Notes From Mother’s Journal: Toast

5:50 am: Wake up. Get out of bed. Dark. Raining. Again.

5:55: Stare at my computer for half an hour, waiting to be inspired by something. Anything. Write half a bad poem about darkness and rain.

6:40: Come downstairs. Check prompt book. Hate all the prompts. Decide to be honest and choose the one written on today’s date: “Your Worst Nightmare.” Write half a bad poem about nightmares. Write two paragraphs about my own death.

6:50: Fresco gets up. He cries because I might not let him take the bread out of the bag and put it in the toaster. Oh. I see.

7:00: Trombone gets up. Requests toast just like Fresco has it, with peanut butter, butter and honey on the side and a knife for spreading. Almost starts crying because he doesn’t see the honey on his plate. I explain that the honey is clear and it is on the plate and I am not trying to rip him off or anything.

7:30: While I am in the bathroom, the kids have a toast race, to see who can eat their toast the fastest.

7:35: Fresco wins the toast race! (including crusts! impressive!) Asks for another piece of toast.

7:40: Trombone finishes HIS toast! Declares himself winner!

7:41: Fresco has meltdown because HE wanted to win the toast race.

7:42: I explain that he did win the toast race. I explain that Trombone actually lost the toast race. Explain that now that he (Fresco) has new toast, a new toast race is afoot.

7:43: After some anger around losing the toast race, Trombone asks for more toast.

7:44: Anger recommences when I explain that Fresco got the last piece.

7:45: Retire to the bathroom for some time to myself while I ponder how I got to a place in my life where I am talking about toast races.Amuse myself by considering the other definitions of toast race: a people who are toast or otherwise resemble toast, politicians dressed as toast, toast marathons. Decide I am a very sad person for being amused by these things.

7:50: Who wants to watch some nice TV?

7:51: I stare at my computer some more. I read some clever blog entries and some news. I decide not to publish my half poems about death and rain and darkness. You are all welcome.

8:30 – 9:45: We go to Trombone’s room to play Toy Story, Star Wars, Kitchen Wars, and Throw Stuffed Animals in the Pretend Kitchen’s Microwave and Make them Explode and then Yell BOOOOOM.

9:46: I declare my intention to have a shower. My intention is met with strong disapproval. Trombone threatens to throw me in the pretend kitchen’s microwave and make me explode. I know I won’t fit so I just go on ahead with my shower.

9:48: Over the steady thrum of water on my head I hear shrieks and crying. I decide to ignore it. I consider the phrase “Calgon, Take Me Away” and ponder other marketing towards mothers that I never really appreciated until I became one. I try to plot a potential blog post in my head. It involves “Mothers love yogurt even more than other women because they’ve convinced themselves it’s a treat” and “Mothers will gladly pay a little extra for the body wash that makes them smell like they had a longer shower than three minutes.”

9:50: I ask the children if they need my help stopping. with. the. damn. shrieking and discover they are engaged in an elaborate role-playing game with Trombone as both the superhero and the villain and Fresco as the victim. Both children tell me they are fine. I proceed upstairs to dress myself.

9:55: I suggest the children dress themselves, that we might go get groceries. Trombone asks for a snack before we leave. I allow that it is snacktime and ask what interests him. He says toast. I explain that the reason we have to go get groceries is because we are out of bread. Among other things. He asks what other things. I tell him I have a list. He asks me to recite it.

10:10: Downstairs, snacking on cereal.

(*omitted* I changed the most evil diaper of all time)

10:30: Trombone proceeds to the bathroom.

10:40: I apply socks and shoes and coat to Fresco and let Trombone, who is still in the bathroom, know we will be outside waiting for him.

10:41: Miraculous! He appears outside, fully dressed!

10:50: In the car.

11:05: Superstore! Trombone explains to me that the fish in the fish tanks are sad because they want to be free and also because they don’t want to be eaten. I tell him I agree. Good thing they don’t have pigs in the bacon isle.

11:30: The children are so well-behaved at Superstore, I allow them to touch all the toys for half an hour.

12:00: The man behind me in line is buying a colossal amount of no-name brand weiners and pork chops.

12:30: Home! I proffer the new bag of hard-won bread and offer the children sandwiches but they decline. I offer them toast. They want cracker sandwiches. Trombone eats his with ham and parmesan cheese and Fresco eats his with grilled cheese cheese, which is cheddar, but then he removes the cheddar and just eats the crackers.

12:45: Fine then. I eat toast. Cheese toast. With extra grilled cheese cheese.

Afternoon activities will include: making make-your-own chicken tacos. Sword play with bubble wands. And possibly a last minute trip to the liquor store for some booze. And darn it all, I forgot to pick up the Calgon.

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3 Responses to Notes From Mother’s Journal: Toast

  1. eva says:

    ….and THAT’S why my firstborn (the one who can talk and imagine stuff) is in daycare.

    I mean that in the most tongue in cheek way possible, because I love spending time with her, just not when she makes me play or piles her demands on top of each other until I can’t breathe.

  2. Agreed on not having pigs in the bacon aisle. My kid has been asking a lot of questions about where meat comes from lately. I can see where farm living would come in handy.