Case of the Mondays

We're alive! (Barely)

Let me set the scene. It’s Monday morning at 7:35-

interrupted by a toddler who wants a snack - I’ve decided to interject this post every time I’m interrupted by Harley (3) or Ellis (16 months), who are for all intents and purposes rested, fed, and happily watching some preschool sing-song show on TV while I type while I put my laptop to work by typing on my lap

Anyway. Monday morning, 7:35, solo parenting the morning with 4 kids (Cordelia spent last night at her dad’s) because Justin took on some new work projects a couple of months ago and has been leaving the house by 7:15 most mornings.

interrupted because the other toddler also wants a snack after noticing her brother had a yogurt

It’s work he really enjoys, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s currently working consistent 60-70 weeks (12 hours 5 days a week, plus some on weekends when needed), which means that his support system is also working overtime. It’s me, hi, I’m the support system, it’s me.

This man though - he is an amazing father and the best partner I could hope for. I never get out of bed before 6:45/7, even though our toddlers get up before 6 and the kindergartener and second grader are never far behind. He gets them going, packs their lunches, and usually feeds them breakfast. I say usually because it was 7:35 this morning, 10 minutes before we need to head out the door for school -

interrupted by toddler deciding that my laptop is his laptop, and he will help me type. Also he stepped on his almost empty yogurt pouch and I had to clean him and the floor

So 10 minutes before we need to be out the door, the girls ask, “Aren’t we going to have breakfast?” Ughhhhhhhhh you guys can have a banana or toast but only if you tell me now! Pasta, they want reheated plain pasta. Whatever. Four small plates of reheated pasta coming up in two minutes flat.

They wolf it down, it’s 7:42, and Arya’s tummy hurts. My 8-year-old has chronic stomach aches. We have spent years and thousands of dollars and multiple doctors trying to figure it out and no one can tell us anything other than “she has anxiety.” We do our best to manage it. She spends 30 seconds pulling herself together, grabs her new backpack she got for her birthday over the weekend, and somehow gets the zipper more stuck than any stuck zipper I’ve ever seen. Backpack is still usable, she just needs to use the other side. I promise to search the internet for zipper un-sticking hacks, and if that fails, I will contact Jansport.

interrupted by a toddler who doesn’t like this show, and wants a different show. It has to be a show that both a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old will enjoy

We make it into the car. We pull out of the garage. Raindrops hit the windshield. Arya and Trinity are upset because they don’t feel like they’re wearing proper rain attire (they are wearing perfectly fine clothes for a San Diego early May Gray drizzle). We have no time to change, let alone FIND whatever the perfect rain attire might even be that they could change into.

Clearly NOT my kids in rain boots because they didn’t have their rain boots - the tragedy of it all. Photo by Daiga Ellaby on Unsplash

Get to school a few minutes before the bell rings. Harley’s favorite thing in the world to do is play on Trinity’s kindergarten playground before school, and she knows we are running a little late today for her to do that, so she jumps out of the car once I unbuckle her carseat and go around to the other side to unbuckle Ellis. She falls from the height of her carseat in the minivan onto the asphalt, scraping up her knee. I’ve already unbuckled Ellis so I have to take a minute to walk back around the car and get her.

She’s ok, meanwhile Arya is starting to cry because she hates her dress now, her backpack is broken, and did I mention she has pinkeye (it’s treated, she can go to school, but just another thing on the list because those eye drops are no joke)?

I walk four kids into school as the two-minute “get in line” bell rings. I normally give Arya a kiss at the kinder class and send her off on her own to second grade, but today she is melting down. I walk Trinity to her line, and tell her I need to take Arya to her classroom today because she’s having a bad case of the Mondays and needs extra attention right now. Trinity starts crying, so I find a playground helper to hold her hand, and promise I will come back and wave through the window (our little tradition as she walks into class usually) before I leave.

Arya, Harley, Ellis, and I walk to Arya’s classroom, and she’s trying to take deep breaths but it’s not working. Class has already started by the time we walk over, and they’re starting to celebrate her friend and classmate’s birthday. Her teacher asks if I want to comfort her outside a minute, I say yes, and she passes me some kleenex.

Arya takes some more deep breaths, we catalog her woes to acknowledge them, and we pray together that Jesus takes this cruddy morning and turns it into a fantastic day. After a few minutes, she is settled enough and hops back into class. So we walk back to the kindergarten area of school, and I spot Trinity in morning circle time. She waves and looks so sad, but ok. I go to leave but her teacher (whom I ADORE - seriously the best kinder teacher EVER) -

interrupted by a toddler pulling my recipe binder off the shelf - the one with about 100 pages of printed out, unsorted recipes that I still need to three-hole-punch and put in the right sections, I just haven’t because I can’t find my three-hole-punch since the last time the kids discovered it was full of “confetti” and I hid it from them (and myself, apparently). Now my recipe pages are confetti for a one-year-old

Interrupted again by the school nurse calling to ask me about Arya’s pinkeye. Yes she’s been treated, no, she does not need to be picked up, but they’re still going to send out a class email. Le sigh. It is what it is. At least it’s not LICE.

Ok, so Trinity’s kinder teacher sees me and comes out and lets me know that Trin had quite a few tears in the eight minutes since I left her in line with the playground helper, and asks if I’d like to comfort her a moment. OF COURSE! So I give her lots of love, hugs, and kisses, explain to Harley for the millionth time we can’t go on the playground after school starts, and reassure Trinity that I always keep my promises when I say I’m coming back. Wild horses couldn’t keep me from taking care of my children.

She’s good, she’s back to school, I take Harley and Ellis painfully slowly back to the car because they are toddlers and they are slow, keep Harley out of the middle of the road, buckle all the carseats, let out a major breath, take a sip of yesterday’s diet coke that I accidentally left in the car after church, and look at my watch. It’s 8:11. It’s been just over half an hour since they declared they still needed breakfast.

This stream-of-consciousness blog post took just under an hour to write with all the interruptions. I may or may not proofread before posting.

Anyway, that’s why I’ve been MIA! Love to all you readers still out there - I really love connecting with you and sharing and reading your comments and maybe letting another parent out there know that life is just chaos with littles, and that’s ok. We’re going to survive!

Maybe I’ll even find my three-hole-punch and get the recipes organized. LOLOLOLOLOLOL