Tuesday

It’s 4:33 and the sunrise alarm clock that is supposed to wake me up naturally is blaring orange light into my bedroom.  I have no idea how to turn it off because the 946 page instruction manual remains unread in my “to read” folder.  But it doesn’t matter.  Ike is crying and it’s time to get up anyway.  I pry myself out of bed, throw on my gym clothes and head downstairs. 

The coffee pot is brewing.  I debate having a cup before my run but as I diaper my baby and snuggle him back to bed I know it’s not a smart choice.  One cup leads to seven and that means my morning run won’t happen.  And it MUST happen.

Baby is back down for at least another hour so I head to the basement where my office and gym are waiting for me.  I’m immediately reminded of the things I meant to finish last night but didn’t and am momentarily tempted to tackle them now.  No.  You MUST run. 

I open the windows in the gym and turn on two fans.  I start slow (ok, really slow for you runners) at 3.7 mph.  Playlist starts and I have my kindle open so I can read while I run.  The music helps me keep pace while motivating me with songs that remind me that I’m strong, I’m independent, I’m the greatest and my strength comes not from the legs that are screaming at me “what the HECK are you DOING???” but from Christ in whom all things are possible.

I get through 2 chapters of Anne of the Island in 30 minutes and just over 2.2 miles.  The days of a daily 5k feel long behind me but I remind myself that they will come again when Ike sleeps all night long.  Next up, the weight lifting torture.  It’s only 10  minutes and I distract myself with an audio book played at 2.15x speed (hey, gotta get my reading in any way I can).  This week it’s Me and White Supremacy.  I won’t lie—I am struggling with this book in so many ways.

It’s 5:40 and I’m rushing to the shower.  Three minutes in the luke-warm stream and I’m still hot but clean.  Dressed, hair and makeup done by 6am, just in time for Ike to be awake.  I take a side-road to Bebo’s room. 

“You awake kiddo?”  She is and climbs down from her bed to get dressed.  “Come down for hair and breakfast when you’re dressed ok?”  She agrees and heads to the dresser to pull out 3 unacceptable outfits before finally we agree on one—no long sleeves yet, no Halloween costumes, no shirts that show our bellies. 

Ike is very unhappy that at 6:05 he is not out of bed yet.  I pass the coffee pot on my way to his room and almost stop to make myself a cup but soon think better of it.  I want to enjoy it not gulp it.  Ike is standing up reaching for me.  “But! But!”  He means button and I pick him up so he can flip the light switch.  He protests through getting dressed but it must be done.  I put him down and we continue his morning ritual.

“Juice!  Juice!”  Cup in hand he moves on to “Ralph!”  Ike is not a breakfast fan and I’ve stopped pushing it.  He prefers to sit on the couch with his juice and watch Wreck it Ralph in the mornings.  Sometimes we shake things up and he watches Ralph Breaks the Internet.  Settled in, I can finally get my coffee. 

Except no because Bebo is up.  “Can you get me breakfast Mom?”  We make toaster waffles.  It’s everyone’s favorite.  I brush out her hair while she eats.  It’s 6:35 and we need to leave by 7:00. 

A braid and 2 clips is today’s hair choice.  “Finish up and then brush your teeth ok?  Don’t forget shoes and your backpack.”

“Ok.” She says with a mouth full of waffle.

Ivy and Iris are up and thankfully make their own breakfast. 

Ivy:  Mom, can I get a bulletin board for my room?

Me:  Sure—I’ll try to remember to order one.

Ivy:  When’s my orthodontist appointment?

Me:  Tomorrow.”

Iris:  Are we picking up my school supplies tomorrow?

Me:  Yes, after the orthodontist.

Iris:  Are we closing up the pool this weekend?

Me:  I don’t know.

Ivy:  When’s dad coming home?

Me:  Saturday—no, Friday.  I think.  He’s already been gone 10 days and I’ve lost track.

Iris:  What time?

Me:  I don’t know.

Ivy:  Are we picking him up from the airport?

Me:  Probably.

Iris:  Are we—

Me:  No more questions! 

I finally pour a cup of coffee and check my watch.  6:52.  “Isabelle are you done eating?”

“No.”

“Finish up—we need to get going.”

