...Fridays are hard. I'm usually out of energy, money and dinner ideas. My New Year's resolution to come home 15 minutes early so that I can use that time to unpack my work things, let the dogs out, switch a load of laundry, decompress and throw dinner in the oven all before picking up the boys worked for exactly one day this week.
Today was by far the worst homecoming. Not only wasn't I fifteen minutes early, I managed to be ten minutes late to daycare. The three of us tumble into our tiny foyer, tripping over each other and sacks of groceries, backpacks and lunch bags. Liam screams for a diet Pepsi (don't ask) and Henry wants a new set of Lego instructions all within four feet and four seconds of the door. Hats, mittens and mail are flung, small dogs stepped on and Liam continues yelling for contraband. We are now a whopping five feet from the front door.
"I want a d-d-d, Mickey d-d-d, not TV, a d-d-d!" comes Liam's battle cry as he is temporarily distracted from the carbonated can of artificial flavors and perches precariously on a stool next to the shelf of dvds.
"Can you help me find the little yellow Lego? It's supposed to be here, but it's not." grumbles Henry standing in the kitchen and wondering why his mom is wearing her coat and a scowl.
"Get my shoes off, I want my shoes off! Where's my soda?" screeches his brother. I glance at the answering machine and see the number 4 flashing wildly. Three of the messages are from my mother.
"I want orange juice!"
"When will we have dinner?"
"Get my shoes off!"
"Mommy, where's the black piece?"
Frozen vegetables sit in the grocery bag and begin to melt on the counter. A dog wiggles underfoot and yelps for food. I still have my coat on. My cell phone rings.
I lock myself in the bathroom.