Just Heather

The job of a SAHM is not an easy one. It is packed with carpools, runny noses, doctor appointments, and household chores. That image of the housewife sitting on the couch with her bon-bons? If only. But at the end of the day, I’m left looking around my trashed house wondering what it was I did all day that made me so tired.

A few months ago, we completed an exercise in my women’s ministry that shed some light on my daily life. I knew I was busy, I just didn’t realize how busy I truly was. We were given a grid with all the hours in a week and told to start filling it in. Begin with standing appointments and known tasks, then move on to things that aren’t scheduled, but require time out of our day. For example, I calculated that I spend 2 hours each day feeding and diapering the little one. That’s a task that is 5 minutes here, 20 minutes there, but adds up to a decent chunk of my day.

Turns out I have several such tasks—they don’t warrant a note on the calendar, but they do require much of my time. Supervising homework, returning non-sleeping kids to their beds, and cleaning spilled milk (yes, this is a daily one!), not to mention how many times this given-birth-3-times body goes to the bathroom each day. Once I filled in all the daily items, mundane chores (including laundry, coupon-clipping and grocery shopping), and, um, time with my husband—and allotted for 7 hours of sleep each night—there wasn’t a white space on the calendar.

So what happens when soccer season hits and each weekend suddenly needs nearly 5 extra hours—1 for practice, 1 1/4 for each game, and travel time back and forth all 3 trips? Or the bathroom crashes through the dining room and I’m pulled in 3 different directions for cleanup and repairs?

You get one over-worked, sleep deprived, celibate cranky mommy.

4:00am: Summoned by vomitting Stacia
4:15am: Gag while attempting to cleanup said vomit
4:20am: Decide cleanup can wait until morning
4:21am: Settle sick kid onto my floor
5:15am: Stacia pukes again
5:20am: Settle sick kid onto floor once again
7:15am: Early morning wakeup call by baby
7:20am: Baby back to sleep. God bless her favorite lullaby CD.
7:25am: Attempt to go back to sleep
8:15am: Brenia awake for the day
8:20am: Convince her to play quietly in her room
8:21am: Briefly wonder at her aquiescence; call school to inform them of sick kid’s absence
8:25am: Attempt to go back to sleep
8:45am: Awake to Stacia vomitting
9:00am: Breakfast for non-sick kids
9:15am: Launder puked-on bedding/clothes that shouldn’t have been on the floor
9:25am: Throw away puked-on toys that shouldn’t have been on the floor
9:30am: Spray carpet cleaner on the floor
9:35am: Call pediatrician for medical instructions
10:15am: Hubby awake—also sick—announces intention to take a bath in hopes of relieving what ails him
10:45am: Walk in on hubby taking a shower
11:15am: Notice a familiar dripping sound
11:16am: Mad-dash around the dining room to save all pictures from massive water damage coming through the ceiling
11:20am: Frantic phone calls to plumber, water restoration, and insurance company
12:00pm: Plumber arrives
12:30pm: Lunch for non-sick kiddos
1:00pm: After cutting giant hole in dining room ceiling to access pipes, plumber determines there is no leak
1:15pm: Plumber finds several cracks in bathtub
1:30pm: Hubby pissed that the one time he takes a bath it leaks, while my nightly bubble baths do nothing
1:45pm: Pay said plumber; show Chem-Dry into the wet area
2:00pm: Wonder how an $84 plumbing diagnostic fee became $127 when he didn’t actually fix anything
2:45pm: naptime for all kids
3:15pm: Instructions from Chem-Dry for 3-5 days of industrial fans and dehumidifer—again
3:30pm: Collapse onto couch for much-needed nap
3:32pm: Snack for baby
4:00pm: Nap for baby
4:15pm: Collapse onto bed for much-needed nap
4:20pm: Console non-sleeping baby
4:25pm: Collapse onto bed for much-needed nap
4:30pm: Console non-sleeping baby
4:35pm: Collapse onto bed for much-needed nap
5:00pm: Awakened by sickling to turn on the downstairs television
5:05pm: Find hubby asleep on the couch right next to the remote for said television
5:10pm: Retrieve fussy baby; Realize “lunch” consisted solely of milk
5:11pm: Feed baby
5:20pm: Start dinner
5:50pm: Realize starting dinner meant deciding what to fix while juggling baby on hip; attempt to put fussy baby down so I can actually cook something
6:00pm: Peel potatoes since for mashing as it’s about the only thing the sicklings will eat
6:15pm: Marvel at the disaster that is my house
6:45pm: Give up on any sense of routine and put baby to bed early
6:50pm: Wish I could end the day and go to bed early myself

I just discovered my oven was not made for real moms. It has this utterly ridiculous feature that causes the timer to shut off if it has been beeping for more than a minute. So hypothetically speaking, if you should have a child hanging off one boob and another refusing to take her nap when you happen to hear the timer in the background, by the time you would actually be free to retrieve your lunch the incessant beeping will have ceased causing you to completely forget about it.

I had the brilliant idea to skip buying the cheap, crappy paper Valentine cards this year in favor of creating our own for Stacia to take to school. This sounded like a great idea to use up the little plastic Stampin’ Up baggies I had leftover from a business and to get the way-too-tempting candy I bought during triple coupons out of the house.

She was supposed to bring a Valentine “mailbox” for collecting her classmates Valentine’s. I thought it would be great to use an oatmeal box, which required emptying the oatmeal. This, naturally, requires me to make No Bake Cookies. This all sounded like a great idea in my head before I had 4 kids (mine plus one) in the house all needing something from me at the same time.

