firefighting

We all wear the firefighter hat around this house, in jest, but sometimes I really do feel like my job is to "put out fires" around the house.

This is an account of a day I had a couple of months ago. Although I don't remember all the details, but for some reason, it really stuck in my memory. Most likely because of the items that fell victim to circumstance.

I believe the day began with some leaky diapers. I do recall starting some laundry immediately, after stripping the beds.  Then, as I was getting Grant changed for the day, Henry heard the call of nature. I stopped to get him set up on the potty, and returned to Grant. Continued to change Grant and was called back to Henry to help him finish up and wash hands. (My method for this is to fill the sink with a little soapy warm water).  Done with Grant, I find Henry sloshing water all around the bathroom, with my toothbrush. Ugh.
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Last night's sleep journal, which has been the typical night's sleep for me way too frequently:
bedtime 9:00pm (this was an attempt to get "extra" sleep)
11pm Grant wakes
1:30am Grant wakes
2:00am Henry wakes to go pee
2:20am After helping Henry and lying down with him for a few minutes, he tells me he has to go poopy. False alarm. We return to settle into bed. He tells me there are dinosaurs coming out from under the couch.
2:40am I return to my bed, (I'm unable to sleep in his bed because I'm afraid of him hurting me, like headbutts, accidental or not, feet in my back, etc.)
2:50am Henry comes into our room wanting to sleep in our bed. George joins him in his bed.
4:00am Grant wakes
5:00am George's alarm rings
6:00am Grant awake again.
7:00am Henry awake.

Needless to say, I felt like I was a zombie today. Like I really drifted in and out of consciousness at times. First thing I did was try to make Henry oatmeal for breakfast, by lighting the fire under the tea kettle. After contemplating whether I'd be able to pull off a shower before getting out the door for preschool (and ruling it out) I realized I smelled something hot. In fact, I had lit the wrong burner and the pots that were on the stove drying through the night were getting mighty hot, while the tea kettle remained cold.

We just ate leftovers the remainder of the day.

Raising kids is like a "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times" kind of story. It's extremely exhausting and terribly frustrating (Henry's on a kick of "I don't want to...", "No!", etc.).  But the kiss and hug at bedtime, or the spontaneous giggles between boys at supper, help to soften the edges of the day (which happened to include broken dishes, argh!).