Many days when my husband comes home from work he says something to the effect of: 

"Hey, slow down a minute, I'm home. I can help. Right now I just feel like I'm getting in your way." 

He's right...he is. But it's not his fault. I'm alone with my kids (and three days a week with 2 other kids, too) all day with no one to talk to besides a houseful of toddlers and preschoolers (and a dog).

And my head. 

I have lists in there. I have time tables. I have "this needs to get done before I can do that and I need to do it then because if I wait too long then {enter child's name here} will have a temper tantrum because that other thing isn't happening" circling in my noggin all day, everyday. So when my husband comes home it takes a bit for me to get out of my head and back to being a normal person. Well, as normal as this neurotic woman can be. 

Which makes sense. My husband has a roughly 30 minute commute home to decompress and leave work behind. Not that driving in rush hour traffic is the most relaxing thing, but he still has that transitional period. 

My transitional period is... well, considering I live where I work the transition from "the boss" to "the co-boss" is a hard one.

But his main complaint is that I don't really talk to him. I just run around him, might ask him to do something and if he doesn't do it like right.that.second. then I just do it. I keep going and going...as though I'm still alone, managing the kids, house, dog.

Reflecting on my mind activity the other day, I started to wonder what my daily thoughts were like and if I could try to capture them. 

Here are some of the highlights of just a couple of hours in my head (because no one needs to be in my head for too long--you may never get out).
One kid awake. 
5 more minutes.
Two kids awake. 
5 more minutes.
Two kids awake yelling for me. 
5 more minutes...
Ok, not happening. I need coffee.

10 minutes later. 
Is the coffee done yet? What is taking it so long?

2 minutes later. 
Ahhhhhhh, coffee. 
What can we do today that's fun. Maybe we'll do some crafts? I was reading about this cool idea the other day, what site was that...maybe I can find it...
Oh, I have alerts from Facebook! Let's check that.
This coffee is so good. 
What was I doing? Oh, yes, the craft...
Crap! What time is it! We're going to be late for preschool!

5 minutes later.
Why does E move so slowly? If I tell her we're late she moves slower. If I act stressed she'll get upset. So I'll just be calm and patient. I'll model patience. She needs that. I'll...

5 minutes later.
Ok. So I probably shouldn't have just snapped at her and told her to put her socks on her feet and not her hands. Now I have a crying girl.

5 minutes later.
Let's think about this. I need 5 minutes for her hair (those snarls!), we can get breakfast done in 15, I'll clean up when we get home. I'll line up boots at the door and get coats ready. Her backpack is on the door, shoes in it. I think we'll get there only like 3 minutes late. Which is basically on time. Actually it's early. We're totally fine.

5 minutes later.
Why do I get E dressed before breakfast. There's always a spill.

5 minutes later.
Ok, we'll be like 5 minutes late, still fine.

2 minutes later.
B needs a toy. And, of course, not just any toy, but the one car we can't find before we leave. Let's think about this. He likes to push his cars into tunnels or under things. Look under the couches. No. Look under the bench. No. Look in the heating grate...of course.

5 minutes later.
I shouldn't have scolded him. And now I have a crying boy. 7 minutes late. Just as long as I make it before 10 minutes. Because that's late.

1 minute later.
I forgot to feed the dog. I really am a horrible person. 7 1/2 minutes late.

1 minute later. 
I need new mittens. I can't buckle the kids in with these darn things on. Maybe after we drop E off at school we can go to Target. That would be so nice. I can buy a nice cup of coffee, we can wander around, have some mother/son bonding. It will be the best morning ever.

2 minutes later.
I forgot E's bag. 8 minutes late.

1 minute later.
I'll get a mocha. No, I wonder if they'll still have gingerbread lattes. Maybe just an americano, I'm feeling simple. And a croissant. I am so excited. This is turning out to be a great morning. 

2 minutes later.
I forgot my purse. It's sitting by the heating vent. 

1 minute later.
Of course, since we are running about 8 minutes late there are no parking spots. 

3 minutes later.
Why does she seriously move so s-l-o-w. I don't understand how she can take so long to take off her boots and slip on shoes. I wish I could just carry her. Not have to deal with boots. I could throw her over my shoulder and just carry her across the parking lot like a sack of potatoes. Anything is better than waiting for her to slip her boots off and slip her shoes on. That's literally all she has to do. Slip off. Slip on. It's like she knows I want her to hurry up. Is she being manipulative? Can you be manipulative at 4? Wait, where did B go...

1 minute later.
9 1/2 minutes late but under 10 minutes so I count it as a win. I rock.

10 minutes later.
Got purse, going to Target. I can't wait for my drink. B is so cute, he loves our errand mornings. This is perfect. We are so instagramable. Oh my god that is so cute. Instagramable. I obviously need to instagram our instagramable cuteness. 

10 minutes later.
So I knew he could scream but I didn't know he could scream SO loud. My eardrum is shattered. I seriously think it's ringing. All because they were out of Madeleine cookies. How do you run out of those darn little cookies? Those are like mommy bribery central. It's their fault he got so upset. They should have had them.

1 minute later.
Ok. It might have been my fault a little. Whatever. He's happy now. So I rock again.

1 minute later.
What was I coming here for again...
Well I need bread. And milk. And cereal. When don't we need those things? What is going to be like raising teenagers? I already feel like they eat so much. Teenagers. I can't imagine. It feels so far away but with E starting kindergarten in just a few months and then B next year...it's going to be here before I know it. 

1 minute later.
I will not start crying in Target. I will not start crying in Target. I will not start crying in Target.

10 minutes later.
I should not have stopped by the clearance section. Just a bad idea. I gotta get out of here before I find more that I need.

10 minutes later.
It is so darn hard getting B buckled in with these mittens. I really need a new pair...

Oh. 

I guess we can come back tomorrow.

*****

I hope you survived that jaunt into my brain. Luckily you get to leave. I'm stuck living here.

{P.S. If you like reading about imagined thoughts, check out this time I wrote about what I imagined my daughter was really thinking throughout a day.}

xo Sara

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