Mommy is a Money Launderer

Later on in life, you're going to look at me and ask me what I did all day. To be honest, I'm not a little afraid of that question. There are mornings when I look around the house and wonder if my whole purpose in life is not to make sure that the house gets back to it's pristine (ah ha ha ha) morning condition by the time you guys head to bed. You take out the toys, we play with them, lose a few pieces, head off to a new activity, I make you come back and clean up the previous toy, put away whatever you were just adventuring with, and then you move on to the next toy. And this goes on about forty times a day. So what is it I do all day? I have no idea. There are days we are whirlwinds of productiveness- pictures, errands and chores all completed. And other days when I have two babies on hips all day long and the movies NEED to be on.

But no matter what I do, you girls are amazing helpers. You want to help me with the dishes. I love how you want to help me unload the dishwasher and put all the plates and silverware into the dirty sink. I love how you help me clean off the table by going into the laundry basket and pulling out the rag I just used to sop up some spill off the floor. (I really, really hope that is lemonade on that towel...) How you are so competitive over who gets to mix that we have a second bowl of Cheerios and Raisins ready to go at all times and how you help me fold the piles of folded laundry and hand me all the paper money you find in the dryer. I love my helpers.

So what do I do all day? I decide what's for breakfast. Yes, you can blame me later on in life for all the oatmeal you've been forced to eat. But let me tell you- right now, all of you are on a brown sugar and raisin kick. After that I get to help you put your dishes on the counter and then wash all those dishes. Then we head to school; which includes picking out your clothes (which I washed and put away) grabbing your shoes and coats (which I dragged you out for sizings and found under the couch. Again.) slipping on your backpacks (found on sale, emptied of previous day's art and papers by me, signed by me and your dad and repacked with goodies by dear old mom) and bringing the baby supplies with us as we head off into our morning.

The van, if it's clean, was cleaned by your dad. I have a few trash bags now and then, but the accumulation of french fries, receipts and assorted odds and ends are usually mine. But then again, so are the snacks. You can thank me for that later.

We'll go to the gym where you play in class or go to the Library for story time on days I'm feeling lazy. Your library Ladybugs are just too cute- leftovers from Grace's baby quilt. If we're lucky, a friend will come by and I get to play with another mommy while you three run laps around the house insisting that your friend yell "Argh Matey!" and put on their princess hat. Boy or girl, doesn't matter.

And then comes lunch. You want peanut butter and jelly. My job is to convince you that something else, anything else is more interesting or appetizing. You're a hard crowd, but easily swayed by "oohh, this tastes good." Right now I'm thrilled by this, but we will definitely be revisiting this when you're teenagers. THEN- it will be okay for you to say no.

After lunch comes more cleanup. And naps. I love it when you nap. Unfortunately, Gracie has given up on napping which means that I get to ask her to rest while I check emails or write to you here. Doesn't usually last more than an hour, so anything that requires any concentration happens during this time. Like the laundry folding, sweeping, bill paying, reading, writing or anything that needs meat chopped up later on in the day.

For some reason, you guys can tell when I cannot touch you. After I plunge my hands into raw chicken, a silent alarm rings out that only the under four set can hear and you all converge upon me and my knees asking for something RIGHT NOW.

And there is afternoon story time and tumbling and tea parties. Where I get to play Librarian, judge and hostess. All fun jobs, but in the back of my mind around four thirty, I start thinking about what I need to do to have dinner ready and how we can clean up the legos before one of us falls on that lake of red, yellow and blue....

And then your dad gets home. There is a flurry of activity as you all surrender whatever you were doing to go running to the front door screaming, "Daddy!" and I get thirty seconds where I am neither wanted or needed in your lives. This usually lasts until I get motivated enough to walk into the kitchen and touch the silent-alarm-chicken and you all come screaming back while Daddy changes out of his uniform.

Dinner is dinner. With silent and loud rebellions, depending on the night. I try to uphold the rule that you cannot sit on my lap while I'm eating or you're eating, but have you seen your pictures of you at this age. You're stinking adorable. It's hard. After that, it's something like melon on the back deck. And parading your art work for Daddy from school. And tumbling. Lots of tumbling now a days.

Then there are baths. With fresh towels and pajamas. And researched toothpaste that is age appropriate and Dora toothbrushes. And two, no three books before bedtime and a song.

And a kiss and a hug. That's my favorite part. Even the nights when Eleanor says, "No!" and makes the pouty face. And after about an hour of you little people whispering and sneaking books into your beds and thumping quietly into the hall, you finally fall asleep by the time you dad and I finish the dishes and put away the leftovers for his lunch tomorrow.

By this time I'm just tired. I've had a good day of singing, painting, coloring, playing, cooking, driving and just general girly-ness and I'm tired. So your dad and I go snuggle. And that's my day.

But back to the question of what I do all day. I'm going to go with what your Aunt Michelle says whenever anyone asks her.

"You would be surprised what I can accomplish."