Then there’s always option 2: dumping the box of oatmeal on the floor in an attempt to remove it from the pantry with a child on one shoulder and 3 in the next room covered in stamp ink. I did manage to stop the spillage with enough leftover for this recipe:

2 c sugar
1/2 c milk
1/2 stick margarine
1/4 c cocoa
1/2 c peanut butter
3 c oat
1 tsp vanilla

Boil first 4 ingredients for 1 full minute. Add vanilla and peanut butter until creamy. Stir in oats. Mix well then drop by spoonfuls onto wax or parchment paper.

Here I sit minding my own business, typing out an email to my dear friend Chelle when I suddenly hear a persistent “drip, drip, drip.” The usual suspect is sick as a dog and has not left my side since she woke up at 7am. Our other mess maker has been at school for hours. Something is clearly amiss. I look up to find water dripping from the ceiling.

That is when I remember that I ran bleach water to wash the bathtub & toys in anticipation of finally fixing the cracks that began months ago. I know you are thinking I left the water running—it was my first thought too even though I distinctly recalled turning it off. I dash up the stairs to find I had not gotten that far along in my memory loss. Apparently the crack has just reached catastrophic proportions.

At least it’s bleach water so I shouldn’t have to concern myself with mold in the drywall. I won’t even begin to worry about it bleaching the carpet. The munchkins have destroyed it beyond all recognition already. I only need to worry about the ceiling caving in around us. Well, at least I won’t be here to see it.

I have to go pick up Brenia’s antibiotic. They’re thinking pneumonia since Stacia had it last week, and I’m patting myself on the back for having saved myself a trip to the doctor by having Brenia checked out then. Though, with the way she has been yelling everything today I’m guessing we have an ear problem too. Either way the drugs should kill it by Christmas.

Maybe I’ll come home and the ceiling will dry and be all better. *la, la, la* I can’t hear you!

Today, for the second day in a row, I actually remember that I, myself, need to eat lunch when I feed my little ones. I reach into the fridge to grab my leftover chicken noodles only to discover they are nonexistent. Apparently, he decided he was more worthy of the meal than I even though I just spent $22 on 15 meals to stock the freezer for him.

Never mind that it trashed my rule of “nothing over a dollar” when I did my grocery shopping this week, thereby completely throwing off my savings calculations for the month. Never mind that since I knew he would take them to lunch every day I didn’t bother to get a single meal I would actually eat myself. Never mind that I am a nursing mother and in desperate need of nutrition. By all means, eat what you like. I’ll just grab something else.

Except we all know that once my original idea went out the window I got distracted and forgot to eat again. (Look! Something shiny!) I guess I could just be happy with today’s news that I’ve lost 25 of my 34 baby pounds. Not that my failure to eat lunch really has anything to do with it. I generally make up the calories with a giant bag of potato chips or these yummy, generic oreo cookies. Not to mention the great deals I’m finding on Christmas candy, which—let’s face it—will never actually last long enough to get in the stockings!

The holidays should be all about family. They should be fun and relaxing, what with not having to work and all. Instead they are stressful, tiring and full of headaches. They end up being about which in-laws you can piss off the most.

Each year we load up the car with children and presents to travel…somewhere on Christmas day. One year it’s my family, the next year it’s his. It’s tiresome, but the one year we attempted to put our foots down and go nowhere it just didn’t work out. We ended up going to his grandmother’s house—in our pajamas—anyway. On a full year, we have 6 rounds of Christmas in addition to our quick morning at home after Santa has visited.

This year Round 1 is this weekend. Despite the fact that it is 2 weeks prior to the actual holiday, it will be my favorite. It will be calm and peaceful. No one will be rushed to get to the next location. I won’t spend the entire day wishing I were somewhere else. My children will have the opportunity to actually enjoy their gifts—and the loved ones who have provided them—instead of just watching a blur of wrapping paper fly by on our way out the door.

Christmas Eve is the worst. On a night that should be peaceful and warm, we start off at one of the coldest places on earth—my mother-in-law’s house. Then we all go to his grandmother’s house until it’s too late to enjoy leaving cookies for Santa. I never have the opportunity to sprinkle reindeer food for Rudolph with my children. I never get to enjoy reading a Christmas story in our new pajamas. We don’t sip a cup of cocoa after we’ve hung our stockings. By the time we get home they are too exhausted to do anything but whine.

It’s not that I begrudge him the opportunity to see his family. I don’t begrudge our families the time with us—or let’s be honest, our three children. I just want the opportunity to create holiday memories with my children that don’t center around the perplexing puzzle of fitting everything in the trunk. I want our own traditions, our own time as a family, and memories that my children will look back on and smile.

We are in the throes of birthday preparations for almost-3-year-old. She couldn’t be more excited—and she has no concept of time—so every day I hear “Am I three yet, Mommy?” I have managed to plan out our party preparations to give her an idea of when it will be. Today we do treat bags, tomorrow we bake cupcakes, Friday we decorate.

Her party is Saturday, but her birthday is not until Monday. I have no idea how I would ever convince her that she is not 3 this weekend. It’s not important, so I won’t bother, but I do want her actual birthday to be special in some way. I think that’s how the “birthday dinner” was created in my family. Every year we get to choose our birthday dinner—we can go anywhere we want (within reason) or pick any menu for Mom to cook.

It has gotten quite predictable. Each year middle sis and I choose a steak house (with our birthdays 6 days apart and our family growing by leaps and bounds we are now forced to choose 1 steak house and share a meal), little sis chooses homemade beef and noodles, and my brother chooses crepes or lasagna. Every year. Without exception.

I mentioned the idea to my little birthday girl and told her she could choose anything she wanted for her birthday dinner and Mommy would cook it special for her. Her selection? Cupcakes. Okay, Mommy will make cupcakes for your birthday, but how about we choose something to eat for dinner too? She has her menu all planned out:

  • grilled cheese
  • peanut butter sandwiches
  • apples
  • hamburgers