day of my relaxed, really just lazy, life for this person.

It started way too early with toddler poking torture on my forehead.

Poke, poke, poke, poke, poke, poke…

One eye open, I see Sarah and her finger annoying me to reality.  I looked at the clock and realized that I just got up with the latest child to not want to sleep through the night 47 minutes ago.  I gather enough energy to stop the toddler poking torture by reaching for remote and putting on a Colors, Shapes, and Counting.


5 minutes later, I realize I have dozed back off and the poking torture has resumed times two.  Katie is now up and demanding chocolate milk with the chocolate that has the monkey on the front and the picture of the ice cream.


I get out of bed and head for the coffee maker, also known as God’s personal gift to me for the onslaught of back to back pregnancies.  Thus solidifying my Christianity since He knew I would thank Him for it every time I poured a cup.

I stop to pick up Dora, Diego, their truck, a stuffed dog, a shoelace (?), a wayward puzzle piece, my husband’s sock, and pet our two neglected pups on the head.

Almost to the coffee cup, I hear the baby.  It is not even 7am.  She was up and down until after 2am.  Surely she’ll fall back asleep.

Katie and Sarah come out and demand that their Pull Ups be removed.  I divert from my path to tend to them.  As they are fighting over who I will de-pee first, I hear Megan again.

I leave my two oldest fighting and retrieve the obviously still tired baby, only to realize that she has wet out of her diaper, thus waking herself, and ruining my quiet- er morning.

Back on the living room, I simultaneously defunk my kids and get them into cleaner duds.  Surveying the growing mound of clean laundry on my couch, I flash forward to what I will be doing should I actually convince my kids to have a rest time today.

I head to Megan’s room to remove her sheets and Sarah tells me that she has wet her bed as well.

Great.  That pile will be larger.

Two beds stripped, one load in the machine, and a growing headache later and the troops are at it.

“Mooom, I want waffles!”

“I want cereal!”

“I don’t want waffles!  I want Pretzels!”

Fighting the urge to add Benedryl to anything they eat, I longingly promise the coffee maker that I will be there soon and set it to keep the coffee warmer for longer.

I make waffles, with cream, and sprinkles – no purple sprinkles, no no – pink sprinkles, ok – rainbow sprinkles.  I serve them on a purple plate, a pink plate, and a Mickey Mouse plate.  I comply with a purple fork, an orange fork, and a princess spoon.  Orange juice from the purple cup with the yellow lid, water from the Tinkerbell cup with a blue straw, and a few ice cubes in the green cup and I think I am all set.

“Moooom…  I want the waffles we had on my birthday {last year} with the candle and the star sprinkles and the birthday plate with the pink sparkly spoon!”

I think I just rolled my eyes!

10 minutes of explaining and begging and prodding and promising, I finally have all three eating and reach to get my coffee cup.


Oh no.

Yep.  Megan has thrown her waffle onto the floor, cream, sprinkles and all.

Who wants to come clean that up?

No takers?  Shocking.

My hand protests as I remove it from the cup and I redirect it towards the paper towels.


“MOOOOM – Megan threw my water on the floor!”

Tylenol… I need Tylenol!

An unsuccessful, time consuming, put her back 87 times in one minute, time out later, I get back to the mess. The now sticky, wet, pain in the butt, mess to clean.

“Mooooom!  I want milk!”

I dig through the overflowing dishes and find cups to wash by hand.  Milk served, the TV properly placed to the correct channel, also know as the one that stops them all from fighting, I head back to the kitchen.



“MAAAWWWMMMM, Katie hit meeeeeee!”

Oh Dear Lord.

I look at the clock, see that it is 8:17, throw my hands in the air in frustration, fill my coffee cup, abort my plan to chronicle my day, and pray for patience.

Which should get to me any minute now…