Hi, I’m in my yoga pants and a tank top drinking wine on my couch. Like every day. Niko seems to think this is abnormal, but he is clearly delusional. Hello, moms like to drink in their jams at home. Am I right? LADIES?
Here is any given day for me:
– “WAHHHHHH!” I roll out of bed toward the kids’ room. I actually roll like they say to do when you’re on fire. I attempt to take the baby in my bed, which creates havoc as the older one wakes up and tries to crawl in too. Four people, queen size bed. Bad math.
– Breakfast. Coffee and internet for me, newspapers and cereal for everyone else. One of those elses throws everything on the floor and I ignore it until I’m all caught up on Facebook.
– Activity. Every day we have some planned activity. I dress my kids in matching clothes not so I can show off how rich I am (my mother-in-law’s theory) but so I only have to think about one outfit. Ah, they’re in the blue dresses. Sweet. Off to playgroup/preschool/zoo/gymnastics/dance/the smoking crater that is my day.
– Lunch. Home. Back to my jams.
– Naps. The little one sleeps, the big one makes me pretend I’m a horse for two hours then interrogates me on what flowers eat for dinner. I do not know the answer. Dirt?
– No man’s land. This part of my day could be anything. Today some Medill journalism students from came over and taped an interview with me about my thoughts on tiger momming. You know, the backlash to attachment parenting, the movement that has been plaguing the American guilt complex for the last decade? My answer was go ahead, be a tiger mom. But focus your tiger momming on your kid, not other parents whom you disagree with their parenting styles. I don’t need a spanking.
– Dinner. Spaghetti on the floor, followed by cracking open a bottle and whipping up some chili pepper sweet potatoes.
After a lively debate with the hubs about California and why we’re such dorks, we’ve both retired to our screens. Hello, love! He’s playing some game that kills people and I’m telling you I drink in my pajamas.