Okay, the Reader's Digest version. . .here goes.
I work full time. Bill works full time. We commute at least an hour each way (he does about 2). It's a relatively recent change. It's been a tough change. We don't have a routine down yet. And it makes me fussy.
I spend my morning hustling children to get up, get ready, get eating, get in the car. I hustle myself to work, and hustle at work to be able to leave with enough time to pick the children up in time.
When I get home, I hustle to feed the children, play at little with the children, bathe the children, read to the children, sing exactly two songs to the children, get the children a cold drink of water (with two ice cubes for Cole - yes, he still owns me...not much has changed!), and finally close the door and say goodnight.
Then, it's time to make lunches and pack lunches and get something prepped for tomorrow's dinner, or else we'll be hitting the drive through again (and you KNOW how crazy that makes me. . .). Oh, and I suppose we should eat tonight, too. And then I'd better get my clothes ready for the morning or I'll be wearing that wrinkled sweater again. . . oh, and while I'm at it, I'd better find Cole's undies now, too.
The children?
They're in daycare full time. They like it. . .mostly. They cry sometimes when it's time to go and other days they cry when it's time to come home. They're pretty fickle overall and I've always hypothesized that they'd side with whoever is offering a better treat. That's usually the teachers.
Cole is doing well. We had a week in the hospital in early December. I'll tell you more about that later. The punchline is that he wouldn't poop, so he eventually couldn't poop, and that. . .my friends. ..lands you in the children's ward for a week of Miralax and jello until . . .uh-hum, boom.
We're finally in a place where he will poop, but not 100% willingly on his own, and never without incentives. He's gets that last part from me. Not the pooping for prizes...but just the part about demanding incentives. . .oh, never mind.
Tills is amazing. She literally has almost surpassed Cole in height and weight. Almost once a week someone on the street will ask me if they are twins. They look like twins. And no, I'm not always hanging around with the kids on the street. You know what I mean.
She talks and walks and sings and screams and kisses and says "I lub you mum." just as sweet as her brother used to when he had a lisp. She also really likes to kiss on the lips. That part is weird.
Cole's into firemen, and cars, and trains, and spaceships, and unfortunately, ninjas. But I suppose it was silly of me to think we could keep him from ninjas forever. You probably even told me so.
Till's no daughter of mine! She wears fake plastic heels and tiaras and princess skirts and goes around the house covering inanimate objects with dishtowels while pretending they are babies and she's putting them to bed. I laugh every. single. time. she puts a two-liter of Diet Coke to bed. That's always funny.
Bottom line? I think Bill and I would have packed up and moved to Zimbabwe had it not been for the children. This working all the time gig, and never seeing each other gig is really getting old. But...at least for the time being, we are spending good (although short) time with them, even if it is on our own while the other is at work. And man. . .we've got really great kids. I really have to tell you more about our last few months!
Hopefully, I'll be able to update you on some specific stories soon. But for now.. .it's like 9:30 and no one has matching socks for tomorrow. . .
