"Just another manic Monday"

Weekday mornings are hectic. Really hectic. It typically goes something like this. My alarm goes off around 5:15am. I then proceed to press the snooze button a million times, which in turn makes the alarm sound every five minutes like a mosquito buzzing in my ear. In fact, there's nothing much I can do about it other than wake up, because I can't for the life of me figure out how to reset the darn thing.

The past couple of weeks have been particularly challenging because my sweet little angels have had a sudden change in their sleep patterns. Thus, causing Mommy to be up a few times throughout the night or up very early, like as in 4:30am. The big boy has recently gotten in on the action and has ever so loudly been getting out of bed and has figured out how to open the child safety knob on the inside of his door. We have determined it's easier to admit defeat and let him join us. Therefore, the past few days in particular have left me overtired with all-day muscle aches, which I can only imagine are the direct result of lifting car seats, lack of proper nutrition and sleeping like a contortionist because my two year old has taken to sleeping horizontally between Ben and I.

When I finally do wake up, I try to squeeze in a shower if I'm lucky. Then comes my tradition of watching the channel 3 news (again, if I'm lucky and not interrupted by "Phinneas and Pherb" on the Disney Channel). I nurse the twins, then struggle to find clean clothes for the boys. This is not to say that Ben does nothing, because he does. However, my darling hubby usually waits til the very last minute to roll out of bed and I have to admit, I can't help but wish bodily harm upon him, as he lays there snoring while I deal with "feeding time", fighting Carter for the remote and juggling various outfit combinations in my head.

Most mornings Ben can be found ironing his work clothes downstairs while Carter screams the lyrics to many a song as he sits perched on the potty. After I change the twins I am usually running around trying to get myself (somewhat) put together while Carter chants "Nudie Mommy, Nudie Mommy". Let's put it this way; it is a daily struggle to remember deodorant, let alone to make my hair look good.

Once we're all ready, Carter slides down the stairs while Ben and I each grab a baby and we all meet in the kitchen, where the twins are strapped into their car seats, Carter screams for fruit snacks or anything else he knows he can't have in the morning. In fact, one day he had a tantrum because he wanted a can of beer, but that's another story. Every day we pack bottles, feed the dog, put my breast pump back together and rack our brains for the items we need to bring to daycare. Then Ben helps me pile everyone into the car, we exchange a quick "love you" and we go our separate ways. Once I arrive at work, I must then pull the stroller out of the car, put the babies in the stroller, attach my two bags to the stroller, then get Carter to hold my hand as we cross the parking lot. Sometimes I am also balancing a hot coffee and a handbag. It's quite the spectacle, which I invite you to watch. Bring your popcorn because it takes awhile and it's cheap entertainment.

One particular Monday morning, I was freshly showered but rushing like usual. I threw on my red shirt, grabbed my shoes and realized that my black Capri pants were folded in the laundry room downstairs. Because I was pretty much ready (other than the capris) and my hands were full, I slipped on my shoes and headed down the stairs. Clearly, I am a multi-tasker. Carter had gone down ahead of me, while Ben and the boys were still up in our room. As I reached the bottom step, I heard the back door slam. Carter was nowhere to be seen and panic mode set in.

I whipped open the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the back porch, wearing nothing but my t-shirt, undies and wedged heels. "Oh my dear God", I thought to myself. "I cannot believe this is happening". I looked both ways. No sign of life from the neighbors. Then, Carter decided to make his appearance. He stood across the driveway from me, as if we were involved in a stand-off in the Old West, a perfectly mischievous smirk creeping across his face.

I could see the wheels turning in his head. Before I knew it he started to back up, his eyes never leaving mine. "Get back here", I growled. "NO!" he flatly shouted and scurried off through the dewy morning grass towards his slide. He looked back at me. "GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW", I loudly whispered, trying my best not to wake our neighbors for the obvious reason that the whack-job next door was screaming at her kid at 6:55am in nothing but her skivvies and a pair of red high heels.

Growing desperate I threatened that he would not be receiving a treat on the ride home that afternoon and that his clothes were going to get wet if he took one more step. He stood motionless, staring at me as if he didn't hear a word I said. With a huff, I spun around, ran inside, slid on my pants and took off into the back yard. I swooped up my little devil child, and carried him like a football, back into the confines of our home.

You might be thinking that this is one of those "once in a lifetime" moments. But I have to tell you the scary thing is, this kind of stuff seems to happen to me ALL THE TIME. The twins are now four months old and I'm already feeling outnumbered as the only lady in the house. Moments like these make me feel like I'm in the movie "The Truman Show", or "Candid Camera" at the very least. As I sit here blogging I look around and this is what I see: two different toddler sneakers, one flip flop, books scattered on the coffee table, disheveled pillows on my window seat, diapers, blankets, suction-cup darts stuck to the wall and to top it all off, a gigantic (boy) cat surveying the whole scene. I crack up at the thought of Carter reading this blog one day when he gets older and taking pride in his work of successfully making his mother look like a lunatic.