“Ok.”  She shoves whatever is left in her mouth and washes it down with juice.  Hopping off the chair, she’s off to brush her teeth.  I put shoes on Ike and get him in the car.  Bebo can buckle herself in thankfully and I head to the fridge to grab lunches.  Topping off the coffee, we’re all in the car.  It’s a ten minute ride to daycare.  Bebo and I put on masks, grab everyone’s things and head to the front door.  Ike is running on ahead—I’m so glad he likes to go to school.  Ms. Beth is waiting at the door and takes their temperatures before letting both of them inside.  I am barred from the building like every other parent.

“Can you tell Miss Jenn that I got an email from Bebo’s school yesterday—they said she was marked absent but I didn’t hear anything about it.”

“Sure!  I think a couple of the kid shave had a similar problem.”

Bebo is doing her distance learning at daycare so I can have some hope of getting actual work done during the day.  I am ridiculously thankful for this option.  Ms. Beth checks her backpack for headphones, charger and computer—all there.  I wave and wish them all a good day.

Back in the car I take a deep breath and a sip of coffee.  Ok, on with the day.  I head back home listening to more of my book in the car.  It’s 7:25 and I’m back at home.  I grab my Bible, journal, devotional and more coffee and sit outside.  It’s cool and I wish I had a sweater but getting one means going back in and I just don’t want to do that.

I’m reading Amos—that guy is NOTHING but gloom and doom!  I try to sort through my thoughts and sip on coffee before starting the day but all I can seem to think of is the list of things to do:

Need to call about closing the pool.  Not going to do that myself.

Need to the outdoor light fixed.  Warranty doesn’t cover it.  Which reminds me…

Gotta go buy a few light bulbs for the playroom—the ones in there aren’t the right kind and it’s like we’re running a disco.

I made sugar cookie dough but haven’t baked the cookies yet—tomorrow… maybe.

It’s 8:00.  Time to head to work.  I head down to my office.  For the last few weeks, I've been trying to put a Bible verse on a white board on the desk where the big girls study.  I can't think of one so I pull it off of Bible.com.  I pretend to believe what I wrote.  I wake up my computer and start to sort through emails.  I have a 9am call with the board chair.  A grant proposal due at 2pm.  Event planning meetings and donor meetings scheduled for later in the week that need prep.  17 thank you notes to write (by hand) and 3 personal asks to get out the door.  Web revisions and case statements need review and I still need to create the moves management system.  Ok, I can do all of this today if I just plan it out.  I grab my calendar and start to plug things in. 

My phone chirps—10 minutes until my call.  Just enough time to refresh the coffee.  I should eat breakfast…  No time.  An hour call is blessedly only 30 minutes but I have four follow-up items.  I take care of those and get back to my calendarizing—I have an extra 30 minutes I can fill!

The calendar is almost full and it’s 9:50.  Both girls are at their desks next to mine with headphones on—they’re in “meetings”.  I tackle the 10am item on my calendar.  In the zone and focused, I’m pulled out with random shouts from the classroom:

“72”

“Russia”

“I can’t hear!”

One of them just gets up and starts doing jumping jacks (gym class).

This goes on all day.

Ivy gets up and heads upstairs.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“Lunch.”

“What? What time is it?”  I look at my watch.  Nearly 11—too early for lunch in my book but this is what the powers that be decided.  “Oh, ok.”  She goes up to lunch by herself.  I wish they at least had lunch together.  Iris heads up 30 minutes later.

Just before noon, I’m ready for lunch myself but as I head upstairs, the phone rings.  The office manager.  We are dealing with a challenging issue that is not a priority except for the fact that someone else is MAKING it a priority.  So we deal with it.  We go back and forth.  We try to solve the problem.  We laugh, we commiserate, we agree that this is not the best use of time but still it must be done.

Forty-five minutes later and we’re not much further along but my phone is getting another call—it’s the boss.  Better take it.  I’ll call you back.

“I need help.”  She says.  She’s not comfortable asking for money but knows she needs to do it.  We’ve spent a lot of time working on this and usually she just needs to know how to word things.  We talk through strategy.  Big donor coming this week and she’s nervous. 

“Don’t worry—she’s not going to say no.”  I’m reasonably sure of this.  The pressure is immense.  There are at least 8 people and 300 animals counting on me to raise a lot of money. 

