I have written about a typical day before (like
here or
here).
Here is the story of today...
At 2:00 this morning, I decide to stop the laundry madness and head to bed. We have a party here at the house in two days and somehow I need to get ready. The only time that I can actually use both hands is when everyone else is asleep. Luckily, Olive slept very well and didn't wake up to eat until 4:30. We both fell back asleep until she ate again at 7:30, I nursed her lying down and then we both fell asleep once more. Much to my surprise, Ivey (who usually wakes up at 9:00) either woke up late or sat in her bed and played quietly. I didn't hear anything out of either baby until 10:00. Excellent for me! Not so excellent for Gretta, who was in the back waiting to be milked.
I jump up, change Olive and talk to her to get her in a good enough mood to lay there and watch her mobile for a while. After retrieving a very happy Ivey from upstairs and changing her wet clothes, I plop her down with a cup of milk and Dora the Explorer while I run out to the goats. Gretta was very compliant as I got her onto the stand. Sadly, her big hoof lands in the bowl and I have to run back in the house to get another one before she scarfs down all the grain that is appeasing her. Note to self: bring out more than one bowl next time.
After milking Gretta I let the baby out (we have to keep Heidi locked up at night if we want to actually get any milk the next morning). Her head is stuck in the slats, and I believe she had managed to nurse that way, which would explain the fact that Gretta didn't seem full. Heidi's head is freed, the goats are fed, and I run in to check out my kiddos.
Ivey is happily watching Dora at the table. The boys are watching yet another episode of He-Man. If I have to hear "I have the POWER!" one more time I may scream. Olive was starting to get fussy, so I carry her around as I fix Ivey a bowl of yogurt and get dressed. Ivey insists on feeding herself. She does a great job, but still needs some damage control. I put on her shoes as she eats and instruct the boys to do the same. Reluctantly, we have to go to the store. We are completely out of dish detergent and we have two loads to do. Plus, I have poison ivy and need that Tecnu stuff that works so well. I re-ponytail my hair, accept that the makeup still on my face from yesterday is good enough, throw on some lip gloss and load the kids into the van.
Once at Target, I find a spot next to the buggies. Now, it's decision time. Do I use the double stroller? Nah, Olive isn't happy enough to sit in the stroller. Do I do the two-buggy approach with Ivey in one and Olive's carseat in the other? Nah, today I stick Ivey in the buggy and wear Olive in the front carrier. Everyone seems happy enough. Success. The store trip is pleasingly uneventful. Olive is rocked to sleep by the soothing bouncing of my frugal shopping. "No, you can't have that box of yogurt covered fruit snacks... this box is the exact same but costs $.65 less". "Look, Mom! Life cereal is only $2. Let's get three!" ... and so on... On the cereal isle, Addison's super-sensitive-brother-senses inform him that Ivey is poopy. I asked her if she needs a new diaper. "Yeeessss!"
After checking out, and after the cashier informs me that my daughter had her barrette in her mouth, I squeeze all five of us into the family restroom. I manage to move Ivey from the buggy to the changing table, change her diaper and put her back in the buggy again while wearing Olive against my chest. Violà! Ivey is clean and we are on our way. Realizing I had had absolutely nothing to eat or drink by this point, I pick up small slushies on our way out the door. Ivey grabs mine and I let her hold it for a while to appease her. I receive the scorning judgment of the elderly woman who was lurking near the exit. Her eyes say, "I can't believe you are letting that girl consume all that SUGAR!" Nice. Do you think I let my first set of kids have some slushy at 19 months old, woman? Of course not. But, I'm on number four now. A little slushy will not decrease her likelihood of becoming a nuclear physicist nor will it instantly propel her into the statistic of being an obese American child.
By the time we make it to the car, Olive is awake and getting grumpy. It's lunch time, and I make the fateful decision to pick up lunch for myself at Chick-fil-A. The kids would much rather eat at home, anyways. Unfortunately, everyone else in creation made the same decision. Plus, the traffic in the 1/2 mile from Target to Chick-fil-A was horrid. Oh, and since we left the store, Olive has been screaming like a mad-woman... tears streaming down her cheeks. As I wait at the window for the woman to go to Idaho and purchase the potatoes for my waffle fries, all I can do is lie my head on the steering wheel and try to visualize myself anywhere but this van full of screams. "Ma'am? Here is your order." Good grief. It took 15 minutes or more to make it through the line, gather my food and get back on the road towards home.
Back at the house, I feel my heartrate starting to climb. I get Olive out of the carseat and carry her around as I try to get Ivey to exit the van. No good. She refuses to leave a car that is full of so many wonderful buckles. Buckles are the new thing. She loves them. So, I leave her strapped in, all except for the top buckle, which she happily plays with while I help the boys. They are working like little ants, taking bags of groceries to the kitchen floor.
After bribing Ivey out of the car with her juice cup, I manage to get her into her seat for lunch. She pigs out of bits of my Chick-fil-A as I get the frozen foods put away... one handed. With my other hand, I am holding Olive as she nurses. Finally, I am able to sit and nurse her for a while. Of course, I may be sitting, but I am using the other hand as the boys are bringing me lunch supplies. I open packages and coach them through fixing their food. At this point, Ivey has jammed all of the chicken into her mouth and climbed down from the table to retrieve her bubbles from the counter.
