25 or 6 to 4

You know that show 24? Of course. Before we had kids, Josh and I had a Christmastime tradition of marathoning entire seasons of the show when we went south to visit our parents. Josh's brother always had the latest season on DVD so we'd spend too much of our school break drowning in the tales of Jack & Co. Although I enjoyed this excessive period of sloth and junk food, I always thought the show was unrealistic. Not even in the obvious ways like how people and vehicles blow up and then unexpectedly return to gloriously blow up again a few hours later. No, I'd just watch and think, "All that happened in an hour? That much stuff never happens in an hour. No hour is so dramatically and ridiculously filled with unexpected things/horrors. The only thing that happens in my life in an hour is that I've slept one hour longer thanks to a super boring investments lecture. These writers have no idea about real life." (Isn't it cute how much we thought we knew before we had kids??)
Enter: motherhood time warp, where the days are eternal but the years gone in a blink, where in the space of an hour you've acted as nurse, cabbie, tutor, pacifier, referee, chef, and Mom-come-play-with-us-right-now-you-have-to-be-the king cobra but also you haven't had time to shower in $% days because a substantial percentage of your minutes is spent convincing poor Number 4 he'll survive if he's set down for more than 6 seconds.
And now, to the delight of the Fates who were apparently listening and snickering behind their fingers during those ironic pre-kid hours, I spend one thousand percent of my days awash in this bizarre space-time continuum where normal rules don't apply and little makes sense that we call parenthood. And I have days like this: (cue suspenseful theme music and explosion montage)

1:00 pm - I begin fixing my lunch, two hours ahead of where we usually are. Hooray!
1:04 pm - Number Two begins pooping
1:06 pm - Number Two begins crying, asking me to come wipe her, something she's been doing on her own for two years
1:08 pm - I reassure Number Two that she can do it! Go team! You're the best woohoo!
1:15 pm - Still working on lunch, Number Three pees on the floor, through the panties-no-not-diapers-I-won't-wear-diapers she insisted on today
1:21 pm - I discover aforementioned pee in a large puddle, help Number Three use the potty, and clean up the world
1:32 pm - I resume lunch prep
1:35 pm - I again reassure Number Two, who is now screaming nonsensically that she cannot do it Mom I can't do it just come wipe my bum there are wipes in here and toilet paper just come do it for me
1:44 pm - I attempt to eat the lunch, now 45 minutes into the setup of a 5 minute meal
1:49 pm - Number Four starts crying, trying to outweigh the shrieks of Two, who has deteriorated and is now sitting poopy-bummed in the hall with her face in her knees, Mom I can't do it I'm just a little girl I can't I'm little come do it just come do it
1:51 pm - I simultaneously encourage and try to ignore Two and also scarf down lunch at lightning speed
2:00 pm - I reach Four to discover he is smothered in a smushy yellow goo of his own making and that it's already staining his new adorable outfit (this is especially concerning since outfits that are either new or adorable are somewhat of a novelty in our house) and has also soaked into the couch and his pillow
2:08 pm - Four, now shiny clean, also decides he's starving like he's never before eaten in all his life
2:16 pm - Two realizes the futility of her struggle and finally emerges from the bathroom clean and requesting immediate-no-Mom!-teach-me-now-you-can-do-it-while-you're-feeding-CJ and elaborate instructions on how to execute the line dance from Footloose
2:30 pm - Time to pick One up from school, so Four decides now would be a good time to unleash another uncontainable tidal wave of mustard (by "mustard" I mean poop. If you don't get it, you don't wanna know, take it from me.)
2:38 pm - We frantically sprint out the door, chuck everyone into the car and hit the road
2:40 pm - Two screams desperately that JJ isn't buckled Mom and I immediately pull over to correct this epic oversight, only to also discover that in a mindless stupor I evidently put panties back on her the last time she wet through them and now she's wet herself again. in the car. while stowing away on her brother's seat that is now sopping and stinking wet and now I have to move her to her actual right car seat, getting it all wet and nasty, too, so we'll just put a grocery sack on top of One's seat and that'll have to do until we get home and oh my heck we are so late they're going to think we're not coming and they'll give poor Judsen away to a proper home and do you think they'd consider taking one of  the others instead how about the one who just peed everywhere twice in two hours and what am I saying just drive Woman, drive!
2:54 pm - We return home with Number One thankfully returned safely to our care. I clean up the van, carefully make sure all the going-in-the-car stuff is returned to the house and begin counting my children, just to reassure myself everything and one is in its proper place. Of course, Number Three is missing and I run out to the (still open, nice going again, Mom) garage and discover she has streaked down to the road, across our thorn-infested gravel driveway, barefoot and naked except for a diaper and her snuggle blanket.
3:03 pm - Three comes around the corner with a face both shameful and smug and I find she's has filled her freshly replaced diaper with poop and has it smeared on her hands and body
3:04 pm - I let out a war whoop, not so much at my filthy child as at the universe who must think he's freakin' hilarious, cart Three off to the shower and start a load of laundry
3:15 pm - A spontaneous brownie and dance party breaks out and darn it all, I enjoy it. When every day of your life feels like an episode of 25 (it's like 24, but with an extra hour thrown in because everything takes longer when you have to do it with between 6 and 4 kids - it's hard to keep track), you have to take what pleasures you can get.