It's Saturday night 11pm and I'm finally sat down after a LONG day. Glass of white wine, "I am Legend" on the goggle box. Husband snuggled in. Ahhh.
Danny was up at 6.45am as usual. I can't remember the last time I had a lie-in till 9am. Probably won't now till I'm 60 either. This is one of those times I think being a 17-year old mum is far easier than being a 40-year old mum.
Jack was hard work. Wonderful beyond belief but hard work. Whoever coined the phase "terrible twos" didn't know about 3-year olds. Stinkers. Absolute stinkers. Make you laugh one minute, scream the next. This is obviously the age where I am not my best as a mum, since I spent most of my day saying "no", "don't you dare", "timeout", and "stop whining". Don't great mums get by singing and doing crafts and smiling? Or are they just NUTTERS?
At noon a couple came to test-drive my car I'm selling, which means I had to leg it to the car wash, hoover it out and make it look sparkly in about 30 minutes. If anyone has any suggestions how you clean the hollow bit under the seat between the middle consul and the seat (and get a year-old french fry out), please let me know.
1 pm: Drive to day-care center to pick up our stuff (crib etc.). Our lads last day was yesterday but I chickened and couldn't do the pickup at 5pm. Craig said Danny's teacher, Fatima, handed him over, burst into tears and went into the bathroom so last night me and Jack made a card for her and a present and I left it there for her to pick up Monday (they don't close till Friday). I'm sad but thankful I have Linda to come and look after them. I trust her and that means everything.
1.30-4pm: The Buckeye game, but less said the better. Jack crying "I want Sponge bob!" the whole time. Danny refusing to nap. If I was Mother Mary Poppins I would have abandoned the Buckeyes and done puzzles or collected leaves and stuck them on paper with glue. But it's the Buckeyes and I love them and my kids are going to have to understand that.
4-5pm: A long walk & Jack bike riding to the park a few blocks away. Fresh air does wonders for stress.
5pm: Our friends Matt & Gina come to help us do some major furniture moving so that our situation is more kid-friendly for Linda and the lads. We now owe a "move favor" to them - always a good one to have up your sleeve.
7pm: Danny in bed but he cried for 30 minutes, which is not like him, and he keeps waking up - I'm in for a bad night? Oh, please don't be ill Danny
8-9: Craig takes Jack to Kroger while I actually do something in the house - clean the kitchen, make up bottles, do laundry, mop floors (Mop & Glo is fabulous - thank you housekeeping fairy), and feed Cody. Oh how that boy has fallen from Glory.
9pm: Jack in bed, sort of. Regardless of a 7.30pm or 9pm bedtime the ritual is as long and dragged out. If staying up 1 minute longer was an Olympic game, my son would be gold. But how can I be mad when he hugs me tight and tells me he loves me? No better feeling in the world.
9.30-11pm: Me upstairs, rearranging the room after the furniture move, Craig in the basement doing the same. We did watch the last 5 minutes of Slumdog Millionaire together, a film we love.
11pm: We reunite in the basement which is now FABULOUS and watch our big screen telly. Glass of wine, give Cody a scratch behind the ear and apologise for 3 years of neglect. Talking of which, where are the cats and have I fed them today?
11.30pm: Craig tells me of Ochocinco's last stunt and it makes me laugh. I love this guy. He's an NFL player for the Cincinnati Bengals football team. A superstar in his own head, a character that loves his craft. I know there are people out there that hate his arrogance, but he's good, and he has character and he's funny and he LOVES his sport. He makes me love the Bengals. His name is Chad Johnson and his number is 85 so he changed his name by deed-poll to the Spanish for 8-5. Today he was part of a group that bought up 2,000 tickets to tomorrow's Bengals game so that it would be televised locally and he gave them away free to fans.
12.30am: Watching "Juno". What time will we go to bed? Probably too late. Isn't 40 the new 20?