Excuses, Excuses

   People have wondered about me, not out loud of course, still wearing pajamas at 2 pm. I see the judgement in their eyes. I am here to explain myself! Every morning I am awoken by what sounds like a Middle Eastern wedding celebration. Ululation is what the sound is called and my son imitates it perfectly at the top of his voice. This starts at seven in the morning, which for me, is the end of my two hour nap, because at five I was slopping around the kitchen making bottles. I get up off the couch where I've been sleeping for the past two months, and go upstairs to get the monster from his crib. He has taken everything he had in bed with him and thrown it all over his bedroom, and I gather it and toss it haphazardly back inside. Once in the kitchen I am sous chef to his demanding breakfast expectations. He is two years old and wants French truffles in his scrambled eggs that I've collected myself. Seriously though, two eggs, two slices of cheese, scrambled to a perfect consistency, much like a cloud, and a pastel yellow color. I serve The King his feast, and empty an entire bottle of ketchup over the meal I painstakingly prepared, all but ruining it. He is happy however, and isn't crying...yet. I then make yet another bottle for what seems to be the hundredth time since midnight the night before and give it to my daughter. I use pillows to prop it up, look ma, no hands, because feeding her is boring, and so far what I have described is so stimulating, I can't bare to miss a second of it.  While everyone eats I unload the dish washer from dinner the night before, and immediately fill it back up with dishes from breakfast and middle-of-the-night snacks I don't remember eating or making. 
   I use the kids eating time as a good twelve minutes of time to get things done....just kidding, I always waste it every single morning. I browse Facebook, make some witty comments, "like" a picture of some kid, Instagram the picture I snapped of the baby, and YouTube songs I then proceed to sing to my son. (Usually Disney) While frittering away my precious seconds of freedom, my dog's bladder explodes and she goes all over the carpet. I yell at her for not reminding me she had to pee and adding to my work load. She looks at me like, "desperate times, mom, desperate measures." SIGH. At this point my son has finished eating and is smearing ketchup all over his face, hair and chest, and the baby is crying because she spit her half-eaten bottle out five minutes ago and it leaked all over her. I go through cleaning everyone up, burping babies, changing diapers, and hosing down the high chair...blah, blah, BLAH...boring, tedious, mind-numbing. Next up on my agenda, however, spares me an entire half hour to do with as I want. Bubble Guppies. The songs are like nails on a chalkboard, but my son adores them, and will sit through the whole show, entranced. I write a few thank-you notes because I am a stickler about manners, which is ironic because my son has ZERO, finally chug some luke-warm coffee I made at 4:30 and forgot about til now, and run down to the basement to do laundry. 
   Doing laundry for me consists of throwing any and all colors at once into the washer, and folding cold clothes from the dryer that have been molding since 2011, becoming overwhelmed and quitting.Those with live-in maids are the only people who use their dressers and closets anyways. We live out of laundry baskets here. I wonder if I bought baskets to match everyone's respective bedroom would it be less tacky? While I'm in the basement musing over matching household items I dig around in the freezer for a roast to toss into the crock-pot. In the off chance I have visitors, they'll walk into the house, greeted by the aroma of home-cooking and will be fooled into thinking I have my sh*t together. As Bubble Guppies comes to a close, I vacuum the entire downstairs, like I do EVERY SINGLE DAY, and steam clean the linoleum. I don't live by the mantra, "sticky floors, happy kids" or whatever the heck, because E. Coli doesn't make anyone happy. My son is a vagabond and eats off said floor, so I am fastidious about it. I happen to glance at the clock on the microwave and a wave of relief rushes over me. Two words: nap time. I have been counting down the milliseconds for this moment since the literal crack of dawn! I dash around putting everyone to sleep and when the house is silent I fling myself onto the couch. The Hallelujah Chorus plays softly in my head as I drift off... As I wake from my nap, there is a knock on the door...it's 2 pm and I am still wearing pajamas....