ABOUT ME

About me: My husband Chuck, our six-year-old Junior, our three-year-old Everette and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Her day bites (get it?)

For reasons I don’t quite understand, Wednesday seems to be the day to do things in the mothering blogosphere. Rocks in my Dryer has Works-for-me-Wednesday and…oh wait, that’s the only mothering blog anyone visits. Ever.

Phooey.

Well, here’s my Wednesday salute, just in time to celebrate my third week at work and newfound affinity for a Screwdriver in my morning travel mug. Actually, affinity is too lukewarm. Let’s be honest and call it what it is: infatuation.

My salute has nothing to do with nicey-nicey tips for making life easier. Instead it has everything to do with how much suckitude there is in the everyday routines of some of this country’s (day I say world’s?) working mothers.

And so I give you “My-day-sucks-worse than-yours-Wednesday.”

Mom Jill was nice enough to share one of her typical days with me so that I could post it. I wish I had something to send her; hopefully she’ll settle for an authentic Mulletville postcard signed by the town drunk/s. Hats off to you, Jill. Your day truly does suck (and I mean that in the nicest way possible).

Here’s how it all goes down:

4:30 am – Baby (age one year) wakes screaming. Make her a bottle, sprint up the stairs to get her before she wakes up the other two kids. Tend to baby. Let dog out, feed the dog and cats.

5 am – Daughter #1 (age 5) and daughter #2 (3) float downstairs, #1 complaining that #2 woke her up. Child #2 whines that she is hungry and throws herself on floor when Cheerios aren't made for her by the time she reaches the bottom step.

5:10 am – Child #2 is done with cereal and wants more food. Baby has a poopy diaper. Change baby. Let dog out again. Darling husband gets up, showers, fixes himself bowl of cereal, retreats to computer/email.

5:15 am - Round three of breakfast. Feed baby her food. Take out trash, empty dishwasher, throw in load of laundry.

5:30 am – Child #1 and #2 are still hungry. Start begging for cheese sticks.

6 am - More laundry and other household chores. Hubby escapes to work.

6:30 am - Shower with child #1 and #2 while baby bangs on glass shower door.

6:45 am - Get dressed, get kids dressed, put baby back down for nap just in time for babysitter to show up.

7:10 am - Babysitter shows up late (as usual), kids whine for more food, bicker over trivial things (who lays claim to which chair at the kitchen table, who is in charge of the crayons, etc.). Catch up with sitter, leave for work.

Tired yet? Jill’s not even at work yet, people!

7:30 am - 7 pm - Work consists of patients who want to bite me (to clarify, Jill works with animals, not people).

The new receptionist interrupts me every five minutes because she doesn't understand the concept of taking messages while the doctor is in with patients. I deal with clients who are upset with the cost of taking care of their pets, endure the wrath of the occasional person who calls at 5:50 pm and lives 30 minutes away and doesn't understand why you can't keep the staff there an extra hour because Fifi might have an infected wart, or the one who is upset because the diarrhea medicine I sent home two hours ago has not started working YET!!!!

So I squeeze half a dozen "emergencies" into my lunch hour and an already overbooked schedule until 6 pm, then stay at the office to finish charts and calls until at least 7 pm.

7:30-8 pm – Arrive home. Three kids are in bed. Clean kitchen mess left from dinner, start dishwasher, pick up clothes, socks, and shoes strewn everywhere. Check email, etc.

9 pm – Lie in bed for two hours trying to go to sleep, dreading 4:30 am’s arrival.

And there you have it. Our first installment of “My-day-sucks-worse than-yours-Wednesday.”

As I only know a handful of working moms who might generously volunteer the dirty details of their days, this Wednesday thing may be short-lived. But rest assured, Rocks in my Dryer will still be there as we work out the kinks. So everyone can just relax.

(If there are any stay at home moms out there who'd like to share, please drop me a line—this blog is all about the Koombaya of motherhood.)

3 comments:

Daddio said...

Poor Jill! I'll never complain again about my day...well, almost never :)

SherryB said...

Wow. I'm a full-time working mom/part-time single mom (hubby is commuting to grad school in another state because we are insane), but I feel a little better about the length of my days after reading this. At least I've only got the one rugrat to worry about. I've been questioning whether to have another... this might be my answer. Yowzer.

(But I probably will still complain again.)

Frogs in my formula said...

Complaining is good. And underrated.