A Day In My Life

It’s morning. My youngest is next to me because I can’t get her to stay in her own bed, but you know what? I don’t care. She’s my baby and the last one so I let her. She wraps her hand in my hair and brings her head closer to mine. I could stay in bed longer but that will make the morning hard. I nudge her and ask if she wants breakfast.

The other kids are rolling out of bed like zombies crawling from the grave, grumbles, grogginess. I throw on my gym clothes because come hell or high water I’m going to go to the dang gym today even if it’s for just thirty minutes. And if I don’t lose 10 pounds I’m gonna freak out!

Kids! Get them dressed, open curtains, herd them downstairs, and start taking breakfast orders, they help a little. My hands move in a blur as I make waffles, cut up fruit, fry an egg, and then toss together lunches for all three of them. Crap! I forgot to eat, so I fry another egg and grab a banana. Screaming how much time we have left I help locate shoes and jackets and break up a quarrel about the pink hairbrush. Then I chase one of them down the hall to brush her hair and insist on another one to “try to pee” before we leave for school. Neither listens. My son is out the door in shorts and it’s 30 degrees outside so I throw a hoodie at him. At least his arms are covered.

Bus stop. Drop-offs. Tears from the two-year-old because she doesn’t want to leave mommy. Sorry kid, I’ll give you extra hugs later, I promise.

Gym. Holy crap I made it! I sit, yes sit, on a bike and read my book. I sweat, I breathe hard, I’m in the zone with a story in-hand, and I’m happy. Get home. The house is quiet but it’s an unholy mess. I resist cleaning too much but the dishes are toppling over in the sink, there’s spilled cereal on the table, and random toys liter the ground. One of these will be taken care of but certainly not vacuuming.

I’ll rush in the shower because I have to put in my work hours. So I hurry to suds up and get out. Slapping on the different lotions according to the body parts they belong to. Under eyes, rest of face, body lotion, leave-in conditioner for the hair.

Time to work. I’m an IT Recruiter and it’s a good job, it’s interesting, it is a nice income. I work. I make coffee. I eat lunch. Sign my son up for baseball and make a doctor’s appointment for my toddler. I sit and work. I switch the laundry. I work.

Am I doing this right?

The nanny brings home the youngest and she clings to me as if we haven’t been together in months. I give her hugs and kisses and then pry her from me. My office is quieter so I close the door. I work. I shop for new shoes for my daughter, holy heck, $50, not today! I look for a better deal.

I sit. I work. I’m told my candidate is a no go, back to the drawing board. I check social media and think about the book I want to be writing. Then I work more. The clock says I’ve worked for five hours and the nanny is here for one more. It’s the sweet spot.

I write. I write my book, my blog, I plot a new book, I edit, I beta read. I cram as much as I can into this hour and it goes by in a blink.

Time to make dinner. Kids are screaming and running around. I separate them and force the oldest to do ten minutes of homework which he sulks and cries and refuses but he will do it because he is behind and it’s only ten minutes. I make a note to try harder with one-on-one time with all of them; knowing I’ll fail because we’re outnumbered.

I turn on the television if they are not occupied with something else. I just need to make dinner, can I just make dinner? Stop screaming! Go outside, don’t run in the house near the hot stove. Go outside! Go downstairs! Get out of the kitchen!

Dinner, it’s taco’s again but I do it. Cheese, chicken, lettuce, tomato, wraps, black beans, roasted cauliflower, hashbrowns (the loose kind you heat in a skillet), avocado, yogurt. It’s good and we all eat it. Leftovers for a few days, win. Wine.

Husband, love him. He does dishes and puts kids to bed and I get another hour to write! I write fast. I don’t have time for it to be less.

I get one hour a day alone with my husband, we talk, we watch tv, we sit with our feet up, we talk about things that need to get done. It feels good, well, not the list of things I need to do that grows every day. He goes to bed, sometimes I follow. Other times I write again or I read. I stay up later than I should, sometimes past midnight. My eyes sting because I’m staring at something for too long but I want to get this chapter down before I pass out.

I start to fall asleep and think of a good idea for my book and I swear to God I’ll remember it tomorrow……

It’s morning. My youngest is next to me because I can’t get her to stay in her own bed, but you know what? I don’t care.

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