Sunday, January 13, 2013

My Mission, Should I Choose To Accept It...

I can imagine my child-free friends stopping by and surveying my unwashed hair, yoga pants (yet no yoga mat to be seen for 100 miles), floors covered in faint muddy paw prints, and kitchen sink overflowing with Kraft Dinner encrusted plastic bowls and thinking to themselves, "I wonder what she does all day?"

Now, I cannot speak for other stay at home moms, but my days are spent essentially preventing the accidental deaths of my three children. I have a theory: (or is it a hypothesis? I should have paid more attention in science class) my babies were born with an ingrained death wish; it is my job as their mother to beat this Dare Devil gene into submission.
Examples of their death baiting:

Dryden luring Raegan (with a cheerio) into a laundry basket poised at the top of the stairs so that he can push her down on "a ride."

Raegan attempting to swallow 28 of Saku's round dog kibbles at once.

Noëlle discovering how to climb onto a sideboard to dangle herself off the living room banister...a good 20 foot drop onto the basement stairs below.

Dryden using my curtains as a bungee cord- around his neck.

Raegan getting the cap of a shampoo bottle stuck in her mouth.

Noëlle climbing into the front loading dryer for a nap.

A sub category to my duties would be preventing the Dog's death at the hands of two toddlers and a baby. These situations include, but are not limited to:

Trying to feed him inedible objects (wash cloths, large pine cones, rocks, a wooden spoon, a beer can)

Attempting to "fix him" with a screwdriver.

Eating his tail and/or ears.

There has also been the odd occasion where I have actually contributed to their deadly mission. Last week, while carrying Noëlle out to her waiting school bus, I slipped on ice at the top of the stairs and we tumbled down together. I got up, picked her up, took a step on more ice, and promptly wiped out again. Luckily, we spent good money on a bullet proof snowsuit so she was fine (giggling in fact.) The next day my arse and back was a lovely shade of twilight. A hazard of my job. No compensation.

And so, at the end of my day, if I get to tuck three squirming, breathing children into bed then my contract to them has been fulfilled for that 24 hour period. If I have energy after that, I MIGHT tackle housework, msg/text some friends so that they know they are still important, and ready myself for tomorrow. THIS is what I do all day.

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