Awesome, you say. Right? Well, kind of.
You see, my day is filled with running around. Refereeing fights over mini backhoes and tattered books. Wiping tears from a game of chase gone wrong. Changing diapers. Washing hands. Changing diapers. Washing hands again. Running loads of laundry. Washing sippy cups and trays eight-hundred times. Sweeping floors. Etcetera. Etcetera. Etcetera.
To sum up, I just seem to move around a lot all day. Normal stay-at-home-mom stuff. With Chris' job, he is on his laptop a lot. On his headset a lot. So, guess where he has picked his "home office" to be?
I walk in our room at three in the afternoon, after frantically running back and forth, trying to shuffle little people in their beds for some afternoon "quiet time." I just finished running up and down the stairs to the playroom, because the books I brought for "quiet time" were not the right ones. (Can you guess why "quiet time" is in quotes?)
So after strolling in our room after running a 5K through my kitchen, thinking I need to put on shorts because of the beads of sweat dripping from my forehead, I see him, in our bed, with the covers pulled up, pillow behind his back, "working" away on his laptop.
Of course he is working! I shouldn't have used the quotes. He works very hard for our family. In fact, he has always chosen the types of jobs where he doesn't have to put on a suit and be a 9-5er. It's what makes him happy. I'm proud of him for that. But come on! Does he have to pick our big, comfy bed?
When I walk in, I want to see him sitting at the desk, with one phone on each ear, maybe even wearing a green, plastic visor and saying phrases like, "Buy!," "Sell!," "No! Tell New York we have to wait until next month..." You know, gettin' stuff done phrases. It would also help if he had an accent like he's a newspaper editor from 1928. It's not right for adults in this household to be snuggled up in bed before 9pm. Not right I tell you!
However, I secretly love having him just behind the door as I shepherd, console and love the darlings that share our DNA. Last night, I unintentionally sabotaged his DVR'd football game by "suggesting" he relax a little when it came to keeping such an intense eye on our brood.
I meant to say that they needed to experience some things for themselves or else they won't learn important life lessons. What he heard is that I think they should try climbing the roof sometime to see what it was like.
Then he "suggested" to me that I should keep in mind how little they still are. They are still fragile, even though they are bigger than two pounds. What I heard is that I am a hippie mom who lets her kids run wild in the streets.
It took a few more "suggestions" back and forth to get to the bottom of what we both meant. Turns out we are both right. How about that?
Then it hit me. This parenting gig is hard. Like, really hard. So I'm glad I have a best friend to help navigate these turbulent, tantrum-filled waters. There is no handbook to these darling monsters. We are writing it as we go.
So what he picks the most comfortable spot in the entire house to make calls and spreadsheets from? It just means my handsome, co-author to our future best-seller, "Raising Triplets and Staying Married: The How To Guide" is only a hallway commute from hugs, kisses and cheers from all of his biggest fans.
A few of our work day activities...
|Group discussions on which photo booth effect is best for our company flyer.
|Going outside to get the creative juices flowing for our next board meeting and sales presentation.
How is your job? Anyone ready to egg my house for complaining about my spouse being home?
Any suggestions on surviving the upcoming winter? I think my co-workers are going to be a restless bunch.