It doesn't go to 11.

All day, I've been noticing my freezer isn't keeping things frozen.

I'm thinking, maybe DD left it open. She's done this in the past.

Maybe it's because it's not as full as it used to be and I read somewhere a packed freezer keeps things frozen better.

I figure, any moment, I'm going hear the whirring of the motors to start up the freezer.

Nope.

Nada.

Zilch.

I forget about it thinking I'm worrying too much.

Then DD asks for ice cream.

Since it's a special day in our house, I say sure.

I pull out our homemade ice cream we made together at the beginning of the week and it's soft serve.

Crap.

I have breastmilk in the freezer. I can't have it defrost.

I begin to panic.

DH starts taking measurements to bring to the store.

I start kicking myself in the butt. 

Why didn't I check it after lunch?

What am I going to do about the breastmilk? Would it be weird if I ask my neighbor to hold my stash for me overnight until my new freezer gets to the optimal temperature?

What about our special dinner we were supposed to have tonight?

I'm feeling a little sullen.

I decide to do the obligatory turn the knobs one last time in the freezer just in case.

I slowly put all the stuff back and decide to keep the freezer door closed until the new freezer arrives.

DD asks for water. 

I open the fridge and touch the water.  It's cool but not cold.

How did I not notice that? 

Did I think it was because I just refilled the water pitcher?

Then I look up and see a knob.

It is a dial and it has numbers 1 through 8.

It's pointing to <1.

Or is it pointing to >8?

I turn the darn thing and the recognizable humming of the generator starts.

Holy crap.

The knob that time forgot but a 3 year old saw and decided, hey, wouldn't it be cool to turn it this way.

Bloody hell.

Is this the beginnings of the plot to prove Mom is off her rocker?

Whine

I tried to avoid it.
I fought a semi-hard battle.
I took my zinc.
I drank my fluids.
Alas the cold has won.
I officially have a cold.
Darn you, cold!

Big Wheels Keep on Turning

If I were given more time during the day, I still wouldn't be able to do what I want to get done in the day. It wouldn't be possible because I'd just add to my list of todos. That's the hard reality and I know this and so every day I do everything little by little.
I remind myself, think of what matters not what needs to get done. This gives me solace. It's more important to spend time with my kids and help them learn than to do an extra load of wash.
DH asks constantly, "How did so and so do it?"
Honestly, I don't think there is a set formula. You have to run with the punches. He's still in awe with so and so who had 5 kids all 18 mths apart.
I'm fairly certain that we are at a point with our youngest that the mere thought of adding another to our brood would kill my husband. He's exhausted. He's tired. He's in the thick of it.
It's funny to see it on this end. I'm tired. I'm exhausted but on another level. For me, I survived labor, delivery and the first 3 months post partum. Knowing I survived that level of exhaustion gives me that extra boost to keep going.
Oh and there's the offspring too. Having to care for young'uns keeps you living on fumes.

You want me to do what?

Last night I had one of those parenting dawnings. I was nursing my son and the sudden thought of my kids grown and self sufficient human beings trying to make a difference in the world popped in my head. Now you would think I would be swollen with pride and admiration. Nope. Panic set in. I realized I have years, years of trying to make sure my children grow up to be self sufficient, compassionate human beings.
I nearly had an asthma attack.
I know this is just a random freak out and I shall recover but boy howdy! I'm glad God thinks I can do this because I sure need him for this ginormous task.

Kicking and Screaming

I have a problem. I don't like being told what to do.
If/When I have downtime, I prefer to be at home. I know that sounds nuts but it's true.
DH thinks this homebody thing isn't healthy and that I need to go out more.
So every now and then he kicks me out literally kicking and screaming out the door.

Here's the thing. I hate being told what to do.

When he does this, you would think I'd go get a haircut or something like that.
No. I go and do errands because errands compound and because I'm compulsive.
I've tried sitting at a bar having a beer or going to Starbucks for a latte but I hate it. I absolutely hate not feeling as if I'm doing something if I'm outside. When I'm home, it's fine. I can sit and get absorbed with plants vs zombies during my downtime.

Why can't I just relax when I'm not at home? Why must I have to be doing something or checking off something from my list of todos?

