Broken

So they broke me. I'm certain. Cracked beyond repair. My mind is gone. Spirit gravely injured.

I woke at the usual time today, in the usual way: D1 arriving in my room at 7:30. But from there, things went a little differently. First of all, D1 greeted me with poop ass. What a duty, to wipe someone else's bum before you've even had time to wipe the crusties from your eyes. Then, as I gained more consciousness, I thought to ask - "where are your pants?" to which she replied "downstairs". Hmmmm... downstairs, already?

And so after collecting D2, we go downstairs. Where I find the refrigerator door propped open with a step stool. Pudding and juice on the counter. Then I head into the family room - tv is on. My little angel is so self sufficient, isn't she?

Breakfast is a mess. A lot of crying, pushing and fighting over cheerios. There's probably more to say, but I'm already starting the process of blocking it all out.

Ok, bath time! I've heard other people remark that bath time is such a fun, relaxing time in their house. Huh. Can I move in? Bath time in our house involves Mommy yelling not to dump ALL the water out onto the floor, and then very aggressively washing hair, because I haven't found any other way to get it done.

Ok, next I dare hop on the computer for a few minutes. Check email, send an email, and see if I can find any sort of free activity for the morning. Afterwards I come downstairs to see D2 covered in red sharpie marker. Her new pink pants stained already. And don't even dare ask why I would leave a sharpie out again, yeah, I know, I should have learned my lesson after the carpet incident. Well, here's the thing: I didn't actually leave it out. Well, yeah, I did, sort of, if you include leaving it on top of the fridge as "out". The little angels now know how to scale the sides to get the things on top. I'm going to have to start leaving things in nets on the very tops of our trees to keep them away from my sweet babies. I'll have to train pigeons to fetch stuff for me. My hubby was right, a helper monkey really would be wonderful.

Next comes trying to get them to go to a park to play for a while, take advantage of this crazy warm weather we are having. Well, after several meltdowns, in becomes apparent that they do not want to go outside. Ok, maybe D2 needs an early nap, she's still not feeling 100% after last week's bug. Into crib, and starts a 20 minute tirade. Out of bed. Ok, let's play in the basement. As I'm walking down to the basement, a friend calls and I attempt to have a conversation. Silly me. In the 10 minutes I'm on the phone, the girls unroll an entire thing of wrapping paper. Then begin to fight over it, which leads to a sword fight with the legs of a dismantled table. My friend remarks that my house sounds like a chinese take out kitchen. I'm thinking more like a cock fighting arena. I abruptly end the conversation when it becomes apparent that D2 has been injured by the sword fight.

Ok, lets have snack lunch! Snack lunch is when Mommy doesn't really feel like making "real" food. I bring out a bunch of snacks and let them eat it on the floor in basement. A relatively good time for a while.

As they are finishing up, I run upstairs to brush teeth and do a few things so we can go to the open gym time at our township building. A few minutes pass, and D1 comes upstairs. Naked. Informs me that D2 has made a mess in the kitchen. "but where are your clothes, D1?, Did you pee?". "Yes, Mommy, I did not make mess in kitchen". Which, for those of you who do not interpret 3 yr old speak, means "I made a mess, but blame my sister".

So I go downstairs. I find half a dozen eggs broken all over the floor, with half chewed pepperoni mixed in. Their clothes thrown on top. I big eggy disgusting mess.
Naked D1 climbs on top of the counter and starts to jump up and down saying "not me! not me!" D2 wines and cries because she can't scale to those heights.

I, I begin to cry. I call hubby, and tell him "I'm broken - they finally did it - they broke me" He tells me to put them in their rooms, and take a shower. Tells me to leave the eggs on the floor.

And that is what I do. D2 into her crib. I put the safety handle on D1's door so she can't get out. And I take a long, long shower. My shower has a little bench in it. I've never used it. I mean why would I? I did today. Sat there, head to knees and watched the water go down the drain.

Now, I'm writing this, with wet hair, wearing my bathrobe. I can't get myself to go downstairs and clean that mess. Nor can I get myself to go into D1's room to see the mess she has created in there.