How The Morning Goes.


The Gnomes would like to thank you for your continued patronage of their adventures, and apologize profusely for their recent absence.

How do people do this? I have appreciation anew for anyone who possesses the ability to work and look after kids in a sane and orderly fashion. Sometimes that’s me. A lot of times, though, I would love to possess a smidgen of that sanity. As it stands, mornings go like this:

6:00am – Hauled out of bed by two pint-size Creatures Of The Very Early.

6:15am – Make coffee, make breakfast, lay on floor.

6:16am – Amend laying on floor to include a blanket, keep one ear open for signs that children are still living and not trying to eat each other instead of their toast.

6:20am – Give groggy warning that spoons are not for making music on the table before 8:00am.

6:30am – Pry self out of cocoon, wipe down children, feel for coffee.

6:35am – Settle Littlest back to bed. (He enjoys a slow wake-up once his tummy is satisfied.)

6:40am – (Day off) Watch sunrise with coffee and Biggest. (Daycare Day) Wrangle children into clothing, make lunches, pack gym bag, drink coffee in between corrallings.

7:00am – (Day off) Quiet Time for Creatures Of The Very Early, nap for Mommy. (Daycare Day) Check list in head, satisfy personal hygiene requirements.

7:20am – Wiggle both children into shoes, coats, hats, mittens, etc. Resolve various insistences of a) not needing any of the above or b) being physically unable to put any effort towards clothing self.

7:30am – Out to the bus, unless it’s a Day Off. In which case, I will be drooling into my pillow.

And that’s only the first hour and a half. That doesn’t include my work shift, my three marathon training sessions per week, picking up and dropping off both Creatures to Daycare, and making it home in one piece. That’s also to say nothing of any evening entertainment, or the delightfully relaxing yoga routine my husband and I manage to squeeze in before bedtime at 10:00pm.

Thank heavens my husband is a housewife in disguise because if we were relying on me to be accomplishing wifely duties on a regular basis… we’d be screwed and food poisoned. And naked. Very naked.

Ahh… good times…

The Handler.

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