A typical day for me (in which I search for the ever elusive, 15 minutes of peace):
5:24 Alarm goes off. Small child who lives at my house (lovingly referred to as "The Boy" or "Baba Goi-Goi") has once again cranked the volume. I promptly shut off said alarm and tell my husband to get up. He does so.
5:24:30 I fall back asleep
5:31 I hear Baba making noises. I will him to fall back asleep.
5:47 I hear Baba yelling "Momma!" I think, "If it wasn't pre-6 am, that would be cute."
5:48 I fall back asleep.
5:49 "Momma's" become more urgent.
5:50 I throw off the covers (disturbing Wili in the process) and make my way, with my eyes still closed, to Baba's room.
5:50:30 Baba, excited to see his momma, begins jumping up and down in the crib.
5:50:35 Eyes still closed, I remove Baba from his crib, check to make sure his super soaker (noun-overly wet diaper because a certain small child likes to drink until his belly swells before he goes to bed. We may have to change this habbit before potty training begins) hasn't soaked his pajamas, and return to my nice warm bed to cuddle for 9 minutes 25 seconds with the boy.
6:01 Husband kicks me out of bed (not literally)
6:05 Breakfast. I have whatever fantastic sugar cereal that I was not allowed to have as a child was on sale. Baba has pancakes (yes, plural) or waffles (again, plural)
6:17 I think, "Oh! Crap! We've got to leave in 10 minutes.
6:17:30 Throw some enormously healthy lunch together
6:18 Brush teeth
6:19 Tickle Baba
6:20 Brush hair.
6:21 Give hair brush to Baba who is now throwing a fit because he didn't have hairbrush.
6:22 Pick out an outfit.
6:22:30 Get belly slapped by Baba (he is obsessed with slapping bellies, his, mine, husband's, anyone who's shirt he can lift up).
6:23 Change my mind about outfit. Step on hair brush which Baba has lost interest in and thrown on the floor.
6:23:15 Don't swear. The boy will hear you and the last thing you want is him saying any of your choice words at day care.
6:33 Leave the house. Late again.
6:45 Drop Baba off at day-care. Wave bye-bye.
6:46 Fall asleep in car.
7:26 Awaken to find that you are now at work (curses!). I should probably explain that my husband and I work at the same place, so I am not sleep-driving every morning. I am sleep riding.
7:30 Kill time until lunch.
12:00 Eat lunch.
12:30 Trudge back to my cell....I mean cubicle.
12:45 Curse self for not packing better lunch.
12:46 Zone out until its time to go home.
4:00 Hop (yes, some days I do hop) into car. Complain about work as we drive home.
4:45 Pick up Baba. Get hugs and kisses.
5:00 Get home. Give Wili her treat and change out of my dressy clothes.
5:15 Make supper.
5:30 Eat supper.
5:45 Clean up supper with Baba's help.
6:00 Bike ride
6:30 Bath time for Baba
7:00 I put all the water that "fell" out of the bath tub back into the bathtub and shower while husband puts the boy to sleep.
7:30 Clean up and other various household things.
8:30 Start asking if it is time for bed yet (when you have a hard time getting to sleep and staying a sleep, you tend to want to spend many hours in bed).
9:00 Crawl into bed, for real this time.
9:15 Realize I forgot to do something really important and get out of bed to do said important thing.
9:30 Cuddle with husband.
Lather, Rinse, Repeat. Always Repeat.
Technically, this is my third or fourth post. A lifetime ago, my husband (who I'll call Zippy when I remember to use an alias besides husband (which, is far more creative)) was then my boyfriend, used to post on this fantasy football site. Well, one day I really needed to get ahold of him, but the phone was busy (curse you dial up!). So, I created a profile, joined his football site, and started a thread telling him to get off the phone. A little strange, but it worked.
My cat is telling me that it is almost time for bed, so I'll be brief (she isn't saying, "Mom, time for bed" its more like she is trying to gnaw my foot off. What is the deal with her biting me?!). I am 24 years old. I've been married for 3 years as of August. I have a 16 month old son, a slightly over weight cat named Wili (she, yes, I know Wili is a boy name, but that's her name too, is my first baby. If you want to make something of her name, I'm sure she'd love to fight. She's pretty mean), and postpartum depression. But fear not, I'm not going to mope and whine and complain (too much).
I have a job that I hate (my boss is a Jerk-with-a-capital-J, among other reasons) and love/hate relationship with my townhome. I have an amazing husband who I tend to take for granted and pick some pretty good fights with (all the ladies who fight with people inside their heads because they can't stand being wrong and want to plan for every posible course of an argument stand up!).
I have a BA in English, which I am still trying to figure out how to use. I'm sure Property Casualty insurance (which I hate) utilizes my degree in some way, I just haven't put my finger on it. And I'm debating whether I should go back to school.