One of those days.

My husband left his work computer at home this morning.

I noticed it when I stumbled downstairs after Finn crawled back into bed with me and informed me in his sweetest voice that he got everything ready for breakfast and it was time to eat now.  I thought he had just gone to the bathroom, but apparently he went downstairs - all the way down to the kitchen where I can't hear anything from all the way up in my room - and pulled out everything he would need to make his breakfast.  Last time he tried this particular trick he actually poured the cereal and milk in his bowl and also all over the counter, step-stool, and floor, so I was fearful of what might greet me in the kitchen before coffee. Luckily this morning he wanted hot cereal.  He knows about the stove - for mamas and daddies only! - so he just had everything laid out on the counter with the precision of a surgeon: cereal box, marshmallows, milk, spoon, bowl, bread, knife, spoon for jelly, jelly.

I pushed start on the coffee (because I get that shit ready the night before) and proceeded to make coco-wheats with marshmallows while Finn told me he would put the bread in the toaster and he push the button down and explained that he needed to get dressed soon so he could have all day clothes day but that I could have all day pajama day (so benevolent, my son) and could I please make the marshmallows into the shape of an n and what starts with n and he needed to test to jelly to "make sure it didn't get solid." Solid is Finn-speak for poisoned; I always tell him that I have to test his food - french fries, Halloween candy, ice cream cones, chocolate cake - to make sure they are not poisoned.  It stems from years trick-or-treating in the world's smallest town and being unable to eat our candy until our parents looked it over to make sure the packages weren't tampered with, there were no needles in our Butterfingers, and crack-cocaine wasn't moonlighting as a box of Nerds. It was the 80s...drugs were everywhere and parents needed to be vigilant. I'm just carrying on as my mother before me did: vigilant.

Anyway, I drank three cups of coffee while Finn ate his breakfast.  I read a chapter of my book (I'm trying to make this one last because it is so good) and then I watered some plants.  It's Monday and that's plant watering day - and the sun is sort of out, so I had to put them all on the kitchen table to soak it up.  I drank another cup of coffee and read another chapter of my book.  Finn dumped the rainbow rice on the floor and made 3 trips down to the kitchen with various construction trucks and dinosaurs.  I stepped an a million little rice grains to get the load (from yesterday) out of the dryer.  I read another chapter in my book, drank another cup of coffee and contemplated what needed to get done today.  I ignored the mental list and read another chapter.  I talked myself into taking out the trash and the compost (it's 20 below here; it takes some mental preparation to go outside when it's that cold but it's garbage man day, so it needed to be done).

Finn decided, in the midst of his field of rainbow rice, that he needed to take a morning bath.  I obliged and loaded the tub with hot water and bubbles, tossed him in and snuggled on my bed to read another chapter.

Now - usually on extremely lazy days like this, I make sure that by the time my husband comes home from work in the evening, everything looks presentable and the day appears to have been somewhat productive. The dishwasher has been emptied, the living room and library have been tidied of random books and hotwheels, the kitchen counters are wiped down and the chairs are pushed in around the table.  There aren't any coats and mittens laying around and the couch cushions are neat and orderly.  When I worked, I always liked to come home from a long day to a semi-neat house and I feel like it's a nice thing to do for my husband when he comes home (does that sound very circa-1950? I don't change my apron, apply fresh lipstick or pinch my cheeks to give them some color before he get's home, though.).

Today, however, it was only 11:30 - I had the whole day ahead of me to get my 1950s housewife on.  And then I heard the door open and heavy feet coming up the stairs.  It was one of two things: either Finn and I were about to be made into sausage by a crazed lunatic or my husband popped home in the middle of the day.  And then I remembered the work computer left on the coffee table.  Knowing that he had to step over 12 million grains of rainbow rice in the kitchen, walk through a maze of trains and hotwheels, bypass sloppy couch cushions and come upstairs to find me snug in bed with a book and our son taking what is referred to in our house as a "day bath," I was secretly hoping for a crazed lunatic.

My husband knows that I work hard for this house; dinner is made in a timely manner, clothes are washed and put away, I can be counted on to dust occasionally, the floor usually gets swept, the bathroom is almost always clean and I make the bed most days.  But we have had some heated discussions about just what gets done around the house on a daily basis and individual contributions (his and mine) and stimulating my kid's brain isn't always readily apparent to the naked (albeit tired) eye.  So it's days like today when I seem to have made his argument for him - still in my jammies, reading, in bed at nearly noon! - that I feel like a stay at home mom failure.

I know that I'm not - I know that some days require getting dressed and slapping on mascara and some days require little more than a marathon of stories and painting and glue and scissors.  Today is the latter.  Our house will look relatively put-together when my husband gets home this evening; there will be new Finn artwork on the refrigerator door and all the freshly-watered plants will be off the kitchen table and back in their normal spots.  I will have swept up rainbow rice at least three times. There will be a plate for him to heat up and we will chat idly about our respective days while he eats his dinner.  It's just that my daily summary will be somewhat short: finished my book, cleaned a little, painted with dinosaurs.