It’s nearly 1:00 and I have yet to eat lunch.  There’s a grant proposal due at 2pm.  I need to submit it.  Back at the desk, I finish that up before calling the office manager back to finish (or at least continue) that conversation.  Another hour of back and forth go by and my stomach is in strong protest.  We agree on a temporary fix and plan another meeting for Friday. 

I go upstairs to whip together a salad.  It’s 2:45.  I have still not written any thank you notes, sent event invitations or reviewed anything.  No lunch break today—I eat and work.

Work continues to be interrupted by phone calls—someone wants to schedule a tour of the sanctuary.  Someone else has questions about how to process a donation.  Someone else needs 30 minutes to just talk through how we should do “this”.  This is my job so I do it all.  AT 4:45 I accept the fact that I’m not going to get anything else done before the end of the work day, so I close things out, make a pile of work to finish this evening and head upstairs.  Time to get the littles.

Iris likes to come along, so we both hop in the car.  She has brought along her book—mom’s kid for sure.  She just likes to get out.  Picking up Ike and Bebo is a system—I call ahead from the car so they can be gathered up.  I put on a mask and wait by the front door.  Ike comes barreling out—he’s ready to GO!  I get the daily re-cap from Miss Jenn.  She’s not sure why Bebo was marked absent—she was definitely there and submitting work, but other kids have had the same issue.  I promise to talk to the school and sort it out, but am subconsciously wondering when I’ll possibly have time for that.

We head home.

“Mom, can you play Break Free?”  I find it on my playlist and we’re all singing along.  Even Ike is dancing in the back seat.

Iris:  What’s for dinner?
Me:  I don’t know—what do you want?

Iris:  I don’t know.

Me:  Well, think about it and let me know.  You know what we have.

Bebo:  Mom, what did you put in my lunch today?

Me:  You already know—you ate it.

She has been asking lots of questions to which she already knows the answer.  I prefer not to answer them—it just aggravates me and I’m working on not being aggravated by my kids.  It’s hard.

The questions continue.  Did I do this when I was little?  Who’s favorite song is this?  Will we have Halloween this year?

Some I answer, some I don’t.

It’s 5:30.  At home, I make burgers for dinner.  I balance between cooking, carrying Ike, answering questions, answering my phone, responding to texts, adding things to my to-do or shopping list.  If it doesn’t get out of my head, it doesn’t get done.  With dinner on the table for the kids, I turn my attention to packing tomorrow’s lunches and cleaning up the kitchen.  I’ll eat later. 

At 6:30 when everyone has finished eating dinner and dessert, we begin the nightly battle of dishwasher emptying and floor sweeping.  I force myself not to take over the task.  They need to learn how to do it.

The phone rings again.  It’s Nick.  I realized I have hardly spoken to him all day.  He’s been in training and it’s stressful.  He asks me how my day was.  I have no idea how to answer this question so I say it was fine.  And it was.  Just like all of the other days in this mess.  How was training?  Also fine.  I wonder if his fine and my fine are the same.

We talk about Ivy—some issues with teenage drama.  But she’s doing ok—I think.  We talk about Bebo and being absent at school.  I sent an email to the attendance desk so I think it’s ok.  We talk about the house—when he gets home he’ll fix those light bulbs and fix the screens that all seem to have holes.  He suggests camping this month which would be so nice.  I’ll see what’s available. 

Someone is screaming so I’d better go.  We agree to call before bed and I rush off to rescue Iris from Ike who is trying desperately to pull her glasses off her face. 

It’s 7:00—bedtime for Ike.  He’s not happy about it until I tell him to go push the button.  This magic button is for a surge protector which turns on his fan, nightlight and music.  Moana.  We love Moana at night.  We snuggle up in an overstuffed chair with his favorite blanket and settle in for the nightly ritual.  We sing 3 songs, tickle his toes, point out his eyes, teeth and belly before a dozen kisses that he pretends to hate (at least that’s what I tell myself) and it’s off to bed.  He does not lay down but rather, jumps up and down asking for “Lala” which is his favorite book.  I can’t find it so “Little Gorilla” will have to do.  It was Nick’s when he was little. 

I head down to my office to gather up the pile I made earlier.  I ask myself if it’s realistic to do any of this.  It is not—I know this.  But I take it upstairs just the same.  There’s just SO much to do.  And it’s stuff I really WANT to do.  But there’s just me and my 2 arms and one brain.  And everyone else is in the exact same position…which is why I need to raise more money so we can have more tools and help and resources to do all of this better.  But It’s 7:30 and I still have 3 kids to put to bed. 

