I have a friend who says this exact same thing every single time I talk to her.
She moved away a few years ago but every once in a while we call each other up to see what’s up. She tells me what’s going on in her life and I tell her what is going on in mine. Without fail, she says, “I just don’t know how you do it.”
This is my friend that called me when her baby was four weeks old because she was bored out of her skull. Not the baby, the mother. She had just finished repotting all her plants and was well on her way to alphabetizing her bills. I am not lying. This fascinated me. When I had The Boy, I took that whole “sleep when the baby sleeps” to heart. For the first six months of his life, I had two naps a day. I was exhausted all the time. So this is my friend who had a baby a couple years after mine and she’s unflappable. And she wants to know how I do it every day.
This always cracks me up. It cracks me up because I feel like every single day I’m doing it even more half-assed than ever. A toddler, a preschooler and an ever growing business. I never admit to my friend that Dora used to be my best babysitter but then Bob the Builder gave her the boot in the Tivo smackdown. But now? Now that toddler has his legs. It is officially OVER yet again. Take this morning, for instance.
The phone rang as I was printing up shirts this morning. Printing up a shirt for a woman whose order was lost in the mail. I have apologized profusely for the Postal Service (and I thought those days were over) but this leaves me rushing to beat the clock of her must-have attire for a vacation. I answered the phone as I caught The Baby pulling off the top to the silver glitter ink.
“I’m calling about your shipping account with us. Is this a good time to call?”
Yeah, there is no such thing. Then The Boy walked into the room.
TB: Mom.Mom.Mom.Mom. Danyelle just called on your cell phone. I already talked to her. She wants you to call her.
K: You are three. What are you doing answering my phone?
TB: Mom. I ANSWERED your phone. I was watching my videos on your phone and it rang. You should call her back.
K: Well, thanks. You can be my new secretary. Wait, what videos were you watching?
The last time he helped himself to my I-Phone, he sent everyone in my inbox a Timbaland video from YouTube. Thank GOD it was that and not… Well, we all know what’s floating around on YouTube these days.
I turned around to find The Baby with fingers covered in silver ink. He was repainting my workshop with the silver ink. He had the glee of a bunch of 4th graders who have found a broken thermometer and are swirling a mound of mercury in their hands. Except we didn’t KNOW that mercury could kill us. Well, that and the silver ink is harmless.
I grabbed The Baby’s hands and wiped them furiously with paper towels. I turned around to find The Boy hanging on the end of the dryer, having successfully stopped the belt that is running shirts through to cure the ink. I look in to see a shirt smoking inside.
K: STOP!!! I MEAN, START THAT BACK UP.
The Baby runs past me to turn the belt completely off. Not the heater, just the belt. I turn it back on, he turns it on high. His brother comes around the dryer and jumps on my back. I am now holding both of them as I am crouched down, aiming a temperature gun in the dryer to see if the shirt has cured.
The phone rings again.
“We’d like to talk to you about your long distance service. Is this a good time?”
Yeah, I don’t know how I do it either.