My husband left his work computer at home this morning.

I noticed it when I stumbled downstairs after Finn crawled back into bed with me and informed me in his sweetest voice that he got everything ready for breakfast and it was time to eat now.  I thought he had just gone to the bathroom, but apparently he went downstairs - all the way down to the kitchen where I can't hear anything from all the way up in my room - and pulled out everything he would need to make his breakfast.  Last time he tried this particular trick he actually poured the cereal and milk in his bowl and also all over the counter, step-stool, and floor, so I was fearful of what might greet me in the kitchen before coffee. Luckily this morning he wanted hot cereal.  He knows about the stove - for mamas and daddies only! - so he just had everything laid out on the counter with the precision of a surgeon: cereal box, marshmallows, milk, spoon, bowl, bread, knife, spoon for jelly, jelly.

I pushed start on the coffee (because I get that shit ready the night before) and proceeded to make coco-wheats with marshmallows while Finn told me he would put the bread in the toaster and he push the button down and explained that he needed to get dressed soon so he could have all day clothes day but that I could have all day pajama day (so benevolent, my son) and could I please make the marshmallows into the shape of an n and what starts with n and he needed to test to jelly to "make sure it didn't get solid." Solid is Finn-speak for poisoned; I always tell him that I have to test his food - french fries, Halloween candy, ice cream cones, chocolate cake - to make sure they are not poisoned.  It stems from years trick-or-treating in the world's smallest town and being unable to eat our candy until our parents looked it over to make sure the packages weren't tampered with, there were no needles in our Butterfingers, and crack-cocaine wasn't moonlighting as a box of Nerds. It was the 80s...drugs were everywhere and parents needed to be vigilant. I'm just carrying on as my mother before me did: vigilant.

Anyway, I drank three cups of coffee while Finn ate his breakfast.  I read a chapter of my book (I'm trying to make this one last because it is so good) and then I watered some plants.  It's Monday and that's plant watering day - and the sun is sort of out, so I had to put them all on the kitchen table to soak it up.  I drank another cup of coffee and read another chapter of my book.  Finn dumped the rainbow rice on the floor and made 3 trips down to the kitchen with various construction trucks and dinosaurs.  I stepped an a million little rice grains to get the load (from yesterday) out of the dryer.  I read another chapter in my book, drank another cup of coffee and contemplated what needed to get done today.  I ignored the mental list and read another chapter.  I talked myself into taking out the trash and the compost (it's 20 below here; it takes some mental preparation to go outside when it's that cold but it's garbage man day, so it needed to be done).

Finn decided, in the midst of his field of rainbow rice, that he needed to take a morning bath.  I obliged and loaded the tub with hot water and bubbles, tossed him in and snuggled on my bed to read another chapter.

Now - usually on extremely lazy days like this, I make sure that by the time my husband comes home from work in the evening, everything looks presentable and the day appears to have been somewhat productive. The dishwasher has been emptied, the living room and library have been tidied of random books and hotwheels, the kitchen counters are wiped down and the chairs are pushed in around the table.  There aren't any coats and mittens laying around and the couch cushions are neat and orderly.  When I worked, I always liked to come home from a long day to a semi-neat house and I feel like it's a nice thing to do for my husband when he comes home (does that sound very circa-1950? I don't change my apron, apply fresh lipstick or pinch my cheeks to give them some color before he get's home, though.).

Today, however, it was only 11:30 - I had the whole day ahead of me to get my 1950s housewife on.  And then I heard the door open and heavy feet coming up the stairs.  It was one of two things: either Finn and I were about to be made into sausage by a crazed lunatic or my husband popped home in the middle of the day.  And then I remembered the work computer left on the coffee table.  Knowing that he had to step over 12 million grains of rainbow rice in the kitchen, walk through a maze of trains and hotwheels, bypass sloppy couch cushions and come upstairs to find me snug in bed with a book and our son taking what is referred to in our house as a "day bath," I was secretly hoping for a crazed lunatic.

My husband knows that I work hard for this house; dinner is made in a timely manner, clothes are washed and put away, I can be counted on to dust occasionally, the floor usually gets swept, the bathroom is almost always clean and I make the bed most days.  But we have had some heated discussions about just what gets done around the house on a daily basis and individual contributions (his and mine) and stimulating my kid's brain isn't always readily apparent to the naked (albeit tired) eye.  So it's days like today when I seem to have made his argument for him - still in my jammies, reading, in bed at nearly noon! - that I feel like a stay at home mom failure.

I know that I'm not - I know that some days require getting dressed and slapping on mascara and some days require little more than a marathon of stories and painting and glue and scissors.  Today is the latter.  Our house will look relatively put-together when my husband gets home this evening; there will be new Finn artwork on the refrigerator door and all the freshly-watered plants will be off the kitchen table and back in their normal spots.  I will have swept up rainbow rice at least three times. There will be a plate for him to heat up and we will chat idly about our respective days while he eats his dinner.  It's just that my daily summary will be somewhat short: finished my book, cleaned a little, painted with dinosaurs.