I get this question a lot. The truth is I have no idea. We don’t know anything other than energy-intensive twin boys. JUST DO IT! <Nike swoosh. ©>
However, this response typically elicits a sympathetic pity smile.
So. The reality:
Alarms chime. Hit snooze. Snuggle back up under the covers. Doze off eight and a half minutes later. Nine minutes later – alarms chime. Pout. Announce “one more snooze,” see Jon roll his eyes and get out of bed. Stubbornly lay there five more minutes. Roll out of bed and stumble into muppets’ room.
Good morning little dudes! “No. Mommy go away.” Pick out shirts and pants. Listen to first rights of refusals against whatever shirt I’ve chosen. Trade jeans for khakis because “jeans too tight.” Sell a toddler on a shirt style. Calm his brother from meltdown over wanting same shirt. Drag tiny peoples out of bed. First attempt at diaper change. Chase naked kid around the room. Wrestle boys into diapers and outfits. Put on jackets. Put on shoes. Put jacket back on. Hand them off to Dad for preschool dropoff.
Jump in shower. Debate just staying under warm water all day. Force self out of shower with self-reminders that cold showers suck tremendously. Debate whether to dry hair or save time for Starbucks run. Get dressed. Run out door. Run back inside to grab computer. Run out door. Turn around a block down the street; come back and verify front door is locked. It is.
Arrive at work. Argue with car clicky-thing. Give up. Manually lock car. Unlock car. Grab computer. Try clicky-thing again. Wonder why clicky-thing won’t work at work in the morning. See demolition crew wrecking office building across the street. Recite Goodnight Goodnight Construction Site to self. Stare at excavator truck chomping on concrete. Consider crossing street to ask if they’ll let me drive the digger.
Go inside. Turn on computer. Try to convince hamster in brain to go for a morning run. Get coffee. Attempt to clean spilled coffee off blouse. Sulk. Stare at computer screen. Stare at to-do list. Close eyes, click and point to project. GO GO GO !
Meeting. Meeting. Meeting. Meeting. Meeting.
Dash out to grab lunch. Recoil in horror at demolished Starbucks. WHERE WILL I GET MY COFFEE?! Return to office deflated.
Meeting. Meeting. Meeting. Meeting. Meeting.
Freak out that clock already reads 5 p.m. Pack up stuff. Return to cube to get forgotten phone. Dart to car in rain. Remember morning news weatherman definitely sharing that his computer models showed no rain in the next seven to 10 days. Seriously think homeboy needs to look out his window more often. Bemoan wet road traffic. Panic that I will not make it across town in time to retrieve muppets. See accident causing the backup. Wonder if insurance will cover $50/minute daycare late fees. Realize that 4.5-inch-heel royal blue suede pumps (while completely fabulous) may not be the best rainy day preschool pickup footwear.
Sign out “the twins.” Try to convince Destroy to go get his jacket. Enlist teacher to help find missing jacket. Put jacket back on Search. Cringe as boys SLAM gate. Try to still the angrily vibrating “Please do not slam gate” sign. Demand boys hold hands in the parking lot. Wait while kids insist on jumping off curb. Wrestle squirmy tired hungry toddlers into car seats. Repeatedly state that they are not old enough to drive and it is Mommy’s turn. Listen to chorus of, “That’s a BIG truck. Go fast. GO FAST IN WHITE CAR!” narration of day. Catch shoes Search throws at the front seat.
Pull into driveway. Pick up Search (since he has no shoes). Lock dogs outside so they can’t run away. Listen to canines bark incessantly as they try to alert animal control and 101 dalmations that they haven’t eaten in EIGHT HOURS. Drag Destroy into house. Change clothes while telling Search and Destroy not to unpack all of Daddy’s suitcase. Hang up on Jon who has called to see if we need anything. Cajole kids back downstairs. Start making peanut butter and jelly. Listen to Destroy instigate a major muppet meltdown because he wants French toast. Pick up sandwich hurled to the floor. Offer milk. Pick up sippy cup hurled to other side of house. Rush outside to feed dogs. Decide to leave kid wailing and writhing on the floor. Give in and make French toast after sandwiches are eaten. Inhale food Jon has brought home.
Strip down tiny tots tremendously unwilling to part from their daily germs. Inquire if 2.5-year-olds need to use potty. Sternly remind them the potty chair is not a hat. Plonk screaming children in bath. Soap them up and do best to rinse them off through wax on/wax off water cup deterrent methods. Tell boys they are finished and can get out of the bath. Listen to them refuse. Grab them out and burrito angry babes in the bath towel after they fill toy tugboat with water and dump it on Mommy and tile floor. Chase naked kid around living room. Clean up peepee from carpet. Coerce kid into diaper. Heavy sigh as children inform you they will not wear jammy-jams picked out. Put diaper back on kid. Try to convince brother his jammy-jams are better than the one’s he wants off his brothers back. Refuse to go upstairs and retrieve Hippo. Listen to Jon tell toddler fire is hot and stay back 876 times. Play trucks. Referee fights about who gets to sit in Mommy’s lap.
Suggest bed. Pause for hysterical meltdown. Search disaster zone (living room) for water cups. Follow small person upstairs with an upside down screaming sibling. Brush teeth. Watch boys suck on toothbrush. Offer to help. Brush their teeth for them. Go into bedroom. Read Goodnight Goodnight Construction Site. Read Who Took Farmers Hat. Read Llama Llama Holiday Drama. Have Search and Destoy recite Freight Train. Stuff kids in bed. Listen to litany of “stuff” required for sleep. Tuck boys in. Kiss. Hug. Kiss. Hug. Turn on stars. Tuck boys back in. Turn off lights. Return 15 minutes later to calm screaming nutcase. Explain why going downstairs or sleeping in the BigBed are not presentable options.
Retrieve video monitor to watch boys chat with each other/plot their next conquest/avoid sleep. Flop on BigBed. Seriously consider just staying there for the night. Wander downstairs when wine is promised.
Turn on computer to tell this story to all you fine people. Drink wine. Lament lack of s’mores with crackling fire. Check on boys. Verify still breathing. Cover little butts currently squarely airborne. Collapse into own bed.
But seriously. Twins. I actually do recommend them.