It is Saturday morning and my husband is working. I had about 4 hours of sleep last night because I stayed up late to spend time with my husband and watch an episode of Chernobyl. I fell asleep on the couch with my son, who had woken up just as my head hit the pillow, last night and my neck is tight and out of wack.
I am attempting to make a potato salad and cookies for my father-in-law’s birthday party later this afternoon and also prepare a couple recipes for tomorrow’s Father’s Day brunch for my dad and my husband. Every two minutes my kids are either fighting, throwing toys, begging to watch other kids play with toys on YouTube, or asking for a snack.
One kid asks to “help” me in the kitchen and unrolls several feet of plastic wrap. I can hear the other throwing toys at the wall.
I realize, halfway through making my potato salad that I forgot to put green onions and celery on my grocery list, so my husband did not get any when he went shopping last night.
My daughter steals my phone and I find 38 photographs of myself, the floor, and her hands.
I am trying to wash dishes as I cook, because there was an ant exploring my kitchen counter this morning and I don’t want to leave a dirty dish out that could attract more.
After the 100th time asking my children to sit quietly and watch a cartoon so that I can finish, I just want to sit down on the floor and cry.
It ends up being 2:45 p.m. before I am able to take a shower. This is life as a mom in the real world, and it’s just another day.