7:14 a.m. There is something wet on my arm. I am asleep. Why is my arm wet and cold? Crack open an eyelid. Baby hair, soft curly blonde sweet smell. Wet arm. The baby is leaking.

7:16 a.m. Change the diaper. SmallGirlChild wants waffles.

7:18 a.m. There are no waffles. There should be waffles. What happened to the Sam’s size box of waffles? How can four small children consume 60 waffles in two weeks?

7:20 a.m. Knocking on the door. Who is here at this hour? BigBoyChild. Door was locked. Missed the bus.

7:21 a.m. Where is The Man? No note. Not answering phone. Not in the house.

7:23 a.m. Everyone in the van. Drive BBC to catch shuttle to school from high school. The Man is walking along the road. He walked BigGirlChild to school and was checking on BBC. Get in the van.

7:27 a.m. High school. No bus. Already gone.

7:36 a.m. Back at the house. SGC to the potty. Coffee. Back in the van.

7:55 a.m. BBC dropped off at magnet school at the corner of Crack & Pipe.

8:25 a.m. Back home. Eggs for the babies. Dress SGC for preschool.

9:05 a.m. The Man is already late for work. He takes SGC to school.

 

9:30 a.m. BBC’s school called. He threw up after eating eggs at school. Evidently there was a power failure on Sunday. These two things may or may not be related.

10:15 a.m. Back at BBC’s school. Sign him out. Hand him an old soda cup and say, “Hey man, if you’re gonna spew, spew in the cup.”

10:17 a.m. BBC doesn’t grasp the subtle hilarity that is Wayne’s World.

10:22 a.m. Turn the wrong way and find out that the magnet school actually ISN’T in the worst neighborhood in Jacksonville – but it is very nearby.

10:45 a.m. Home. Get BBC a Coke. (Coke cures all ills.)

10:50 a.m. Try to write about what it’s like to write a really shitty restaurant review without getting sued. Put Pudge back over the gate.

10:55 a.m. Put Pudge back over the gate.

10:58 a.m. Scrap review piece. Write about mortality. Put Pudge back over the gate.

11:00 a.m. Too dour. Put Pudge back over gate. (Realize that the gate is more of a suggestion of where I want him to stay than an actual containment device at this point.)

 

11:03 a.m. Start walking on the treadmill. One mile. Put Pudge back over the gate.

11:30 a.m. Phone call from preschool. SGC hit in the face with a kid on a swing. Bruise. BooBooSponge applied. Put Pudge back over the gate.

11:40 a.m. Go pick up SGC from preschool. Sign form that says I will not sue for swing assault.

12:00 p.m. Feed Spawn food. Everyone keeps it down. Score.

12:30 p.m. Naptime. Station BBC in Pudge’s room as sentry.

12:31 p.m. Aerobics and strength training with Gilad. I hate him. I hate his mother. I hate his monkey.

1:00 p.m. Bake a cake for dessert. Lament the fact that this is the first Foodie Tuesday I have missed in months.

2:00 p.m. Finish walking on treadmill. Two more miles.

2:30 p.m. Pudge is up. Snackage.

2:45 p.m. Try to write again about the fear that I will die before I get to take a vacation not involving animatronic puppetry. Put Pudge back over the gate. Scrap that. It's a Small World is so overdone.

3:00 p.m. Try to write again about alcoholism. Not funny. Well, really funny, but offensive to most family members. Scrap that.

3:15 p.m. Time to go get BigGirlChild. She doesn’t know her brother isn’t meeting her at her bus stop. She’ll stand there until dinner otherwise. Load everyone up and pick her up.

 

3:48 p.m. Everyone back home. Paperwork to fill out from all schools.

5:55 p.m. Finally finished filling it all out in triplicate. Depressed over not having three adults I can give as emergency contacts. BigKids need school supplies that are at their dad’s house 17 miles away.

5:58 p.m. Try to write about health care debate using a parody of Alice’s Restaurant. It’s from the point of view of a rogue pharamacist that screams, “I WANNA FILLLLLLL! I WANNA FILLLLLL!”

6:15 p.m. Seriously considering that there is a possibility that not everyone knows all the words to Alice’s Restaurant. Scrapped – but fun while it lasted. Spend the next 15 minutes on Facebook. Shhhhh…. Mommy is plowing.

6:30 p.m. Drive to the other side of the city to pick up school supplies that were forgotten at BigKids’ Dad’s house. On the way, try to figure out why “Grab your things, I’ve come to take you home” always makes me tear up in Solsbury Hill.

7:00 p.m. Get supplies and talk to the man I married at 18 about things great and small then say goodbye.

7:42 p.m. Tear up again at Mat Kearney singing, “I guess we’re all one phone call from our knees.”

8:02 p.m. Back home. Dinner already in progress. Serve dessert.

8:30 p.m. Pajamas, stories and teeth brushing. Warm French fries in toaster oven.

9:00 p.m. Eat dinner alone on couch. Consider writing piece on the healing power of Bridezillas. Crazy doesn't look so bad when there is someone to watch crazier than you.

9:30 p.m. Clean up after dinner. The Man helped.

10:00 p.m. Try to care about two week old episode of America’s Got Talent.

10:05 p.m. Fail.

10:30 p.m. Have interminable conversation about communication issues with The Man over a misunderstanding. Consider blogging about it. Decide not to in the name of not being a bitch.

10:38 p.m. Receive message from Cartouche on Facebook - "Where are you??? xoxo." Wondering the same thing myself. 

11:05 p.m. The conversation continues. I finally break the tension by reading Ann's "Back the fuck up!" piece to The Man. I decide that all I really need is a few days in London alone and a safety burrito.

12:45 a.m. Fall asleep trying to read. Dream about doing it all over again tomorrow.



So, now you know why I haven’t written anything in a week.
It's a damn good thing I'm not a "working mother."

I have to go for now.

Pudge just jumped the gate.