My husband has recounted on occasion the numerous interruptions he experiences over the course of a work day. This is something with which I can certainly sympathize. Take today for instance.
I got up this morning, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and donned my bathrobe. I went downstairs hoping to find my dear husband a clean t-shirt. Alas, no clean t-shirt, so he had to wear a t-shirt with wording and a very dark dress shirt to cover the wording up. Anyway, I brewed a pot of coffee, answered some email, wrote an article, and headed up to the nursery to wake the tribe. (I've decided to recreate the entire day for you so hopefully you will more fully experience the culminating frustration).
Fortunately, no bed wetters this morning. I changed Vivian and Gabriel's diapers, and brought the little people downstairs for breakfast. I had put all the dining room chairs in the foyer last night (well, in reality, I ordered Jonathan to do that) under the delusion that I would mop the dining room floor before going to bed. Hah! That didn't happen. I was still optimistic that I might get the floor mopped today, so I put the children up to the counter in the kitchen.
While urging them to shovel cereal into their mouths more rapidly, I packed Charles lunch, and started barking the usual orders: Get your book bag, brush your hair, brush your teeth, hurry up, don't touch your brother, leave Vivian alone, what are you, an animal? put your cereal bowl in the sink, don't you give me that look, go practice, and i mean practice-no having fun, I want to hear scales, and sonatas, got it? Did you people make your beds? I don't want to see wet towels on the floor. (Need I go on, or are you getting the idea?)
I pulled clothes out of the dryer, dumped it onto the sofa--suffice it to say, I rotated laundry, and then headed out the door with Vivian, Gabriel, Oliver and Charles, in order to take Charles to school. Caroline and Jonathan were pretending to get their instruments out. On the way to school, I made some business phone calls, and quizzed Charles on his spelling words. I was going through the words reminding him of all the phonics rules, etc, when he said, "Mom, is this spelling or phonics, because it is beginning to sound like phonics." I retorted that spelling was applied phonics, so get over it. He grinned. I have a feeling that he expected that response.
Since it was warm outside, I dropped Charles off at school, and merely opened the gate to the door, rather than actually walking him to the door. I figured if no one let him in, at least it was warm and he'd have a jolly time playing while waiting for me to return after lunch. We were back home in minutes, where I discovered Caroline was still not practicing ("Mom, I had to go to the bathroom, wash my hands, blah, blah, blah"-I don't know why they even try making excuses anymore. Do they really think I'm going to buy it?)
I took Gabriel and Vivian to the nursery and actually dressed them this time, and then fixed Vivian's hair in the usual pigtails and bows followed by Caroline's hair in the double braid twist, which she loves best. She was still in the "getting my cello out" phase, so I didn't interrupt bonafide practice time.
I straightened the nursery, and then rotated laundry loads again, taking the time to fold Jon's t-shirts. He will be most pleased as he has enough for two weeks now. :-) I answered more email, made a phone call, and then headed upstairs to take a shower while Gabriel and Oliver watched a Thomas the Train DVD. As I sit here and reflect, I think that I actually took a shower and dressed without a single knock on the door much less the usual 5-10 knocks on the door. I'm glad I'm typing this out so I can enjoy that fact on some level. I didn't bother blow drying my hair, or putting on shoes since I had no plans to leave the house.
After my shower, I rotated laundry again, did some folding, and then hunkered down at the dining room table with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb, aka: Jonathan and Caroline. The subjects: latin, grammar, spelling and mathematics. Caroline is a complete and total dunce when it comes to spelling. I really don't understand it. Spelling is memorization. Even a complete idiot can be good at spelling. No intelligence needed. Caroline just doesn't care, at all. Not even a little. We are reviewing old lists, and I'm determined that she is going to spell every single word correctly. We had 5 practice quizzes today, and she misspelled the words differently every time. I considered beating my head or her head against the nearest brick wall, but settled for making her write out the misspelled words numerous times. The last "quiz" she got more right than wrong, so we are moving in the right direction-but then, I'm not sure if it's chance, or she can really spell the word. Mmmm. Math went well. Strangely enough Caroline remembered what she learned yesterday when we reviewed it today. Jonathan did great. We didn't actually get to latin and grammar. My girlfriend showed up around noon with her two kids and Charles in tow, and then was off to run some errands, leaving her two behind. My clan was ecstatic about having play mates.