She is hooked on bubbles. She has spent three days saying "Momma bubbles!" To combat this, I replaced out broken bubble machine with a $10 one from Target. At least it can take one thing off of my list of things to do... it can be the bubble blower. Her demands for bubbles are increasing as I try to open the package with one hand. Addison gives her an empty bubble stuff container and a wand to keep her happy while we work. Somehow, I manage to open the confounded packaging, insert the batteries and get the blower to the deck without making Olive lose her latch. Bubbles. Check.
After eating, Olive passes out and takes a nap. It's 30 minutes past Ivey's 1:00 naptime, but she doesn't seem tired yet. They play in bubbles while I wolf down my lunch and finish putting the groceries away. Much to my suprise, I am able to also load the diapers into the washing machine just in time to hear Addison, who is on the deck calling for help. It seems that he has stepped in chicken poop that was covered in ants. I give him the hose and he begins to rinse his feet. Just as I step into the house he announced that this was not chicken poop after all. He had stepped in mouse guts... and it was on his shirt, too. Why on earth is it on your SHIRT??? "Because I was wiping it off my foot.", he explained. Ah. Wiping chicken poo off of your foot with your shirt. Makes perfect sense. Too bad it was actually mouse guts, as using your shirt to remove mouse guts would be absurd. As I glance at his shirt, I see that he has red/brown guts smeared all down his long sleeve. I gag, strip him down, and hose him off. I gag again.
At this point, it is approaching 2:00. Ivey has been appeased by the bubbles, and loves the empty bottle and wand. I ask if she wants to go night-night. She says "yeeeesssss" and explains "bubbles night night". I have no problem with the bottle and wand going to bed, too. So, up the stairs we go. Ivey goes through the list of everything she needs to say "night night" to... "night night dada" "night night turtles" "night night goats" "night night dada (this time it's Asa)" "night night dadada (Addison)" and so on. I am pleased with how easily she goes down for her nap. She wants her mobile on, which she is much too big for so I have it perched on her chest of drawers so it hangs high over her bed. Drat. Dead batteries. I run down and back up the stairs in record time. Success. "Night night Ivey and bubbles"
For a few minutes, I have both babies in bed. I take a deep breath and appreciate this fact just long enough to realize that the silence that surrounded me was only due to the fact that the monitor was off. Olive was indeed awake. Sigh. Looks like I will have to teach school today one handed after all.
For the next two hours, I teach school. We only have four days left and have finished most of their curriculum, but we do have math and history to finish. During their lessons, Olive went down for another nap. I finished teaching the lessons and then straightened up the house while the boys did their work. Unfortunately, straightening up the house turned into cleaning out the aquarium, which proved to be a bit more involved than their 30 minute work allowed. After the aquarium was nice and clean, the boys returned to a grammar test as Olive started to stir. It was 4:00 and I realized this may be my last chance to actually apply the Tecnu on my itchy body.
With Olive complaining loudly in the next room, I successfully apply the poison ivy stuff. I do this while answering questions from the boys who are standing outside the door. "What does A-n-t-h-o-n-y spell?" Next, I feed Olive yet again and camp out at the table to guide the boys through the rest of school. Much to my surprise, it is 4:45. Where did the day go? It is starting to rain, so I rush Asa and Addison out the door to feed and water the chickens. It seems they are unable to gather the eggs before the downpour.
Olive needs lots of eye contact time, so I spend a while sitting on the floor, playing.... playing while making mental lists of things to do once she goes down for another nap. Because Ivey went down for a late nap, she doesn't wake up until 5:00. This was bad timing since Olive was requiring attention. Ivey gets upset when I bring Olive upstairs with me, as I cannot lift her up and give her some post-nap snuggling. So, I have to choose who cries....as I so often must do. I grab Ivey and head down the stairs, grabbing a call from Jeff who is telling me he is on his way home. As I'm on the phone, Olive is crying, Ivey is complaining loudly that she cannot have the entire bag of goldfish off the counter and Asa is asking me if he can have a snack. Needless to say, I can't hear a word. But, I do hear that he's on his way home. I also know we're having leftover vegetable soup, so I can breathe a sigh of relief on not having to concoct dinner with a baby on my hip. Hey, the other night I successfully made french toast and fried ham all while nursing. Safety first, huh?
Jeff walked in and I hand Olive off just long enough to make 6 peanut butter sandwiches. It won't be long before we're using a loaf at a time. Olive starts wailing, so I pass dinner duties off to Jeff while I take her. Dinner is served. After dinner, Jeff starts to watch Star Trek with the boys while the girls and I sit on the floor. He always gets the easy ones. I work on getting Olive to bed... he deals with Ivey. The boys decide they want to try the mulberry jelly that Jeff made last night, so they make some PB&J's and finally hit the sack.
By 9:30, I had cleaned up my room and tackled the monumental heap of dishes in the sink. A clean sink. Wow. I stand there and wait for my medal, but alas, it never comes. Although I have a billion more things to do to get ready for the party on Sunday, I have decided that I can only stay up either tonight or tomorrow night, but not both. I choose tonight to sleep. So, it's 10:00 and I am blogging, watching a bit of t.v. and crashing... for it all starts again in the morning... or whenever Olive says it does...
