Keeper of the Fruit Loops

I am The Keeper of The Fruit Loops, Manager of the Fecal Roster and the Driver of the People Mover. In other words, I'm a mom.

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You are here: Home / Uncategorized / If You Ask Me What I Do All Day, I Will Junk Punch You

If You Ask Me What I Do All Day, I Will Junk Punch You

May 6, 2018 By Christine 1 Comment

When the Fruit Loops were small, I was a stay at home mom.

Mostly.

By “mostly”,  I mean that while yes, I started my blog and worked part time as a nurse, for the most part, my main job was keeping the Fruit Loops from completely spilling out of the box. And, it continued that way until a year or so ago when I decided to pursue writing full time. I juggled my domestic engineering responsibilities with building a blog empire.

And it wasn’t at all seamless.

In fact, on most days, I am the Manager of the Fecal Roster and the Driver of The People Mover.

One of my least favorite comments from people when they’d hear that I was “mostly” a SAHM is “What in the world do you DO all day?!”

Usually, the comment was fraught with snark and delivered in a tone that says “What’s it REALLY like to watch Real Housewives and paint your toes all day long?”

When I was asked this question, I found myself acting like a contestant on Jeopardy! who just couldn’t quite come up with the answer before the buzzer.

I also had a strong urge to junk punch the asker.

I’d get sweaty and start clicking my SUV key fob incessantly hoping that Alex Trebeck would call my name.

So, in an effort to once and for all answer the question for anyone who has ever asked me “What do you DO all day?” (or who will do so in the future), I give you:

A Day In The Life Of My Cereal Bowl

530 am:  Damn. The alarm is making noise. Mutter expletive.
543 am:  Stare at self in mirror and wonder how wrinkles could possibly get worse.
612 am:  Argue with 12 year old that “no, you cannot wear those jeans with giant holes in the knees.”  And, “no, I don’t care if your friend does it, too.”
628 am:  Consume first sip of coffee.
647 am:  Compose healthy lunches for two Fruit Loops. Make sure to include organic this and that so that the lunch ladies don’t judge.
648 am:  “No, you may STILL not wear those jeans.”
650 am:  Politely inform Fruit Loops and Hubby that “Breakfast is ready.”
653 am:  “Breakfast is ready” uttered through clenched teeth.
655 am:  “BREAKFAST. IS. READY.” Yelled at the ceiling with just the right amount of rage that sends Fruit Loops and Hubby scurrying to kitchen.
716 am:  Begin daily surprise party. “SURPRISE! You are going to school!” Cue shock on faces of Fruit Loops.
725 am:  Ship Fruit Loops off on bus. Sigh. She’s wearing those pants with those holes. Roll eyes.
802 am:  Navigate land mine of dishes and completely destroyed kitchen. Resist urge to wretch at sight of Fruit Loops’ messy bedrooms. Close bedroom doors.
836 am:  Make 6 phone calls regarding credit card issue. Swear profusely.
902 am:  Consume abandoned cup of coffee, now cold and curdled. Microwave does wonders.
1000-1037 am:  Purchase items for homemade costume for Fruit Loop #2, dry cleaning for Hubby, purchase new shoes for Fruit Loop #1. Assume both children will hate all of it. Mentally prepare to make returns at Target.
1102 am:  Realize Fruit Loop #1 has forgotten organically prepared lunch.
1234 pm:  Deliver organically prepared lunch to school and insist school secretary call Fruit Loop #1 to office. Embarrass him with big hug and kiss. Smirk as he huffs off. He won’t forget his lunch again.
107 pm:  Quickly mop floor because you’ve realized that your socks are sticky and sticky socks are gross.
110 pm:  Do a load of laundry. Include sticky socks.
126 pm:  Write. Write some more. Congratulate self on being sufficiently funny. Or not. Rewrite blog.
230 pm:  Fruit Loop #1 stomps into house. He’s still annoyed by kiss in office.
240 pm:  Argument ensues over most embarrassing moment ever. Fruit Loop #1 slams door. Smirk. Teens are funny.
326 pm:  Remember at this EXACT moment that you haven’t peed since 532 am. Must use bathroom. NOW.
331 pm:  Remember that you forgot to eat lunch. Consume handful of pretzels and Diet Coke. Lunch of champions.
400 pm  Fruit Loop #2 and the offending jeans enter. She’s busted and she knows it. Raise eyebrow.
400-630:  Don taxi driver’s hat and get Fruit Loops to multiple activities in multiple locations. Perform great feats of strength and congratulate self on navigating back roads and timing arrivals like air traffic controller. Not using expletives is a bonus.
700 pm:  Politely inform Hubby and Fruit Loops that “Dinner is ready.”
702 pm  “Dinner is READY.” through clenched teeth.
705 pm:  “DINNER IS READY.” Use expletive under breath.
740 pm:  Cue second surprise party of the day:  “SURPRISE! You have to do homework!” Cue looks of shock from Fruit Loops.
812 pm:  No, you may not have your cell phone. HOMEWORK.
834 pm:  HOME. WORK.
843 pm:  Pour glass of wine as big as my head.
902 pm:  Fall asleep during <Insert pretty much any show on NBC or ABC in the 9 o’clock hour>.
1030 pm:  Drag self to bed after Hubby kicks me off the couch and set alarm for 530 am.

