The Time It Takes

Just a quick simple errand. That’s all I needed to do today. Let’s review shall we?

Life Before Toddlers

Wake up. Get out of bed. Brush teeth, tie hair into ponytail. Throw on ratty sweatpants and t-shirt. (Yes, I wore them even before I had kids.) Get in car. Drive mile down road to strip mall. Hop out of car, hand money to cashier and complete transaction. Return home.

Total activity time: 30 minutes.

Life After Hurricane Muppet

Hear twinspeak. Keep eyes closed hoping muppets stay quiet for a while longer. Wait for wails. Roll out of bed and stumble into boys’ room. Watch them pop up in their cribs. “Hiiii!”

Move to pick one up. Pause as he runs laps around his crib laughing manically. Pick up his brother.

To the changing table! WWE caliber match ensues. Morning diapers weigh about the same as a muppet. And muppets are not a fan of diaper changes. In case you didn’t know, toddlers are stronger than they look. And extremely squirmy. With the sole purpose of flinging their strong, squirmy, body from the changing table to the floor with great force. Place naked, mostly diapered babe on the floor. Let him wreak havoc in his room – liberating all the drawers from their contents.

Repeat above with remaining muppet.

Catch kid by surprise. Plunk clothes over his head and flip him over to pull up pants. Force socks onto kicking feet. Grab socks back from muppet who has now removed aforementioned socks. Force socks back onto kicking feet. Cajole brother to hand over the shoes. Put socks back on foot of muppet who has one again removed them. Shoe son. Remove shoes once you realize you put them on the wrong feet. Reshoe son.

Repeat above with remaining muppet.

Gently guide kids down the stairs. Try to convince them not to fall and kill themselves.

Stick muppets in high chairs. Prepare breakfast of bananas and Cheerios, with a glass of milk. Mop up milk dumped on the floor. Remember not to cry over spilled milk. Attempt to catch plate being frisbeed across the kitchen. Miss. Dodge dogs trying to eat complete breakfast now strewn across the floor.

Chase muppet through living room. Change poopy diaper.

Run upstairs. Brush teeth, decide hair doesn’t need to be combed (locate hat in giant laundry pile). Throw on ratty sweatpants and t-shirt. Hop down the stairs half dressed to determine cause of banshee screaming.

Run back upstairs to refill diaper bag. Refill sippy cups to put in diaper bag. Find wallet. Lose keys. Find keys. Lose wallet. Find wallet. Look for muppets.

Chase muppets out front door. Drag diaper bag and stroller behind them. Yell after one child while chasing brother who has run off in the opposite direction.

Watch in slow motion as free muppet discovers hose bib – drenching himself beneath the water faucet. Drag both muppets back inside to change soaking muppet. Catch a whiff of a second dirty diaper. Change poopy diaper with right hand, while warding off inquisitive aspiring finger-painter with the left.

Back outside. Load kids into carseats. Drive mile down road to strip mall.

Unload stroller. Unload muppet. Wrestle him into stroller. Rinse and repeat with remaining muppet. “Stop trying to smother your brother! Sit. Down! On. Your. Bottom. Please.”

Make small talk with cashier. Assure her they are two boys. Yes they are twins. No, they are not identical. Seriously. Ok. Yes, they are identical. Reassure muppet we will eat when we get home. Provide requested cracker because child said please. Apologize profusely to cashier when muppet smashes cracker into a million pieces and flings them to the floor.

Rifle through diaper bag. Pray you remembered to find wallet AND put it in the diaper bag. Complete transaction.

Wheel land yacht back out to car. Beg, barter and bribe kid to give back the car keys. Take keys anyway. Wait out temper tantrum in effort to tire child out before forcing him back into car seat.

Shove stroller into back of car. Collapse into driver’s seat.

Return home.

Total activity time: 6 hours.

And with that – viola! I picked up my dry cleaning. (And you wonder why I’m normally in ratty sweatpants. Them suckers are washing machine safe.)


Filed under Home, Humor

6 Responses to The Time It Takes

  1. Great Aunt J

    Completely. Totally. Exhausting.

    God only gives twins to tough chicks – that’s you!

  2. Gramma j

    Funny, but so true. I have witnessed it. There is a reason young people have children. I am tired just reading about it.

  3. Stephanie

    Mine aren’t twins, but when they were younger this was us before any outing. I swear I saved money because just the thought of going through “The Process” made me think, “Nah, I don’t need it that bad. Let’s just stay home.”

  4. Nancy Welker

    Where’s your gold medal? You should be awarded one . . .pulling off the feat above takes more skill and determination than any Olympic event. You amaze me.

  5. Kim

    ha! I don’t even bother with errands any more unless my husband is home to watch my twins. I refuse to take them anywhere in a car. NO! You can’t make me. I WON’T DO IT.

  6. Dana

    You just described every outing with my girls. Only I have 2.5 yr old twins and their 4.5 yr old sister to contend with. These moms with one kid that try to tell me how hard it is don’t know how badly I restrain from choking them!

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