It's May 1st. We were making banana pancakes this morning, and turkey bacon, and it was only a regular Thursday. Not even special Saturday. The kids decided they'd help, and pulled up chairs directly in front of the stove, making cooking for me virtually impossible unless I had no legs or torso. The children didn't seem to mind that they were DIRECTLY in front of me. Emma kept tossing in bacon and Nathan kept flipping gooey, broken pancakes, and I had only been up EIGHTEEN MINUTES. And the baby was banging on her high chair while her gramma talked non-stop and Barry wandered around looking for coffee in his Grinch pajamas. My brain had not fully awakened and already there was all this food happening, and the danger of scalding and hair on fire. And we had to be done by 7:30. And I had NO ROOM. Yet the kids were happy, and we ate like that, in front of the stove, like cavemen with appliances. I fed them pieces of fruit and water, we ate hunks of turkey strips and half-cooked pancakes, and then there was the rush for clothing and hair and backpacks and I throw on a pair of pants and a shirt I don't want to wear all day (and yet I do) and we're already walking to school, me and the three kids, fed, dressed and walking out into life. There are already cars in the road, sprinklers are going off, there are already people at school, the bells are ringing, the kids go into class and wait a minute this is THURSDAY happening, full force, and I'm hanging on by the pigtails. This is the instant carnival, from the moment eyes flick open at our house. There is food, talk, crowds, yelling, banging, clothes flying off - we're living a rock concert, every day. No wonder I'm so tired and have nothing tangible to show for it. Much going on but nothing really being DONE, apart from getting through the day. Growing three people.