Busy Busy Busy

As with most parents, instead of winding down, I going into overdrive when the clock strikes 5p.
Our routine is fairly straightforward. It's a tag team dance of sorts where I'm usually following a practiced routine with room for ad libs here and there. It's like Dancing with the Stars without the sequins and judging.
My evening routine starts like this:

5p Rush home, Start dinner, Wash some dishes, Unpack breastmilk, Prep bedroom for nighttime (dim lights, fill water container, turn down bed), change into home clothes.
6p Feed kids, feed husband (maybe, sometimes we wait until after the kids are asleep), wash more dishes, prep nighttime routine part II (yogurt, toothbrush and wash cloth). DH walks the dog at some point here too.
7p DH helps with 3 Ps for bedtime (potty, pick up and pajamas) while I finish nursing son and getting him to sleep. Then I head into bedroom for nighttime (us map, puzzle time, story time/yogurt, brush teeth, wash face and prayers)

If all goes well, both kids are alseep by 8pm. I can then make dinner for DH and myself, tidy up, wash the dishes and prep for tomorrow morning (breakfast, lunches, breastpumping todos). If I'm really feeling fiesty, I can take a shower or risk it and try to take one in the AM.

I know. Doesn't that sound insane? It's what we do though. It's tiring, yes, but we also know if we do it this way, 6:7 nights we both get to rest a bit by 8pm.  Rest? Do you not see the list of todos on your 8p roster? Listen, nowadays anything that doesn't involve children underfoot is doable in a short period of time.

Plus, I have a compulsive need to have order or some type of order in my life. This drives my husband mad but if he knows what's best, he goes along or the wrath of Mothra appears.

With every season and every change in milestones and age, this routine changes.
Isn't parenting adventurous?

I've seen better days rant

Today did not start off well.
Well, it did start off well but then I got up.
After some cuddling with both kids, I got up and headed to the bathroom for my 5 minute 'me' time (aka brush teeth, wash face, try to be clean etc). DD, aka Superhero Reese, starts the let's knock on the door while Mom's in the bathroom game. She asks if I'm pooping or peeing and then she asks that I make French toast not Daddy. I say if Mommy can have time in the bathroom alone maybe we can make time for me to start it for Daddy. I suspect she prefers my recipe over DH's. She flys of and actually leaves me alone in the bathroom.
I continue to try to make myself presentable to the human race when ::knock knock::, someone needs to use the bathroom and they can't wait.
So I shuffle off to the kitchen in the hopes I can freshen up by the sink. I walk in hoping to sneak past DD who will think I'm done and want to help cook French toast, as promised.
I turn into the kitchen to see Superhero Reese sitting on the stool next to the refrigerator, "Hi Mom. I'm ready to help make French toast." Drat.
I tell her I still need to get ready but maybe soon.
She sits quietly kicking her legs out and in while fumbling with her superhero cape.
I hurriedly put some blush and mascara on and then pull out the eggs.
DH then tells DD, Superhero Reese, that Mommy cannot make French toast because she has to get ready and go to the office. This sets of Superhero Reese and the tears ensue. Full blown sobs and screams. "But Mama said we would try to make time. I didn't go to the bathroom! I'm waiting!"
The banter between father and daughter continue until threats of no French toast come out leading to more tears and sobs.
Finally DD asks to help walk the dog which leads to DH giving her a deadline of 2 minutes to get dressed, a near impossible task for a 3 year old. She asks for help off the stool and DH is obstinate. This isn't going to help make the 2 minute deadline. DD asks me and DH stops and says she cannot ask me for help. This leads to more balling. Now my kid is the color of a turnip.
All the while, all I wanted to do was make my smoothie, set the oven for dinner tonight and pack my lunch and breastmilk parts. Oh and entertain my child by having her crack and whisk the French toast egg while I do all these things. (Yes, my 3 year old can crack and egg and make her own French toast custard by herself as long as you set the mise en place for her.)
Now I'm standing in the kitchen having to appear to be a united front with my husband while waiting until the drama subsides so I can do the things I need to do.
There is another blow out crying session in the bedroom between DH and DD which I can only surmise is due to DH refusing to allow Superhero Reese walk the dog with him. (No capes outside)
By this time, I'm so frazzled, I'm not in a good state I don't know what to do or where to begin.
They leave for the walk and I franctically make my smoothie, pack my lunch and breastpumping accoutrements and realize, crap, I need to wrap a baby shower present for today. I search for some wrapping paper and tape, do a half ass job of wrapping it all while entertaining DS who has completed his morning babbling at the sun and sky session is staring at me for additional entertainment.
While they were out I also sliced some brioche and stuck it in some quick French toast custard.
DH and DD returns just as I'm packing up my lunch. As I'm heading out the door frazzled and not in the state I'd like ot be, DH mentions the following (not in a mean way):
1. I cut the bread too thick. (I think my daughter actually prefers it thick but eh)
2. His custard allows him to make scrambled eggs with the leftovers. He can't with my custard.

Whatever.
Now I'm sitting here realizing two things:
1. I forgot my ice pack to keep the pumped breastmilk cool.
2. I forgot to set the over for dinner tonight which means I've not only left the house frazzled, I get to come home to be frazzled again.

I'm so looking forward to it.