A Summer Day - Part 1

Our day started at 6:30am when Ainsley sprinted out of her room with a blanket and her favorite stuffed animal, heading to the couch in the living room.  When I arrived, she said “I need something to eat.  I need something to drink.  I watch MY shows.”  And so it begins.  I will spend yet another day trying to teach my daughter manners. 

Why are we up so early, if she is so clearly tired?

“May I have something to eat, please?” I prompt. 

I get an annoyed look, but she complies.  We go through this routine for the drink and the show.  

Her choice?  Chocolate poptart.  

By the time I've fetched her a breakfast of champions, Durham is stirring in his room.He’s slightly more amiable in the morning.

Let's do this!  I'm ready to rock.

As he was up at 3 am for something to eat, he’s not dying of hunger immediately.  I use this opportunity to set him down and clean up the house.  I walk from room to room, picking up all sorts of discarded toys, old bottles, dirty clothes, empty pop cans.  My house is nearly always a mess. 

Who made this mess?

Clean, clean, clean.

By the time I’ve picked up enough to move my house from complete disaster stage to moderate disaster stage, Durham is voicing his hunger.  Time to feed the other child.

When does Mama get to eat?

He has oatmeal, bananas, and berries.  Ainsley is starting to wake up at this point.  She is morphing into Motormouth Maybelle. 

“Durham was in your tummy.” 

“I ate baby food, too.” 

“Jessie is fun.  Pooh can swim.  Peacocks don’t like cheese.   I a monster.”

It will go on like this for the rest of the day. 

I decide that we shall be lazy until Durham takes a nap.  We decide to alternate television shows.  Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is followed by Project Runway.  Special Agent Oso is followed by So You Think You Can Dance. 

She's pretty sure our television is touchscreen enhanced.

She continually talks through it all.

“I touch the tv, Mom.  See me?”

“Eight seconds to wash the berries, Oso!”

“She’s very pretty.”  (Referring to Lady Gaga.)

“Oh.  He’s a jumpy dancer.  I can do that.”

We're having teeth issues.

I get my dance clothes, too!

I silly.  Look at me.  

Durham is jumping, drooling, cooing, slapping, and generally having a rip-roaring time listening to his sister go on and on.  By the time all these shows are over, he’s showing signs of getting sleepy.  I make a bottle, he drinks it, and I lay him down in his crib wide awake.  Sorry, kid.  Work it out.  Mama’s taking a shower. 

Just watch the dancing lights.  It will make you sleepy.

Durham’s nap is usually a torrent of activity.  It is our time to get cleaned up and dressed.  Ainsley and I do hair, brush teeth, get dressed, and generally have more fun.  It is also clean-up-from-the-morning time.  It’s hard to believe what a mess Ainsley can make in just a few hours. 

She is fresh and clean.  Now time for Mama to get clean.
What's that?  Durham is awake? 

Durham never really falls asleep.  I keep having to go back in his room to quiet him down and rub his back.  After 20 minutes of fussing, I finally give in and grab him out of his crib.  I rock and walk until he’s asleep.  I sit down and may have fallen asleep myself, as when I looked up Ainsley said, “Mama?  You wake up now?”  Hmmm.  What has she done to my house?  I examine the upstairs.  Nothing is out of place, but her room should officially be condemned.  She’s made towers and bridges with all of her toys.  ALL OF HER TOYS.  Ah well.  It is summer.  We’ll pick it up later. 

I decide to have a picnic in the park.  I’m feeling a bit guilty about watching so much television and then falling asleep on my daughter.  I shall make up for being such a neglectful parent by transporting my children to a park of wonder, boats, ducks, and excitement.  It represents a good opportunity to take Ainsley’s new school lunchbox on a trial run.  She’s been dying to use it since we bought it. 

I begin to pack a lunch.  Ainsley is overcome with excitement. 

“I make a sandwich, too.  I put it in the bag.  I want those chips.  I want juicy, not milk.” 

We have another discussion about “May I have some ______, please?”  She just doesn’t seem to be getting it.

I do it by I-self.  

I soon discover that she believes that picnics in the park take place at school.  The lunch box is for school.  We are taking it to the park for a picnic.  Therefore, the park =school.  She has no idea what a picnic is, but she throws around the term like it’s a normal part of her vocabulary.

“I eat a picnic.  I eat an apple picnic.  I eat a sandwish picnic.  WORLD.  EVER.”

She adds world/ever to the end of sentences that need exclamation points.  It is her way to show you that what she is saying is of extreme importance.

She has her shoes on and is waiting by the gate for another 30 minutes as I pack the bags, change Durham’s diaper, get him redressed (drool issues), and attempt to get two small children, three bags, and a blanket into the car.  I am thoroughly exhausted by the time we pull out of the driveway.  I realize as I am in reverse in the driveway that I still haven’t done my hair.  I did Ainsley’s hair.  Durham is fresh and clean.  I look like a homeless woman. 

I get a block away before I realize that I forgot my phone.  Must turn around.  What if I need to check my Facebook while I’m down at the river? 

Why are we back at the house, Mama?

Now that I have my phone, I once again embark on my trip to the river.  Then I realize that I have no wallet.  Do I really need money and my license to drive to the park?  Probably not.  I turn around anyway. 

Will we ever get to the park?  I need a pie cookie from Zehnder’s.  I am dieting, so I push this thought from my head.  No pie cookie.  Pass that hellishly good bakery and take your neglected children to the park. 

I pass Zehnder’s with a tear in my eye.  Ainsley is still talking in the back seat.

“Is this Zehnder Drive?  Is this Reese?  Who live in Reese?  Who lives in Frankenmuth?  Why is Baby Durham looking out the window?”

I should have stopped for the pie cookie.  I think about turning around, but the thought of taking both kids out of their car seats, attempting to navigate the downstairs without Ainsley running away or touching everything, and getting back to the car to put them back in their car seats, just to go to the park and get them out of their car seats is…just a smidge too much.
 

No pie cookies for this homeless woman. 

 

We make it down to the river and set up camp.  Ainsley and I eat our lunches, Durham lays around looking at trees.  We call Tim to let him know how much fun we are having.

Stoic look.

She must guzzle her beverage before eating a bite.

“Where are the baseball men?  I think they are coming.  Are they on the boat?  Who are those people?  Who is that dog?  That dog wants me to pet him.  I don’t like stickers on my apple.  I just eat the bread.  Apple straws are yucky.  Baby Durham is eating grass.”

"Where are the duckies?  Did they go to their Grammy's house?"

I finish eating, feed and change Durham, and we go for a walk to find ducks.  There are no ducks.  We wander around the park just long enough for Durham to start getting fussy.  I inform Ainsley that we need to go home and put Durham down for a nap. 

Thus begins the crying stage of the day.  A nap, you say?!  Never!  

Read about the second half of our day here.