Basically, I’m already dead
I was awoken early by a feverish baby, but he was a good alarm clock, since it was Parks and Rec (or Parks and Wreck as Nadine aptly calls it) registration day. I had a quick shower, grabbed the phone in one hand and the computer mouse in the other, started refreshing and redialing. Actually, that’s not entirely accurate since I’m right-handed and I can barely do anything with my left, but whatever, you get the picture. It was our most successful registration day yet – I only yelled at the husband once, and I had it all wrapped up at 7:30 am. Well, except for the system glitch that wasn’t letting me register my 7 -year-old for soccer for 7-year-olds (hence the yelling).
I ran downstairs to find said 7-year-old had already made and packed his lunch (winnnnnnnning) and I quickly threw together my own breakfast and semblance of a brown bag lunch. I threw some ibuprofen down the feverish baby’s throat and left in a flurry of goodbyes and have a good days.
By the time I got to work, the soccer registration glitch was fixed. I got him in! We have so much soccer happening this summer, we’re all going to hate it by June. I can’t wait. Let’s see what kind of super woman post I write then. Anyway, at work, I managed to pull a coherent document on a complicated topic together on a ridiculous deadline, and left on time, knowing that all was well there for now.
I came home and cooked a delicious dinner of Thai coconut soup and spring rolls and oh hang on, this is where it all falls apart. Two of three kids decided that dinner was disgusting. Yes, the baby is my favourite, thanks. I needed to get to the bank after dinner to collect my shiny new red Target credit card (did you hear Target is coming to Canada, huh?) and not a single one of them would come with me for company. They decided to do their homework instead. This is the ultimate insult. Then, when I returned, they had their faces stuck in screens the rest of the night, and completely ignored me. Well, I guess that part was mostly okay.
It was in the news recently that a Finnish study has revealed that having little boys can take months off of a mother’s life. This isn’t very shocking to me. They’re either breaking my heart because they won’t eat the delicious dinner I cooked for them, or crawling under my feet and purposefully leaving their toys around (death by Lego). I fully expect to expire rescuing one of them from an electrical outlet or a snowbank or sinkhole. You know, whatever the latest adventure is. And it’s always an adventure.
Three boys means my life is potentially done next week. I accept this as fact. I’m okay with it. People are always asking me how I do it, like they aren’t quite sure how I manage it all, particularly with THREE! BOYS!, and really I’m just faking it till I make it. Or until I shuffle off this mortal coil because I’ve got a fork in my eye that the baby threw at me.