So, there you have it: what I DO all day long.

Alex, I’ll take “What Does She Do All Day?” for $200 and I’ll give my answer in the form of a question:  “What is I am in perpetual motion from sunrise to sundown, have a basic needs crisis pretty much every day at 330p, am mostly successful at the avoidance of expletives in front of the Fruit Loops and throw a surprise party twice a day?”

God, I hope the next question isn’t the Daily Double…..

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Nurse. Wife. Mom. Runner. Blogger. Writer. Thrift Shop Junkie. Sauvignon Blanc Snob.
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6). Earplugs are necessary. Again, see #5.
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8). 301 laps takes a really long time. Like, a really long time.
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I took this picture 143 days ago.
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We hiked several miles for this view and I remember feeling relaxed and free of stress.
We were in PS to attend a conference and the whispers of an unknown virus were starting to swell.
“A virus out of China.”
“There’s no vaccine and it’s highly contagious. It could become a pandemic.”
“Wait. Corona is a beer...”
Though we didn’t shake hands with attendees, for the most part, we went about the business of “normal” life.
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We talked about politics, current events, and books we loved. No stories about kids, no griping about husbands. Just intelligent, stimulating conversation that I now realize was going to become a lifeline only a few weeks later.
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Just the memory of being with two good friends when life didn’t feel so fractured.
Now those friends are hours away, whether by car or plane, and I think about that night in CA almost every day.
The me from 143 days ago had no idea what was coming.
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We just have to keep climbing.
No matter how much our legs are telling us it's too hard to go on.
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Those words seemed to be on auto repeat last summer.
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I had the driver’s license.
He wanted to stay a half hour later.
I gave him all kinds of hell for upending my evening so that he could hang for a bit more with his friends.
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And passed his driver’s test not long after.
My car hasn’t found him folding his lanky frame into the passenger seat in almost a year.
I miss seeing him there.
Tonight, I wanted to see my friends for a couple of socially distanced glasses of wine and I didn’t want to drive.
“Hey, I’d like to hang out with my friends tonight. Can you give me a ride?” I said to him.
And of course, he took every opportunity to give me a dose of my own medicine in jest:
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“I want you outside by 830p because I’ll be waiting.”
“No, you can’t stay til 9, I don’t care what the other moms are doing.”
It was a full circle moment.
After he picked me up and we swung by the local ice cream shop so he could get a treat for him and his sister, we drove home with the windows down on a summer night.
For a few moments, it was like old times.
I’ve missed him, even though we’ve been home together for months in quarantine.
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