At this point--you may have guessed--I checked email, and answered some phone calls. Then I made lunch for the helpless trio, aka: Vivian, Gabriel and Oliver. I figured the other ones could fend for themselves if lunch even occurred to them. (Caroline didn't realize that she never had lunch until she sat down to dinner. That figures).
I made a batch of gingerbread cookies, and everyone came and scarfed up the entire batch. Then I made some magic bars, which are only half gone. I collected dishes, picked up some clutter, fixed Julianna's hair so that it was the same as Caroline's, changed a dirty diaper, rotated the laundry, put Vivian, Gabriel and Oliver down for naps, and then settled in at my desk in order to accomplish some meaningful work.
I wasn't at my desk 5 minutes, when here comes a kid. "Can I have a drink of water?" was the question. I look at this child and I wonder--he has two eyes and a brain. Is he really incapable of getting his cup, filling it with water, and drinking it without making me in some way a part of the process? It isn't like this is his first day with me as his mother. I get the water and then I turn back to my desk, and start digging. You see, for the past 4 days, I've been occupied with meetings, a convention, church, company, and more meetings. So my desk is in a 4 day state of neglect, which to be perfectly frank, is terrifying. I take out a larger shovel and attempt to dig faster. I toss out junk, write thank you notes for donations, take care of bills, respond to more email, write " to do" lists all the while answering urgent questions along these lines: "Mom, where's my rifle? Mom, can we go in the front yard and ride scooters? Do you have a pencil? I want to color. Are we doing art today? Can I have a snack? I need a drink. Where's Charles?
This is in fact my favorite question next to "where are my shoes?" Does this child not see that I am sitting at my desk working. Does it not occur to this child that I know where Charles is located as well as he does? Furthermore, do I really look like I am even remotely interested in answering these types of questions. I guess not. Instead, I stopped what I was doing, and looked at Oliver. I stared at Oliver, until he became uncomfortably aware of my displeasure and began to awkwardly stick his tongue out as if there was something tasty on the bottom of his chin, and he was very desperate to get at it. I continued the stare and silence. He stretched his arms out in a stiff unbending way and put them behind his back, finger tips touching, still with his tongue hanging out and great discomfort. After staring for a few seconds longer, I turned back to my work, and he tromped away deciding to look for Charles without my aid.
Unfortunately, the little people got up from their naps. This was very sad indeed, as I had not only NOT reached the bottom of my desk, but still had an immense amount to accomplish (you may wonder why I am now wasting time writing this rather than doing the aforementioned work--but that is because I'm in need of a diversion, and have not updated this blog in quite some time). Gabriel came down the stairs looking slightly mopey, and stood by my chair. I continued to work, and then made a phone call. During the phone call, I smelled a smell that humans really should not be forced to endure. I looked over at Gabriel still standing at my side, and yes, he bore the look of guilt. The look that says, "Yes, I realize that I could have very easily taken 15 steps to the toilet right over there and dropped this nasty, stinky, disgusting, dump, but instead, I chose to stand right here and load my pants, and share this delightful aroma, not only with you, mom, but with everyone who walks through this room for the next hour." For awhile I tried to ignore it, needing to finish the phone conversation, but eventually it was too much for me, and I hung up the phone and changed the very gross diaper. Then I headed back to my desk. In a few minutes, Vivian was at my side with her own special aroma. I got up and changed that dirty diaper.
The afternoon continued along these lines. I broke up the occasional fight, found drawing paper and markers for Gabriel, rotated loads, got my keys out of Vivian's clutches, gave another spelling quiz, rotated laundry, and had a cup of tea. I was surprisingly calm and resigned to constant interruption. But by 6 pm, I had endured the last straw, the final interruption, the very last grain of patience had dropped into the bottom of the hour glass. Fortunately, this coincided with Jon coming home.
