A Normal Day

I was talking to a mother of older children about childhood record-keeping.  It was someone with some decidedly funny kids...one very funny kid in particular.  She said she was great about writing down all the funny things, but wished she had written down the happenings of the normal days.  I pondered that thought and decided it was a good one.

So, on Wednesday of this week, I grabbed a junk mail envelope from the counter.  One of the kids' lidless markers was lying sad and lonely on the kitchen counter (along with 157 miscellaneous items), so I grabbed that too.  I tried to remember to jot down a few notes throughout the day to jog my memory, since I seem to be more brain-dead than alive these days.

It was our first "normal day" in a week.  Sans company, sans camping.

After my alarm went off, I got up and made Brandon's lunch.  He eats PB&J 70% of the time.  Quite possibly, 71% of the time.  I know, it's shocking---I haven't actually done the math.  (But on a sidenote, I really did do the math with my peaches this summer, and we got 167 pounds off of one tree. Um-hum.  Peaches, peaches, peaches.  Peaches. I love peaches.)  I threw in some carrots and a mandarin and called it good.  The child has never had a cookie or chips in his lunch.  Poor deprived soul.

I woke the children up, everyone got dressed and toodled meekly out to the car.  I have taken to feeding them breakfast en route to school.  I believe it was egg mcmuffins that morning.

After dropping off Brandon, we went back home and the girls did Starfall.com while I read and struggled to find an application to my reading.  It was the story about David moving the ark of God and the two men who were struck down by God for steadying the ark when the oxen stumbled.  I've heard the application that "God is holy--they didn't obey His rules", but I felt like there was something I was missing.  Something more personal.  I decided that it would come to me later.  And it did.  Just now.  This very moment.  Something more along the lines of good people, with good intentions taking on a responsibility that wasn't theirs.  Uh-oh.  This is starting to hit close to home.  But I digress.

I'm still cleaning up the house.  It was rather messy.  Not so much from having company.  It was more from having life.  Life with three young children.  No twins, but three busy, messy young children.

My dad stopped by to pick up his boat, so we tromped outside to see him.  We didn't stay outside, as it was rather cold and windy.

Besides cleaning up the house and doing dishes, we made Muddy Buddies, paid bills, played the piano, scheduled several doctor appointments, worked on the website for Brandon's school, played dentist, etc.  We picked up Brandon at 1:45 and got the oil changed.  I grabbed a couple of items from Pollo Loco for us to munch on while they were changing the oil.  It was close to three by the time we got home.  Brandon and Corrine played outside in the mud and rain for a while, then came inside and were hyper, holy terrors.  I remembered to be thankful that I don't live where children are frequently confined to the house.  Bless you non-CA mothers!  I shall remember to pray for you and your sanity...if it's not too late.

Claire wanted to do my hair.  Now that was very relaxing.  I'm not sure which is worse: actually getting your hair "done" by a two-year-old aspiring beauty stylist or the detangling experience that follows.  Eventually she gave up on getting the hair-band to stay in and began dragging me around the house by my hair, saying, "You are a doggy.  Come doggy.  Come doggy."  Maybe I should add that activity to my Mommy-and-Me exercise book.

The Dog Walk
1. Mom kneels on all fours.
2. Two-year-old clutches Mom's hair tightly like a leash.
3. Mom proceeds to crawl around the house like a dog, barking constantly.

I must admit I was surprised by all the muscles I could feel contracting as I barked.  I guess I don't bark as much as I used to.

Before long I realized that it was almost dinner time.  Not a bad thing, except that I hadn't done my 4-week menu planning yet (since I wasn't sure what we would be doing this week with family visiting).

So, I opened my freezer and pulled out Pork Stew with oven roasted veggies, and thanked myself profoundly for being so wise to have put the leftovers in the freezer last time I fixed it for dinner.  Cornbread muffins were sounding good, so I started to whip out a batch.  Then I remembered I was out of milk (& didn't get milk when I was in town earlier that day because Claire had fallen asleep in the car).

By this point, the kids were putting sandwich bags on their hands and feet and sliding through the kitchen.  Then Allan arrived home...with the milk.  I have such a helpful husband.  I won't try to tell you how extraordinary he was for bringing home a couple gallons of milk, since I imagine that 99.9% of husbands would do the same for their wives.  None the less, I appreciated it.  He's a keeper.

While I was finishing the cornbread muffins, the said extraordinary husband, along with the extraordinary son, decided that the kitchen would be a extraordinary place to play Nerf football.  No one paid much attention to the stink eye, until the stink mouth opened up after a wild throw deep in the field that just about landed in the cornbread bowl.

After dinner, we had a normal evening of dish-washing, game-playing, wrestling, laughing, fussing, bathing, snacking, bible-reading, book-reading, tooth-brushing, singing, praying and then....THEN...blessed quietness.  For about two hours.  And then, the night began.  But I'll save that for another post.