I thought about saying, "I don't know where the time goes," but I know exactly where it goes.
5am: Jay's alarm goes off. He gets up and gets ready and out the door, dropping a kiss on my head and sometimes asking me to turn on the light.
6am: My alarm goes off. Sometimes I get up. There's getting-ready things to be done. Kids to be dressed. Sometimes, Hayden comes in my room between the alarms and hops into bed saying, "Can I sleep with you for a minute?" and I've yet to find a good reason to say no.
Get ready. Feed the dogs. Feed the kids. Let the dogs out. Get the things packed for the day. Find the keys. Find the shoes. Tie the shoes. "No mommy, the zebra shoes. I DO IT. Mommy help."
7am: In the car. Adjust the temperature 11 times. Drive in traffic. House-highway-interstate-highway-three turns and a right. Daycare. Out of the car, in the door, grab the booster seat, bring the extra clothes for she-who-forgets-to-potty. Grab a tissue because "momma I got the snots". Down the hall. "I open the door!" drop off with kisses or sometimes sneak out like a ninja. Sign in. Down the hall. Sign in. Three extra hugs and kisses for Ellie, Braxton and Savannah, because I've yet to find a good reason to say no. "Have a great day, be a listener, be a good friend". Out the door.
8am: In the car. Back roads-back roads-highway-highway. Always traffic because people don't know how to merge. Exit 5D. Left, left, left. Park.
8:30: My day "begins".
Emails, phone calls, letters, lists. Meeting. Lists. Check off lists. A new idea. Remember to finish the old idea. Lunch or gym or Netflix? Stop suddenly to admire the landscaping of this beautiful place, and to remember why I love my job every day. Compare that to why I hated my job every day. Winner every time.
5pm: In the car. Two rights-highway-highway-interstate-merge. Less traffic than this morning. Right-left-right-right-left-left. Park. Unload all the things that make my car a mess.
In the door. "Mommy you got something for me?" "MOMMY'S HOME" with two pint-sized Rogers and two four-legged circuses barreling towards me at the door. Kiss on the head and how was your day?
At 5:30 my evening "begins".
Dinner dishes laundry tea party cars bath time story time sing my songs momma, do the Salem song bed time for one. News cartoons Jeopardy clean the bathroom what are you taking for lunch tomorrow? Stop and realize the dishes can wait. One more story. Ten minutes of peace with my husband before Hayden realizes he needs help with the toothpaste. Story. Sing me the Salem song. Hugs kisses Eskimos butterflies can you sleep with me for a minute?
8:30: Do I finally get to have adult conversation? I do! While I fold and wash and scrub, and pet and scratch the furry one with his tail thumping on the floor. Leave the phones in my purse. Talk about which house we'd pick on "Buying Alaska" or why I would never want to hunt a moose. What kind of gun is that?
Shower lotion hair dryer moisturizer when did I change these sheets? Lock the doors. Set the alarms. Barricade the steps so no more shoes get chewed up.
Spent my day as wife mom Assistant Dean of Admissions. But now I'm just Jessica, Jess, the girl he met in middle school. He's silly and makes me laugh. Dogs are barking because there's a noise outside. Turn the fan up, it's hot. Close my eyes. Tomorrow is a new day.
It's busy, it's messy, it's anything but perfect. It's never the same day twice. It's flawed it's loud it's chaos. But it's mine.