Goodmorning America

A typical  morning in our house goes something like this:   We wake up anywhere between five and six, depending on how hungry Kenny wakes up.   His first word in the morning is either, “Nack!” (snack), “Waffle!” or “Lay-lay” (banana…. I don’t know how banana becomes “lay-lay,” but it is what it is…).   Oh, and sometimes it’s “WALER!” (water).

So Kenny and I traipse downstairs where he devours a banana while I fix my coffee  and put a waffle in the toaster.   As soon as he hears the toaster *pop* he  reminds me  that it’s ready with a gentle, “WAAAAAAAAAAAAF!” and then wanders around the living room with a waffle half in each hand while I wait for the caffine to hit my brain.   Near the end of his whole grain treat, Dudley wanders down the stairs, lured out of his warm bed by the scent of food being waved around by a small boy with a tendancy of giving him a bite or two.   As I swat the crafty canine out of Kenny’s path,  Dudley remembers that we still haven’t taught him how to use the toilet, and he darts out the dog door to water the azaleas.   Kenny thinks that the dog door is really cool, and will bee-line over to it, waffles still in hand and call, “DaaaaaaDEEEEEE!” until Dudley crashes back through, at that point usually winning whatever waffle pieces might be left in Kenny’s hand.

As the chaos begins its crescendo, I will hear the shower start; Casey needs his shower like I need my coffee first thing.   While the water runs, I pour my second cup and chase Kenny around the living room in an attempt to take him back upstairs to get him changed and dressed.   Me too, as we have had contractors at our door by eight most mornings since October!   I balance a cup of coffee for Casey, my own mug and  a wiggling one-year-old up the steps, all the while hearding Dudley and trying not to trip on the belt of my robe.

Getting Kenny out of his pajamas and into clean clothes is roughly similar to wrestling a wet seal in a tub of jello.   Enough said.

By quarter to eight, we are usally back downstairs to make breakfast (my first, Kenny’s second) and make a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich for Casey to take on his commute.   Kenny helps me find what to fix…

…  getting him back out of the refrigerator is like convincing Dudley to drop  a t-bone.   Enough said.    (Again.)

And Dudley, byu this point tired of watching  us make and eat food without offering him any, takes a short nap until we remember to feed  him…

Casey comes downstairs, and Kenny runs over to greet him, them points to the stereo for his Rodney Atkins fix, and Daddy and son dance to “These Are My People” while I finish making breakfast.

I have to move fast, though, because as soon as Kenny sees me pull out my cereal bowl, he starts tugging on my leg and calling, “bow!   bow!”    until we strap him into his highchair and take “my” cereal over to the table (always the same: Kashi Go Lean, soy milk and plain yogurt).   I hand Kenny his spoon (“POON!”) and put my bowl on his tray, so that we can share.   And the kid can eat: I typically eat less than half of the hefty portion; my growing boy manages to scarf down the rest.   Dudley likes to watch:

 

We race to the last bite (ok, I usually let Kenny win), kiss Casey goodbye, and greet our contractors.   Kenny is facintated by them, and waves with excitement when he sees the foreman.   Dudley is also facinated by the workers, though he hasn’t learned the fine art of waving hello, and instead seems to think that the crotch-sniff is the prefered greeting the men with toolbelts.   So with Kenny in my arms, I grab Dudley’s collar and we head our for a walk before he gets too antsy…

All of this by 8:30 in the morning.   Who says stay-at-home Moms don’t get anything done??