Iris comes down.  “Oh.”  She says.

“What?”

“I was going to ask if I could watch TV down here.”  I tell her it’s ok and she can but just for half an hour or so.  I go upstairs and finish up lunches and tell Bebo to get into her PJ’s.  She’s also not happy about bedtime but this is just how things are. 

“Mom, we’re out of toothpaste.”  I add toothpaste to the list.

“Bring me the tube.”  She does and I squeeze enough out to manage for tonight.  Heading up to bed with her I realize it’s nearly 8:00. 

“Mom can we read a story?”  I hate this question.  Mostly because I really want to but there’s just no time.  But in a spark of genius I say:

“How about I tell you one instead?”  She loves this idea and I tell the story of the beautiful Queen Bebo and her beautiful but naughty daughter Princess Rupelda.  She is enraptured by the silly tale and takes her own baby Rupelda to bed.  I have no idea where this name came from.

Telling Ivy and Iris it’s time for them to head upstairs as well, I start to think about dinner.  Am I hungry?  Not sure, which means probably not but if I don’t eat I’ll wake up hungry and that’s never good. 

Now it’s my turn for the questions:

Did you brush your teeth?  Feed the cat?  Scoop the litter?  Is there anyone’s laundry in the wash?  Finish your homework?  Practice piano?  Violin?  Cello? (I never have to ask about drums).  After a series of yes and no responses, everyone is kissed and hugged and in their rooms for the night.

I am finally alone.  It is 8:15 and I’m officially hungry.  I make a sandwich and accept the fact that I am not going to get any more work done tonight.  I sit down in the living room and turn on my latest TV binge—Designated Survivor.  I just want half an hour to stop moving.  Just as I’m about to hit play I see my phone ringing.  It’s Nick—he’s going to bed.  We chat for a few minutes and I realize I’m getting another call.  It’s an unrestricted number.  Probably the IRS telling me my social security number has been cancelled or the Chinese government letting me know that my passport is available in a language I do not understand.  I ignore it.  If it’s important, they’ll leave a message.  Nick and I say goodnight and I finally—FINALLY—get a moment to myself. 

But the IRS did leave a message…

I take a bite of my sandwich and listen to it.  It’s Bebo’s kindergarten teacher.  The fact that she called at 8:30 pm and was interrupting my dinner was not lost on me.  This is the nutty world we’re in.  She’s telling me that Bebo isn’t turning in any assignments and she isn’t able to interact with her.  I can’t call her back because she didn’t leave a number and I can’t redial a restricted one.  I’m frustrated.  And then comes the guilt and shame. 

I realize I do not even know how to log onto Bebo’s Chrome Book.  Or Ivy’s or Iris’s.  I realize I have no idea who Ivy’s homeroom teacher is.  And I only know Iris’s because she called me to tell me there was an issue with Iris not being in her homeroom.  I feel like a disconnected mom who has been so preoccupied with household maintenance and work that she has completely neglected her children’s education.

I go upstairs.  Maybe Isabelle is still awake and we can look at her computer.  I open the door and see her two feet peeking out over the bed.  I ask if she’s awake.  I get a verbal no, but her eyes are close and she’s groggy.  I will not wake her up.  I grab her backpack and take it downstairs. 

I will figure this out.  I have 3 university degrees and the debt to prove it.  I’m smarter than a kindergartener.  But I don’t know her password.  Searching through emails and papers I don’t find it.  I call Nick.  He has it.  What does this mean?  My traveling husband who is only physically present for half of the month knows more about their schooling that the 100% physically present (certainly not mentally) mom. 

Moving on…

I log in.  I find the desktop.  Fifteen open assignments.  Fifteen.  Why didn’t someone say something until now?  Maybe they did and I missed it.  I look at my half eaten sandwich and the blinking dot on my phone.  I have 1,575 unread messages.  This is not an exaggeration.    

I give up.

It is hopeless.

I will not get it together.

Recognizing this I put down my phone, turn on my show and finish dinner.  It is 9:15.  I’m now late for bed.  Because all of this starts over again tomorrow whether or not I manage to find 30 minutes to myself.  I am thinking I really should get up earlier.