You call this boring?

On a certain day of December, 2008, I did some...perhaps all...of the following:

*Fell asleep on the couch after getting up with Bethany when it was still dark outside. My body just cannot get past the blanket concept of dark = sleepy time. When a song ending an episode of Thomas the Tank Engine woke me, I found her sitting amidst a pile of Lindor chocolate wrappers. (JC got a bag at his company Christmas party.) Because I had daydreamed about finding myself in that same situation I knew that each piece held two hundred something calories and loads of fat and sugar. I groaned, knowing she would probably be sick for the rest of the day and since her body would be busy breaking down all that junk, it would have to slack on its other full-time job - - fighting off the cold/flu - - and probably get worse and have to miss preschool again. After talking to JC on the phone, I discovered that the chocolates had been completely gone the night before...she must have just stumbled across a pile of wrappers and sat down to inhale the sweetness and imagine what the experience of actually eating them must have been like. I'm guessing.

*Shook through a pilates workout. What do they think exists in the core they keep referring to? Rubber and steel plates???

*Melted when James snuggled up on my lap and said, "Mommy, I wuhz you." (I don't think that requires a translation, does it?)

*Became really excited about making a casserole-sized pot pie from scratch. Cut up the veggies, browned the turkey, took a picture of the rainbow of fresh yummies ready to go into the pan, put it in the oven to allow the delicious aroma to fill the house...then allowed it to burn.

*Became really excited about the rain we were getting. I dressed the kids in rain-ish clothes (new "outside downstairs" clothes and shoes, of course) and took them out back to splash in tiny puddles and enjoy the misting of raindrops. Unfortunately, by the time I got them ready and outside, the misting had turned to a steady fall..then a bit of a downpour. And it got cold. But, after all that time getting ready and getting them all excited, I figured a few minutes wouldn't hurt. Of course, that meant that the tiny puddles I intended for them to enjoy were no longer tiny.

*Accidentally allowed the cat outside into the mud.

*Let Ben wade into a puddle that was nearly up to his knees. Watched him fall down and get soaking wet and, therefore...
...freezing cold.
*Right when we were about ready to get ourselves inside, I heard the phone ringing. I realized that it was probably JC and since I no longer use a cell phone and can't really call him at work, I knew I should really get to the phone. Rushing, and knowing I wanted to get to the phone and back out to the kids as fast as possible but also not track mud through our house, I run to the door, slip off one shoe and hop through our downstairs looking for a phone. We have six. None downstairs apparently. I then proceed to, very quickly, hop up the stairs, looking for one of the phones like crazy (it only rings four times before going to the answering machine and I knew he would just hang up if I didn't answer...also, at this point I realize he could have called before while we were outside and gotten no answer and proceeded to worry) I finally get to a phone that is actually in its charger (in the farthest away corner of the house it could possibly be from where I began my search) and answer it. Him. I don't remember at all what we talked about or why it was so important. As I'm talking to him, I hurry to get back out to the kids, hopping out on to the balcony, over the baby gate and down the stairs...then down more stairs to the lower level back patio where I had left my other shoe. All of this happened in about twenty seconds. Our house is just under 4000 sq. ft. I think I get a medal.

*Decided that really cold, really wet kids for more than a few minutes is just bad parenting. I instructed them to follow me and took them down to the downstairs door. At this point, I realized I didn't have a plan. I essentially needed to strip them down, get them inside, warm them up, clean them up and avoid getting our carpet muddy because, let's face it, I probably wouldn't remember to clean the carpet in that spot any time soon and it would become gross. And it's in my bedroom. No thanks. So, I sprinted in for towels. Now my shoes were off. Kids were pulling at me, climbing on me. Now I ditched my clothing as well for the same reason I didn't let the carpet get too dirty...why do I even own white and/or light colored clothing? (the convenience of being the only two story house around) Crying kids. Undress, set inside, wrap in towel. Next? Undress, set inside, wrap in towel. (avoid getting towel actually muddy because these are the last three we have that are clean and will also be used for drying off after the bath) Next? ...Next?...James?

