Full on Full-time

I get up each morning and start the girls' lunches for school, after making the girls' beds and ours.  There is breakfast, if anyone has any interest in eating it, making beds--the girls' and ours, selecting clothes for the girls and myself, getting those clothes on (the girls and myself), combing hair (which, don't be fooled, is not anything like you have seen on a NO MORE TANGLES commercial and more like tooth removal with no anesthetic and no restraints), packing backpacks, supervising the selection of toys that will be privileged enough to come along for the ride (the less than five minute ride that sometimes sees a full zoo of escorts in the backseat), supervising the five 1/2 year old's tooth brushing and brushing the nearly three year old's teeth without her realizing that I am, in fact, brushing them so that we do not have to start over. Somewhere in there I try to put on clothes that match, are not pajamas, sweatpants and flannel and brush my hair, dust on some powder, glide on a bit of lip stain, get on my shoes, theirs, make sure all are tied, get on jackets, hats, backpacks, pack gloves, tissues, and an extra paci for Virginie.  Get the car warmed up, everything meant to travel with us in the car, and everyone down the stairs and out the door before the school bell rings at 8:45 am.  I must also note that Virginie, almost three years old, has no interest in wearing a jacket and favors sleeveless leotards, swimsuits, and summer tops during these winter months.  Getting to the car, in the car, on the road, and to the school before the bell rings is pretty much an accomplishment that requires congratulations and YES, some sort of medallion telling me that I am awesome. 

Once both girls are in school (and that is only three days a week for Virginie, the other two I get to cart her around with me ALL day) I race home to drink a glass of water (finally), get something to eat, pay bills, sign up for this or that class, straighten up, and hopefully sit down for a while to write or possibly exercise.  This does not always happen as I often find myself needing to return library books or run to the grocery store, pick up something from the cleaners, or some other household related task that takes precious moments away from my down time.

Just hours later I am back on the road picking up the little one from school and either bringing her back home for a little lunch (though she's just had lunch at school) and puzzle making, Strawberry Shortcake playing, My Little Pony dancing, drawing, total entertaining or I am driving all over the area trying to lull this tired little monster to sleep, though she would argue that she is not a monster, nor is she tired.  Ever.  Even when her eyes are rolling to the back of her head and she is drooling, her paci falling to her chest.  When she does fall asleep, I just pull up in front of Lily's school and wait the hour and change for school to get out.  I use that time to catch up on Sound Board on NPR, read, and occasionally carry my laptop with me to try to write.  If I have not well prepared myself with books or magazines, I send text messages and answer emails on my phone.  Maybe I'll get out and stretch my legs and back, but more often than not I don't want to even stir lest the little cracken awake.

Lily's release from school does not allow us time to go home and just chill as I sit or stand at the playground for thirty minutes to an hour almost every day, even longer if it is unseasonably warm, chatting with the other parents who have stayed to allow their little cherubs to let off steam.  When we do finally leave it is a race to get home before someone has to either use the bathroom or is near starvation in the backseat.  We have music (Yo Gabba Gabba), gum chewing (everybody), and meltdowns (any one of the three of us).  At home we start the process of getting ready for bed.  There is the review of all in the backpack, two or three assignments on the monthly homework chart, emptying of the lunch boxes and packs, tossing of dirty clothes in the hamper, an unwind for the girlies in the playroom or in front of the tv while Mommy changes into sweats, takes off makeup, and begins the dinner prep. 

Dinner prep usually involves asking the girls what they want, making it, and having them take the next two hours to eat it or move it around their plates.  The only thing about which they are certain is the popsicle or ice cream sandwich and thank God for that.  Because of these treats, I am able to get them to eat the other food!  While they eat, I run the bath, choose clothes that they will reject in the morning, prep the kitchen so that dishes can be put away quickly and easily.  There is bathing, lotioning, dressing in pajamas, braiding hair, brushing teeth, storytime, one last trip to the bathroom, choosing stuffed animals or Barbies to sleep with, snuggling in, and finally a quick story acted out by Mommy before lights out.  With the lights out we offer up five things a piece that we want to dream about so as to prevent nightmares.  We spray good dream potion (water with a bit of glitter in a pink spray bottle) twice and then cuddle, all three of us, in the girls' big bed, say our "I love you's" and I watch and wait for them to go to sleep before I do, sometimes failing in this miserably.

Then it's repeat.  For five days.  The variations either provide extreme highs, a ballet recital, playdate, sunny afternoon where everyone revels in the sunlight falling on our faces or the breeze in our hair, or beyond miserable lows, a midnight vomiting session that keeps me and the little one up all night, only to finally slumber the last hour before the morning's alarm or again, the little one refusing to get dressed in the morning and wandering naked to the front door expecting to sit in her car seat completely in the buff.  In the midst of this full time life, I am trying to complete the first drafts of two books, go back to work in voiceover, print, and on-camera acting, and have something that resembles a life, an effort at which I am not exactly succeeding. 

I have spent over two weeks trying to write even this blog post, so tight am I on time and energy.  There have been other starts and stops too, ideas that I did not have the commitment for, voice recordings to remind me of things to attempt later, scribbled notes here and there, apologies to friends, colleagues, family for my lack of availability, tears shed for myself when I catch sight of myself in the car window or store mirror and see the shell of me wandering from A to B in the hazy maze of young childrearing.

It's a lonely job this full- time full on caregiving.  There is no one to complain to, no one to appeal to.  The work is for the pure joy of raising beautiful, well adjusted, confident, able children and each day's little indignities are not even worth sharing, so fleeting and expected they are that all parents have them.  But in giving full time, pouring out for the delight, pleasure, and well-being of others, one just might sometimes forget to receive the small gifts that life offers.  I am still touched by the sweet gestures of my girls.  When they read, dance, say hilarious things, tell me how they love me, remind me of being young and curious, I am moved.  When I look at their faces, bright eyed, sweet lipped, flush cheeked, listen to their voices, breathe in their breath and scent of their hair and skin, I am stilled.  But in the monotony of the day to day, I am frozen and I don't dare dream of my life before I had a family and hope only to find myself again when we pass this lap.

I know this level of intensity and involvement will give way to other responsibilities and concerns.  That there will be mean girls and clothing wars, driving, SATs, team try outs and boys!  But I hope the physical stress, the fatigue, the sheer exhaustion of being a mother all the time, full time, full on can relax a bit so that I might share this life with them and have a little for myself.


(c) Copyright 2012. Repatriated Mama:Back to the Suburban Grind.