I’ve been watching my niece three days a week. Let me tell you, my ability to juggle three kids under two is (ahem) unbelievable. Literally. Unbelievable.

Take today, for instance.  I put my niece down for her morning nap at 9 a.m. The idea was to throw my toddler in the bath while my niece slept. Then , while my toddler was happily splashing in the tub, I would perch on the toilet lid and feed the baby. What I hadn’t factored into the plan was the gargantuan tantrum that my toddler threw because she didn’t want to go into (and later out of) the bath. The result of my brain wave? Three children screaming their heads off all at once. My ears are still ringing. Yep, I’m a home daycare pro.

Later, while prepping for lunch, I had to run downstairs to the deep freezer to get bread. I grabbed the flashlight (the lights down there don’t work) and headed into the abyss. It took some digging, but I finally found a loaf of bread at the bottom of the freezer. Unfortunately, even after thawing it in the microwave, it was still hard as a rock. Turns out it was over two years old. Yum!

I debated serving it anyway, but decided that it was probably a good idea to find something a little … less expired … to give the kids for lunch. So off I went, back to the basement to dig around for another loaf.

In the time it took to get the loaf (well, two loaves) of bread, the girls had dumped out the toy bins on the floor and had moved on to the entertainment unit. I got back upstairs while they were in the process of emptying the shelves of our large DVD collection. They had even worked out an efficient system for doing so. One was throwing the movies on the floor while the other was picking them up off the floor and stacking them in the play stroller so she could take them for a walk. Apparently our DVDs were in need of some fresh air.

Throughout all of this, the baby was crying and crying. She had been fed, burped, and held – but was still crying. I had no choice but to let her cry it out.

Afternoon nap time FINALLY rolled around. Exercising my amazing time management skills once again, I took advantage of the “quiet” time (baby was still crying) to finish off a couple of loads of laundry and find a recipe for tonight’s dinner. Good thing I spent all that time on my laundry instead of catching a nap myself, because once the girls woke up, they promptly began grabbing the piles of neatly folded clothes off the dining room table and chucking them all over the floor. As my oldest says, “Funny Evelyn! Funny Anneliese!” K, it sounds more like “Funny Onion! Funny Eese!” But at least they find themselves amusing.

I found them slightly less amusing and consoled myself with the thought that at least I had a recipe for dinner. Once again, I put my mad organizational skills to work by giving the girls a bowl of Cheerios to share while I threw together the casserole. I figured it would keep them out of trouble long enough for me to get some semblance of a dinner in order. Wrong.

Just as the baby started screaming again, there was a clatter, lots of giggles, and Cheerios all over my kitchen floor. For the record, all over means ALL OVER. Furthermore, the girls thought that watching each other crunch the Cheerios with their feet, bottoms, and other random body parts was the greatest game ever. With my crying baby under one arm and my broom in the other, I started to clean up the mess. The girls then decided that, if I wouldn’t let them make Cheerio dust, the next best thing would be to eat the remaining uncrushed Cheerios out of the dust bin. They say that if it doesn’t kill you, it’ll just make you stronger. The way I see it, my sis and I are going to have some TOUGH kids!

I couldn’t figure out why the baby was still screaming her head off until it dawned on me. Today was “The Day”. What is “The Day”, you ask? My little darling saves up her poo for several days until she is beyond uncomfortable and then unleashes it on “The Day”. Usually occurs at the most awkward and inconvenient times imaginable. Last Thursday, for instance, the a-poo-calypse occurred at my friend’s house during Bible study. While I was dealing with the aftermath, my mostly potty-trained older daughter decided that she wanted to share in the glory of “The Day” and proceeded to bring a new meaning to the term “my cup overfloweth”. Thanks to her, there was poo residue all over my poor friend’s newly washed floors. Luckily my friend is a pastor and, therefore, has to love people no matter what.

Anyway – returning to the present – thanks to a sense of humour, the day really was fantastic. Honest. After refolding the laundry (to be fair, most of it was still intact), putting away the toys and DVDs, and sweeping the floors, I felt pretty good. Dinner was ready and looked perfect when my husband got home from work, which was great – until he informed me that he wasn’t at all hungry. He quickly changed his mind when he saw that my sense of humour had suddenly disappeared. (He later claimed that it was all a big misunderstanding.)

After dinner – it being “The Day” and all – my poor littlest muffin pooped and pooped and pooped. From her chest down to her toes, she was COVERED! Her clothes, including a brand new shirt and a new pair of socks, were irreparably ruined. So, being the phenomenal wife and mother that I am, I gingerly deposited her into my husband’s care and locked myself in the office so I could write this oh-so-pressing blog entry…