The definition of absurdity

There are days when I watch the chaos that is my life and I can do nothing other than laugh hysterically. Today was one of those days. I preface this with a little scene-setting.

It's 11:25 p.m. and I have shut my bedroom door because my youngest child kept coming in here, zombie-like, arms outstretched and whining for "just one more hug." I can still hear her saying "Mom, mom, mom, mom" about every 10 minutes from her bed. I'm thinking that if I could go back and teach her a more interesting name to use for me, I probably would ... or at least a quieter one. The "mom" cadence is punctuated by periodic screeching at her sister for, near as I can tell, breathing too loudly. Oh yeah, and before you say I'm awful for ignoring my poor, needy, loving little one, I would note that she is nine years old.

5:50 p.m.
I'm still working. I get a call from my teenage son. He wants to ride his bike over to the ice cream shop with his friend. This is the son who hasn't so much been, how shall I put this delicately, doing ANY homework for most of the semester. Yeah, here's the thing, my dear offspring, how 'bout you and I log into the school district's grading system and take a little look at your grades. Hmmmm. There is an odd phenomenon, here. Someone seems to have misplaced the first three letters of the alphabet. And why is it, that everywhere the code for "homework" goes a zero seems to follow? Let me say this slowly for you "hell, no." Louder? Oh yeah, I can do loud.

5:58 p.m.
Crap. I am so not getting my work done tonight. I have to be at the school for "Imaginarium" in a half hour. Crap.

6:10 p.m.
In the car, crank up the latest addition to my iPod for the truck test and drive home. Realize that this school activity might cost something and that I spent my last three bucks cash on soft serve for lunch. Call friend to ask if I need money. No luck.

6:20 p.m.
Arrive home. My parents are there. Damn, I forgot that they were coming by tonight. It occurs to me that I have no idea what I am going to feed my kids for dinner tonight. And where are my pants?

6:22 p.m.
Realize the little one is missing. Ummm. I thought she wanted to go to this thing.

6:23 p.m.
What the hell?!? The dog puked all over the laundry room. Enter oldest child. Important lesson: bad grades = cleaning dog puke.

6:25 p.m.
God, child, why are you wearing Sorel boots? It's 75 degrees outside.

6:29 p.m.
Bye Mom. Bye Dad. You'll feed the kids? OK, sure, whatever you want to do. See ya in an hour. I avoid a face plant when I trip over all the kid-related crap by the door.

6:32 p.m.
On the way to the school. Missed a call from my friend, who is at the school with her kid. Hooray! I don't need money.

6:39 p.m.
Arrive in school gym. Want to run away from the cacophony of noisy kids. Can't, on account of mine is there and I kinda have to stick around because of that.

7:02 p.m.
It's funny to trick my child with the magnets. Hee hee.

7:25 p.m.
1,2,3 GO! Escape from the school. Consider checking my mail while driving out of the school parking lot, since I haven't managed to get to the post office in about five weeks. Blow it off ... again.

7:35 p.m.
Back home. Am greeted by my dad's declaration, "We have beer and pizza." Did I mention that my parents rock?

8 p.m.
Dang it, child (the middle one this time) quit watching the dancing cats on Youtube and do the goddamn dishes!

8:03 p.m.
Where the heck is the little one? She needs to bathe.

8:45 p.m.
Bid parents goodbye after having spent an hour discussing my less-than-motivated eldest child. My dad gives him a little prod on the way out the door.

8:46 p.m.
Aforementioned eldest child doesn't like it when mom forms alliances with the grandparents, apparently. Spend a half hour discussing this.

9:10 p.m.
Forehead bloody from brick wall conversation of "I'll get my grades up, Mom" followed by "Just DO it and quit talking about it." Pretty sure I failed this lesson in parenting school.

9:12 p.m.
The little one is sobbing and hanging off me like a condemned woman. She is despondent because ... I will not buy her the first Twilight book. Did I mention that picture books are a challenge for her?

9:14 p.m.
Call my friend to ask if we are walking tonight. The little one is sobbing in the background and won't go to bed. My friend says "yes" as soon as she deals with her kid drama. Oh baby, I SO get that.

9:16 p.m.
The little one is still sobbing, but is now sitting crosslegged on my bed, her arms folded petulantly. She says it's likely that she is the only one in the world who will never have the Twilight book. That she will likely die never having read it. She also figures that if I don't rush over to Barnes & Noble right now, they will probably sell out of it and she WILL be condemned ... to a life without the foundational story of Bella and Edward.

9:18 p.m.
The little one asserts herself. She informs me that she will not go to bed and will not be leaving my bed. She will sit here until 7 o'clock. She'll show me.

9:23 p.m.
My friend walks in the house. We leave. Buh-bye. We spend the next hour cracking up at our absurdly dramatic children.

10:30 p.m.
We are pretty sure that reproduction is overrated.

11:25 p.m.
I haven't the foggiest idea what I did for the last hour, but I don't think I killed anyone. I know this because there are no blood spatters anywhere.

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