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Oooh—tonight is probably not the night to blog—I have a feeling it’s going to be a gripe-fest!  Here are my last 36 hours, and although they weren’t all bad, at all, I sure am tired, and the laundry awaits, the house needs some picking up, and I feel a little like it’s perfectly fine for me to go non-stop until bedtime, but not anyone else!


 6:30am: Mikey wakes me up like usual-ravenous.

6:45am: Pierce wakes up like usual-needy.

7:00am: Pick out clothes for the boys and iron them (yes, I know that this is my own choice, and that nixing it would make my day simpler, but I can’t send my kids out looking like I don’t give a crap.)

Several times between 7:10 and 7:45am: Ask Mikey to get dressed.

7:45am:  whoooohoooo!  Donuts with Dad day at school!  I don’t have to have three people ready and piled in the car to make the run through the car line.  Dad gets to today.

8:00am: Goof around on my computer for a bit before I have to start getting ready to go to work and take Pierce to Grammy and Papa’s—at least I think that’s what I was doing…I can’t remember.

8:45am: Somewhere before now, I got Pierce dressed, and now I am getting in the shower.

8:46am: Make the serious time management mistake of washing my hair and knowing the long and time-consuming hair drying, sweating, hair starting to get wet and curl all over again, and attempting to style, only to put in a pony tail, task is in front of me.

9:15am: Need to leave in 15 minutes if I want to be to work at 10am.  Thankfully punctuality isn’t terribly necessary as long as I put in my 4 hours.  Anyway, still trying to tame this ‘do, meanwhile, I haven’t attacked the face and the process of looking 10 years younger yet.

Somewhere between 9:15 and 9:45:  I have put my face on, found something to wear, discovered that a couple of beds need making, toys need picking up, pillows need fluffing, counters need wiping down, Oh yeah!  Pick out jewelry, get my ice coffee re-iced since it has been waiting for my attention for the last hour, put on my AWESOME pointy toed, stiletto’d  boots trimmed in fur that I will undoubtedly regret within the hour, find Pierce and get the heck up outta here!

10:00am: Kick Pierce out at the curb as I drive by Grammy and Papa’s and hope he can find his way into their house.  Just kidding…Deliver him safely into their care, and hit the road for the mall.

10:05-10:20:  Have a nice pseudo relaxing drive to work with the tunes of my choice, were it not for the fact I don’t like running late, but seem to do it more often than not since I took on the extra baggage 5 years ago.

10:20: Show up on the job, and charm my customers with my fabulous wit, award-winning smile, and million dollar fragrances (actually they really sell themselves!)

10:20-2:20pm: Have fun with my new-found friends and gripe about how my stunning boots are killing my feet.

2:20pm: Jet out of work, decide to try the NEW Burger King fries and a Whopper Jr. (I bet that size zero witch in the bathroom stall at target later that day has never tried a Whopper Jr.!)  Fries were okay, but I can’t tell you the last time I had a burger from there, and it was pretty damn good!  I waited forever in line for it, to0.

2:45pm: Leave part of my tire tread in the BK parking lot as tear out there for Grammy and Papa’s to pick up Pierce and then to school to get Mikey.

2:55pm: Try to bluff that I am leaving Pierce behind if he doesn’t come over and get into the car.  He looks over his shoulder and continues his strange-cavorting wood-nymph-trot down the sidewalk to the end of the block—I have to get in the car and drive to catch up with him!  Thankfully, he stayed on the sidewalk and was heading for the dead-end part of the street.

3:15pm: Pick up Mikey at school and head to Target, where for an hour we have the experiences that gave me fodder for this morning’s blog post.

4:30pm:  Get home, unload, kick those gorgeous boots into some far corner of my closet where they will hopefully be forgotten, and start to decide what to wear to my friend’s Christmas Party that I am attending solo.

5:15pm: While I am freshening up to regular inquiries as to dad’s where-a-bouts, because Michael wants to ride his bike.  Meanwhile, Pierce is at the other end of my bathroom playing in the dirt in a houseplant and were it not for his “mess” statement communicated repeatedly, he would have had ALL the soil out of the pot and spread over the counter, floor, and toilet.  Thankfully, it was only enough to make me really mad rather than murderous.  Where the HELL IS DAD?

5:30pm:  Dad’s home, thank god, and I am getting out of here!

6:30pm:  I am driving all over hell’s half acre which is also known as Baldwin Park, thinking that I know where the street is that the he party is on.  Like a man, I didn’t take directions.  Wow!  Who knew that little part of town had gotten so big and “maze-like.”  Thank god for smart phones.  I finally pulled over and consulted the navigation app and found I was actually in the neighborhood within this huge neighborhood!

6:40pm:  Found it!!  Immediately ran into the lady who got my piece of furniture into Festival of Tree’s at Orlando Museum of Art last year.  We did a lot of catching up and she stroked this artist’s ego to the point where I reached total god-like status (at least in my own mind!)

