Diary of an Omniturnal Mom

Dispatch from 100 degree hell


Disclaimer: This was last Thursday. Things are better this week. Slightly. But it's still a million degrees outside.

Omniturnal mom took a long break. The baby started sleeping through the night. It happened one magical June night. He just slept 10 hours in a row. Mommy could hardly believe it happened without nights of crying. We moved his "room" permanently to the closet and took down the crib which he hadn't been sleeping in anyway. It works. If he can't see me, he doesn't squawk, or, if he does, we're better able to ignore him since he's not looking right at us. 

Now he's back to getting up around 10:30 p.m. and 4:00 a.m., which, of course, is much better than getting up at midnight, 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. and 6 a.m. But it's not as good as 8 to 6, now is it?

Couple his recent nightwaking habit with weeks on end of 100 degree temperatures and kids who are bouncing off the walls and, well, mom is once again up. All the effing time.

The first few weeks of 100 degree hell were okay since we had access to a pool that hadn't reached bathwater temperatures and the distraction of grandparents in town. Grandparents and suitable pool water gone, and there's only so much mom can do to entertain the kids for days on end.

Last Thursday started at 4 a.m. and went downhill from there.

4:00 a.m. Baby squawks. Mommy goes to nurse him. She's on autopilot.

5:30 a.m. Mommy hears Daddy talking to Fiona before he leaves for work. She hopes it's a dream.

6 a.m. Mommy hears voices.  And dresser drawers closing. It apparently is no dream. Danny and Fiona are up and dressing themselves, which mommy would love so much more if it were 8 a.m. She prays that the baby doesn't wake up. At least with the older two she can count on maybe 20 minutes of amicable playing before a skirmish breaks out that  sounds like a pteradactyl and a rabid gorilla fighting.

6:30 a.m. The baby wakes up. He's too happy and alert to render him semi-unconscious with booby juice. She brings him to bed with her to give herself a few more horizontal minutes before releasing him into the wild.

7:00 a.m. The standard breakfast is served. Eggs, scrambled for the older two, hard boiled for mommy and the baby. Heat and serve sausage. Mini muffins.

The baby's eating habits are beginning to disgust mommy. He smashes his muffin with his palm, crumbles his egg yolk all over the table and bench, eats most of his sausage and only spits out one half this morning. He's in the cud-chewing phase. The only thing getting mommy through this stage is the knowledge that this WILL be in the last time she goes through this stage with a child.

Mommy tells the kids that they are going to leave her alone while she chats with her sister online. She gets away with it for a whole 20 minutes. The gods are apparently smiling on her this morning.

7:40 a.m. Danny and Fiona are now fighting like cats and dogs. She decides to let the kids work out their differences. Danny starts tattling. Mommy says ...

"I'm not the one who hurt you. you need to talk to the person who hurt you."

He walks away.

7:45 a.m. "We worked it out," Danny says. Fiona is screaming in the next room. Um, yeah, sure sounds like it, kid.

8:30 a.m. Strapped in the van. On the way to get money and go to the blueberry path. Oh, and to get a Diet Coke.

"Don't forget the Diet Coke, mom," Danny says. Not likely, kid.

The blueberry patch is closed. Really. They apparently ran out of blueberries. Danny's idea?

"I'm going to get in my NASCAR and dump blueberries on those bushes."

Right.

9:00 a.m. Piney Woods Park for an hour. Then home when Owen starts to look tired. Maybe he'll nap. Or maybe mommy should keep him up until after lunch. There's a real risk that he'll think his morning nap is his nap for the day.

10:00 a.m. Back home. Mommy gets the pool set up. The kids go get their bathing suits on. The only rule is don't touch the hose while Mommy is filling the pool. One rule. ONE RULE. Can they follow it? Of course not. Danny puts his hand on the hose the second mommy says not to. Fiona follows suit. Time out until the pool is full.

She really hopes the neighbors didn't hear her yelling, "What part of NO and STOP don't you understand??"

The baby? He's happily playing in the pool as it fills and mostly ignoring the hose.

10:45 a.m. It's been a reasonably fun half hour of pool time. By this time, though, the kids have started hassling her for a bit of her Luna Bar (despite having been given fruit snacks) and her water (despite each of them having their own water bottles). They truly believe that mommy gets her water from some superior source.

11:00 a.m. Danny splashes her right after she tells him to stop.  Time out. It starts when he's quiet. Except that it doesn't start because he never is.  He just won't stop talking and hooting and snickering and asking questions. Mommy has completely run out of options. She hauls them all in for an early lunch.

12:00 The baby is poopy and just can't stay awake any longer. She puts him down to sleep and then gathers the trash from upstairs. She goes out back to put it in the trash can with the stern admonition to NOT lock the door. So what do they do?

You got it.

The little snots locked the door.

Crazy mommy is standing on the porch telling the kids to unlock the door. Danny's response? I didn't do it, mom. Fiona's response? Wide eyes. It's 100 degrees outside. And mommy's blood is boiling.

At least her neighbors are gone by now and she can yell at the kids without fear of embarrassment.

1:00 p.m. Older kids are calm and in their rooms. Mommy settles in to do some editing work. She falls asleep by 2.

3:30 p.m. She hears the familiar sound of a dresser drawer shutting. The baby's up. And she smells dinner in the crockpot.

Come to find out, dinner is actually burned. She burned dinner. In the crockpot. There would be no going out to eat tonight. They've already had one dinner out this week when mommy forgot that she had no tacos and not enough tortillas for taco night.

After a quick recovery, putting a bunch of leftovers together in a casserole (quinoa, shredded chicken, sauteed chard and tomatoes topped with feta and mozzarella balls) and getting it in the oven, she gets the kids in the pool.

And waits.

If their father doesn't get home soon, he's going to find his wife passed out on the deck chairs.