a day in the life?

I have found out that when you have a child or more – there is no average "day in the life". But, a while back a few friends posted their own days in the life. And after thinking about these differences in our lives – I have realized that there is no normal "cross section" of a full time parent. While I will not write this down in a time by time format – I admit there aren't many time deadlines to meet with a 2 year old boy. (ie. he starts melting down, it is time to go home for a nap!)Case in point: Last Thursday was the best/worst day of my life.

Morning: It started out great. (this is the last time you will hear me say that.) I went to my friend Wendy's house for a play date. I had a couple errands to run in town, and after chatting with her, she offered to let me run a quick trip to Wal-Mart. You don't turn up those offers! I also planned to pick up McD's on the way back. While I was in Wal-mart, I decided to buy some Lightning McQueen underwear for him. It had been on my mind for a while, and it was then that I grabbed them.

Noon time: The rest of it is all history. Pick up happy meals, feed the kiddos, go home – time for nap. My son has a very sensitive gag reflex – so much so that when he chokes on something – up comes everything! This is what happened that day. He was eating his apples from McD's on the way home, choked, and "un-ate" everything (a new term that Rob and I have coined.)
A major mess. I pull over on the side of the road, strip him down, get rid of everything I can, and press on home. It was such a mess taking apart the car seat and washing it all.

Mid-afternoon: Ben naps. Ahh. Not sure what I did. I probably worked on the one of the seven (yes – SEVEN) little girl cardigans I am making for friends. See picture. They are paying me, and no you can't have one. At least not right now. Not until I catch up. FYI: They can be made for girls sizes 1, 2, 4, 6.

Late/mid afternoon: Still trying to reassemble the darn car seat. Working on this project in our bedroom in front of a book case. Talking to Wendy on phone giving play by play events from when I last saw her – a mere few hours ago. Then saying in to the phone: "oh my gosh……" As I was trying to put together the car seat – I spied a lonely Lightning McQueen car that had been wedged between a couple books on the bookcase. It had been lost for almost 5 months. Now I realize that to all you non-parents out there, this is no big deal. But when your kid loses his favorite toy (and he can't remember where he put it and you *swear* you have looked everywhere) – I assure you: This *is* a big deal! Every time Ben "loses" (or "forgets") a toy, I think of all these parables of the lost coin, the lost sheep (how does someone lose a sheep anyway?!), etc. We are currently looking for a Blue Angels Hornet. An airplane for those of you unfamiliar.

Late Afternoon: Ben wakes. I decided I am going to leave the car there, until Ben's dad gets home, because I know he is going to be pretty amused with this serious "breaking news". Don't laugh – it is serious.

Evening: Ben is playing. Ben gets nosy, sticks his nose in to bag. Finds Lightning McQueen underwear. Wants to put them on. Why today. Do I need anymore nonsense? But if a kid wants to put on underwear, you can't really tell him no. So he puts them on. And the poor kid – they don't even stay up! (I have been recently informed that they do, in fact, shrink a great deal). Let's hope so. Picture this: Ben walking around with underwear around his ankles saying, "Mommy underwears falling down". Poor thing.

I begin making dinner, while Ben is running around in his brand new skivvies. I keep reminding him that it's not like a diaper, yada, yada. At some point he runs to me in the kitchen while I am again talking to Wendy again on the phone telling me he needs to go potty. He takes off shorts/said skivvies, and sits on potty. Nothing happens. He then tells me that he wants his diaper on. (still giving live feedback to Wendy). "Wendy, all of a sudden he wants his diaper on….I don't get it." Wendy asks me if he has gone poop today. I tell her yes, but later realized that he hadn't. We get off the phone. I somehow convince Ben to put undies back on. He does. I go back to stove. He comes back, telling me he needs to go potty.

I check on him and he is straining. "Ben, if you don't have to go now, you can try again later." (this is me thinking that he is trying to pee, because he has been known to try to pee, just so he can get a DumDum.) He refuses, and I'm like, whatever. Back at the stove, he runs to me and says he went poop and low and behold, he did. This is the point that I realized he hadn't pooped that morning. You should have seen us do the Poopie Dance! Ben was so excited that I was so excited, and on the poopie celebration went!

Note: Wendy had asked this, because she said sometimes kids want their diaper, when they know they are going to poop. Aha – it was true.

Dinner and beyond: Ben proceeded to pee his pants five minutes after the poop. We ate dinner, Rob came home, he messed some more with the car seat. (I still hadn't assembled it correctly.) And it had to be fixed, because I had been telling Ben for the last week and a half that if he pooped in the potty – we would go get ice cream. After looking for directions, looking on the internet, and to no avail of finding them, Rob finally figured it out. Ben goes behind window curtain, comes out and tells Rob that he peed on his foot. While he made a mistake, he ran to his potty and finished the rest of it.

Final assessments:

Bad things: Ben threw up in car. Ben peed on himself 1.5 times. After the "half" time he went back to the potty and finished.

Good things: Found Lightning McQueen. Ben pooped in potty. We got to eat ice cream. Mommy got out of running on treadmill.

Conclusion: they all needed to happen together for any of the good things to happen.

Final Question: You may be asking, "This is Ben's life. What do you do during your life?!"

Answer: My life happens when Ben's isn't!

It's OK, though, because I love him very much. And he's all mine.