6:40 to 10:50pm: Hung out with my dear friend’s group girlfriends and their husbands who were all delightful and went out of their way to include me.  I had a really great time!

10:50pm:  30 minute drive home…managed to find my way out of the area with more efficiency than my arrival. 

11:20pm:  Walk through the door, Kick off my other pair of slightly more comfortable pointy-toed, high-heeled boots, get into jammies, wash my face, and decide I have enough energy to write about my boys’ antics in Target earlier. 

12:20am.  Finally crawl into bed.

1:20am: I am in such a sleepy stupor that I can’t initially tell what time it is, but Pierce is crying.  Not thinking, I bring him to my bed.  Within minutes, I realize that I have to piddle, so I decide I need to get back up and take care of business.  While I am relieving myself in the darkness of my bathroom, I hear the pitter-patter of quiet little feet checking on me, so I ask him if he would like to go back in his crib, and I’ll sit in his chair.  He responds with a sweet and cheerful “okay.”

1:30am:  I am sleeping once again, in the upholstered chair in my tot’s room.  I keep meaning to get up and go back to bed, but before I know it, Mikey is coming in and asking for breakfast at 6:20am.

6:30am: Breakfast with an unusually rambunctious five-year-old—not my idea of a great way to wake up–too much chatter and loud noises.

7:00am:  Pierce wakes up a little less irritated than usual, and very snuggly.

7:10am:  Surf the web, read a few blogs, try to decide whether I should cancel my four mile walk with my girlfriend.  Secretly hope she cancels on me.  I guess she tried, but I didn’t get the message.

8:45am:  Call her to find out if we are still on.  Turns out that she did try to cancel, but now she’s awake and dressed to walk if I still want to.  Well, HELL NO, I don’t want to, but I did…

9:10am:  Watch my friend who is lucky if she’s 5’2” and 105 lbs make an attempt at riding Michael’s bike.  It actually wasn’t too far off the mark for size! 

9:11am: Head out for four horrible miles!  Actually they weren’t that bad.

10:10am: Come home to the neighbor boy in my bedroom playing video games with Mikey.

10:20am:  Sit down to an early lunch and stew about how much testosterone is in my house at any given moment.

10:30am: Get over it and get in the shower. 

10:45am:  Ask Greg if what I am suffering from could be the same sort of testosterone overload that causes ‘roid rage in men who take steroids?

Sometime between 10:45 and 11:45:  Once again, go through the whole routine with my make-up, clothing selection, appropriate baubles, more high-heeled boots that are a necessity since all my dress pants are too long to wear flats, and head out for work.

12:15-4:15pm:  Work, have some fun, and try to forget that my feet hate me.  Put squishy insoles in this pair of boots to give “me balls” some cushion, where in, they repay me by going numb, however not numb enough to dull the pain.

4:30pm:  Arrive  home with the idea that we are all headed off to SeaWorld to enjoy the holiday festivities, but I manage to come up with and alternative plan to go look at Christmas lights in the local park and stop for pizza after we pick Mikey up from his afternoon with Nana. 

5:15pm:  Head out for our evening in a sweatshirt, jeans and Fitflops (thank GOD!!!)

5:45pm:  Pick up Michael from Nana’s and head back to our area of town to visit the park with all the trees wrapped in Christmas lights. 

6:15pm:  The boys are running through the park like mad men and having a good old-time of it.

6:45pm:  We rein them in and head off across the street to the pizza place.

6:50pm:  Spend the next 15 minutes trying to talk Pierce off the ledge because he wants to get down and “go pay at frees and ites”  (go play where the trees have lights.)  Naturally, he won’t eat anything, because that is how he rolls.  And true to Mikey’s recent form—his stomach is cramping and he has to poopy.  We told him the restaurant didn’t have a bathroom, so he’d have to hold it.  And he does…

Within about 30 minutes, after a quite UN-relaxing meal with our boys, we packed up 75% of our pizza, paid the bill and went home after a quick detour through the neighborhood next to ours to look at some more lights.

8:00pm:  We’re home and every male in the house makes a b-line for the bathroom (or a corner to poop in their diaper) while I try to start a load of laundry, holler for the 47th time for Mikey to get in his jammies, load the dishwasher, wipe down the counters, pick up toys, dress Pierce for bed, and finally sit down to type my sob story.


Here I sit a 9:30 still pouring out my soul with Little Bear playing in the background, Mikey passed out in my bed, Pierce snuggling up next to me with his hand down the front of my nightie (god only know’s why—he seems to like to see what his hand looks like through the fabric—it has nothing to do with my boobs.)  and Greg playing with a tablet that his friend brought over in hopes of trading for some computer equipment—may we’ll just keep it and change our phone number and lock the doors.

That was my day(s)…I’m tired, sort of irritated…but, also sort of amused…