*Realized I was missing a child. Left the other two inside, hoping against hope they didn't wander back out and slipped on my trusty one shoe (I know this sounds ridiculous but seriously, in moments like this, you just cannot be bothered with the extra time it would take to put on or take off more shoes than absolutely necessary.) Hopped up the back patio stairs and started the search for James. In our backyard. In the rain. In my underwear. And one shoe. Waving back at the other two, "Mommy be right back! Mommy be right back! Stay inside! Stay inside!"

*When I couldn't find James, I began to panic a little. Half because I was missing my son and half because if he wasn't in the backyard, that meant he could possibly have wandered into the front yard and I was not sure I was ready for my act to be taken public. (I realize I could have run back inside and thrown on something before proceeding to the front yard but when you're missing a kid you don't think things through) After my millionth time yelling "James? James?" I hear a very soft "What, Mommy?" and look down to see three children standing on the back patio. I then questioned my sanity until I realized he had climbed up the stairs to the balcony while I was undressing the other two, scaled the baby gate at the top (I don't want to think about it...don't worry, we've replaced it with a higher one) and gone through the still-open upstairs door, tracked through the entire upstairs and down to us. How did I know this? His muddy footprints throughout the whole house. All that hopping for nothing.

*Gave my kids what was probably the most violent bath ever. This happened probably because I put them all in there at once and just started washing. Why? They were all freezing and I had already gotten the nice, perfectly warmed bath water ready and started bathing one of them when the timer for my pot pie went off. Threw the other two in (it was a soft throw) and proceeded with a quick version of the bathing process. They were all crying and trying to beat each other by the end of that five minutes.

*Forgot about my pot pie in the search for pajamas for each of them and the struggles that ensued.

*After eating only the bottom half of the pie for dinner, tried to lighten the kids' moods by putting a diaper on my head, and saying in a strange accent, "Do you like my hat?" It worked a little too well and for the next hour, if I wanted to avoid hysterics from one or all of them, this is what I did. Repeatedly.

*Attacked JC when he got home from work, begging for relief from being their only source of entertainment. (This may be a large thing to ask of him at the end of his twelve hours away at work but it really helped that I had yet to find an opportunity to make my way back downstairs to get dressed.) Luckily for him, it was bedtime. Not a lot of entertainment required.

*Needed a particularly cleansing, but not too intense, workout after they went to bed and busted out my old prenatal yoga DVD. So, Mom, if you're reading this and happened to have noticed that DVD out at my house, you can relax. It was just for old times' sake. :) (Though I did particularly enjoy the relaxing nature of the practice and did it for the next week)

*Let JC be the first to break our deal of "no sweets" (landing me the right to choose the next three movies we go see)...waited three minutes...then ate a piece of fudge.

*Later, ate two more.

*Collapsed on the couch next to my honey at the very end of a very long day, with traces of fudge on my face no less, and realized that it was still raining. And the cat was still outside.

* * * * * *

Last year, I ran into an old aquaintance from highschool. We chatted a bit and it soon became apparent what I do "for a living." He says to me, "Wow. When I get married I will never expect my wife to give up her life to stay home with our kids. It just seems a waste of all the potential a woman has to succeed in and enjoy life. I mean...don't you get bored???"

Now.

Let's just try to ignore every other part of that unfortunate remark and focus on the part that trickled back into my mind on this particular day. Boredom. Hmm...can't...think...of the last...time...

My to-do list runs out in approximately 2029, and that's only if I cease adding things to it and never sleep.

On top of that, no day is predictable. No day is ever the same. Couldn't be if I used every ounce of energy in my body trying to make it that way.

To his credit, I think I know what he meant. Do I get restless? Absolutely. Do I sometimes wonder what happened to the version of me that had more to offer than the struggling version of the basic necessities of life I routinely dish out to my babies (that they routinely fight me on)? Oh yes. Do I sometimes feel like if I don't find the opportunity to be somewhere else, do something else for at least a few minutes out of my week I just may scream? Of course.

But, do I get bored?

Are you kidding me?

And, more importantly, even on hopping-through-the-rain-in-my-underwear days, do I wish I had chosen differently?

Not a chance.