Peanut Butter Jelly Time

You know those days that you pop out of bed, excited for life and all you're going to get accomplished that day, and then your kids step in, shaking their heads and saying, "No way, Jose. We have a full 12 hours of fighting, whining and general house-wrecking planned. You ain't getting nothing done today." And you're sitting there forlorn, thinking of any argument, "I'll make you cake for breakfast. No, seriously, look at this pound cake recipe. Doesn't it look good? It does? Yes, Mommy will even put it in muffin tins so when anyone asks you about breakfast you can tell them we ate muffins, like we are decent people who don't raid the Our Best Bites dessert section before 8 am."
And then before you know it, the muffins are devoured and the little rascals are carrying on with their evil plans anyway, arguing and thrashing and pulling out all the toys you, in a more organized life, cycled into the garage, to be pulled out in a few months after putting others away, creating a mess so awful that when Hubby gets home he asks, "Wow, did they have friends over? No? How did they do this all themselves in just one morning?"
So you use those few chaotic moments to launch a productivity sneak attack, but your children find you and holler, "MommyIwannahelpyou! MommyIwannahelpyou!" and they're stealing the scissors and unraveling all the ribbon and taping everything in sight and then tattle on their sibling who is mimicking their every move, but it's not bad when I do it, only when she does because she gets in my way of torturing you, Mom.
And now it's time to get ready to go, and Number 3's diaper smells as if a giant crack in the Earth has opened to reveal several new sulfur deposits, so you hose her down and try to do Number 2's hair. As you're wrangling these unrepentant strands, Number 1 begins crying with an unusual amount of alarm, "My nose is bleeding!" A bloody nose is not unheard of in our house (this may come as a big shock to you), so I don't think it's going to be terrible, but I try to get in to him quickly anyway. I am wholly unprepared for the blood splashed all across the tile, filling the bathroom sink, and literally gushing from my poor five year old's honker. His eyes are terrified and he's crying and trying to keep things together with a wimpy Kleenex and Number 3's crying because I put her down and Number 2 is bouncing, trying to see around me so she doesn't miss any excitement. We get some ice and a washcloth and get Big Brother settled trying to stave off the flow, while the girls and I mop up the blood a little so poor Judsen doesn't get freaked out every time he looks around. I'm trying to keep him calm and get the disinfecting spray and clean up and make sure he knows he's not going to die and prevent Felicity from blinding herself and her sister in her exuberance to help me with the Clorox.
Finally most of the blood is sopped up and we sit on the couch for a brief reprieve of cuddling and Curious George.
Now that Judsen's feeling better and everyone is mostly calm, it is time for us to attend our obligations, which we are at least 45 minutes late to. These go fairly well, except for JJ's terrible twos rehearsal, in which she throws a spectacular fit over...well..name something, I drank too much milk, the dog doesn't want me to stand on her, your rice is in a brown bowl and mine is white...you know.
We get home all ready for a nap, but before I can even make it into the house, Felicity comes running, "I'm sorry I made a big mess with the noodles, Mom." Fantastic. I walk in to find an ocean of dried rotini swimming in the hallway. Judsen has found a jumprope from somewhere and is attempting to either lasso the pasta or slingshot it across the house; it's hard to tell. JJ is alternating between punting it around and ice skating on top of it, which sends her crashing to the floor. Felicity is making an honest attempt to sweep up, but she's small and the broom's big and it's much easier if I just stir the noodles around.
Ok. Pasta crisis dealt with, now for naps. JJ's down, but the big kids decide there's no deal if we can't first sneak out of bed several times for an impromptu game of Ants in the Pants.
After naps, it's time to prepare for swimming lessons. Josh blessedly arrives home, and apparently JJ was as happy to see him as I was because this was another big chance for her to freak out about something. Wahoo! As I herd the older two out the door, she abandons Daddy, muffins, and Martha Speaks to come prostrate herself at the entrance to the garage and cry.
Swim lessons are great, up until the part that we try to go home. Both kids decide they definitely have to use the bathroom before we get in the car, so I say a little prayer, send Judsen into the boys' locker room and go with Felicity to the girls'. She gets in her stall and as I'm waiting for her, the women's swim team from the college comes in. Now I'm trying hard not to send eye daggers and I-hope-you-gain-80-lbs-and-miles-of-stretch-marks-when-you're-pregnant thoughts towards their tiny, tan bodies, because that simply would not be kind. So I turn my attention back to Felicity, who at this point, has been in the stall for 20 minutes, pooping, pirouetting with her swimsuit around her ankles, and redecorating the place with shredded toilet paper. Oy.
We hurry out because I am genuinely concerned that Judsen has been on his own so long, and to my greatest fear, he is nowhere to be found. I wait a few minutes, ask the pool staff, ask a guy going in to the locker room, look outside. My baby boy is not anywhere. Oh my heck, oh my heck, oh my heck. I head outside one more time and hear a faint, "Mom!" I look across the parking lot and in relief (and terror and a little anger) see him lounging near our van. A nice lady who was just leaving noticed our situation and helped hustle him back to me. He had gotten worried and didn't know what to do, and because "it was taking you forever in there and I thought I saw a person that was you by our car", he walked out the door, crossed the parking lot alone and "a car almost hit me" and waited next to the van for us. Oh, goodness. (The one bright spot here, aside from him being okay, is that we had a very good discussion about what to do if that ever happens again.)
Now we're home and I sit for a minute to relax and let the adrenaline and horror seep away, and the girls decide it would be a perfect time for a WWE smackdown on Mommy's lap, so they're wrestling each other and grabbing my glasses and kickboxing my tummy. Flight wins out over fight and I jump up and sprint into the bathroom, hiding on the toilet and locking the door behind me. Aaaahhh!!
Thankfully Josh is a wonderful human being and decides it's Peanut Butter Jelly Time. You know this time. Things get so hectic and Mom's losing her marbles and we still don't know what's for dinner, so Dad busts out his days-like-this special: PB&J.
So I come out, a little calmer and ready to make a little appearance at a bridal shower. I laugh and have fun with the girls for a bit, bring some cake home to my kids, at least one smears it all over the pretty white shirt she was wearing, and now we're having showers and all going to bed at 8:30.
And maybe tomorrow I'll wake up refreshed and composed. Or maybe I won't and we'll have Peanut Butter Jelly Time again. All I can say is, bless you Mr. Jif and Mr. Smucker. And Josh. Always, bless you, Josh.