My Allergic Reaction to Dairy

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So, it happened. I was dosed with dairy… entirely unintentionally. What does that mean for me? A week of discomfort — at times pain — and general mental ineptitude. However, this is not how every dairy-allergic person reacts to dairy exposure.

People respond differently to their allergens and the body’s reactions can escalate or decrease in severity with any exposure without notice. That’s the scary thing with allergic reactions: they’re unpredictable.

How bizarre is it that a person may one time not even react noticeably to his or her allergen, but another time may experience an allergic reaction far worse than any he or she had previously experienced? It’s troubling.

Each person’s allergic response to a shared allergen can be entirely different. One person may get hives, another may be anaplylactic, someone else may suffer digestive woes. There’s no singular allergy experience.

I realized my dairy allergy when I was six months postpartum with my middle child. I had been feeling “off”… achey and bloated with joint pain and digestive troubles. So I researched possible causes. I read an article and identified all of my symptoms — even ongoing issues I thought were unrelated — with dairy allergy. I decided to eliminate dairy from my diet for one week to see if it helped.

Not-so-secretly I hoped it would fail and I could return to my usual eating habits. Unfortunately, I had no such luck. Fortunately, I felt AMAZING!

My bones and joints no longer hurt, my knees looked entirely different than they had for years because they were no longer swollen, my digestion was normal, my lower belly pouch was gone, my brain fog disappeared, my headaches dissipated, my energy elevated, my mild acne vanished. Dairy was clearly the culprit. It was ingredient non grata.

Now, 3 years sans dairy, I am accustomed to how I feel without my allergen coursing through my system. In turn, my inflammatory response to dairy is unpleasant and unwelcome. When I do get dosed by unexpected dairy these are generally my symptoms:

– Stomach bloating  (think first trimester pregnant.)

– Stomach discomfort (it feels like there is a rock in my stomach)

– Intestinal distress (frequent, intense bowel evacuation.)

– Body aches (my bones hurt like I have a high fever)

– Joint pain (my knees are hit the hardest followed by my wrists, fingers, and spine.)

– Headache  (sometimes it manifests as a migraine with vision troubles, and other times as a nagging headache.)

– Brain fog (I have trouble typing properly, my language recall is poor, I become forgetful and spacey, and my attention span is abbreviated. Considering my perpetual case of “mom brain”, these symptoms are truly obnoxious.)

– Moodiness (I am quicker to anger and get frustrated easily. I feel sad and anxious.)

– Fatigue (no amount of sleep or caffeine lessens it.)

– Pimples (my skin is usually clear but, as dairy works its way out of my inflamed system, I get a smattering of blemishes.)

These symptoms last one full week, the brain fog being the last to dissipate. It sucks. However, knowing my usual allergy progression helps. Still,  one can never bank on a specific allergic response; allergies are fickle. And so it is best to remain vigilant in avoiding the allergen entirely.

Fortunately for me, living dairy-free isn’t as hard as I thought. It’s actually quite delicious!

 

Smoky Black Bean Burgers

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Looking for a fast, easy, cheap, vegetarian (and dairy-free) burger recipe? I’ve got you covered! These meat-less patties garnered kid and omnivore approval, alike. Bonus: they’re freezer-friendly! So prepare and cook a big batch and freeze the rest for future fast, healthy meals.

SMOKY BLACK BEAN BURGERS

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Ingredients

(Makes 12 servings)

2 cans black beans (drained and rinsed)

1/2 vidalia onion  (minced)

1 red bell pepper  (minced)

2 eggs (whisked)

1 cup Panko (or dairy-free bread crumbs)

1 Tbl garlic powder

1 Tbl chili powder

1/2 Tbl smoked paprika (using smoked paprika is key)

1/2 Tbl Cumin

Salt & pepper to taste

Dairy-free hamburger buns

Directions

Use your preferred cooking oil to grease a large cooking pan.

Turn the stove to medium-high to warm the pan.

While the pan heats, place all of the ingredients — except for the hamburger buns — into a large bowl and mash with a handheld masher.

Once the mixture is combined enough to form patties, begin to form burger patties.

Place 4-5 burger patties in your pan, being careful not to overcrowd the cooking space.

Let the patties cook undisturbed for 3 minutes per side.

Remove the cooked patties from the pan and place on a paper towel to cool.

Continue cooking the remaining patties until all are nicely seared.

Serve the patties on hamburger buns topped with your favorite burger condiments.

Enjoy!

 

An Exercise in Gratitude

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Sometimes — too often — I can get so engrossed in the day-to-day routine, the pick-ups, the drop-offs, the meal planning and preparing, the clean-up, the playtime, the storytime, the to-do list that I forget to take a breath and appreciate the abundance I have that allows for this chaos. Today, though, I am grateful.

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I am grateful for my supportive, appreciative, involved, loving husband. I am grateful for each of my three different and perfectly imperfect children. I am grateful for my health and life circumstances allowing me to be a stay-at-home mom.

I am grateful that my milk oversupply allows me to donate milk to others and that my husband is an immense supporter of the endeavor. I am grateful for encountering gracious and lovely milk recipients. I am grateful for being granted the opportunity to see friends and acquaintances accept the calling and serve others with their natural excess.

I am grateful for my fun, genuine, wholly beautiful mom friends. I am grateful for my non-mom friends who loyally stick by me knowing that one day we will socialize again (in the meantime, thank you social media!) I am grateful for family that strives to be regularly involved in our children’s lives.

I am grateful for date nights. I am grateful for mom dates. I am grateful for playdates and library story times. I am grateful for quiet walks and not-so-quiet family walks. I am grateful for playground memories and chaotic family dinners.

I am grateful for hurdles I’ve faced and overcome, as they have taught me, strengthened me, enriched me, and often allowed me to aid others facing similar challenges. I’m grateful for my sense of humor. I’m grateful for my personal gifts and for my weaknesses, as they make me who I am and keep me humble. I am grateful for my resilience. I am grateful for my toughness.

I am grateful for having been born who I am, where I am. I am grateful for the bad days because they make the good days shine brighter. I am grateful for my mistakes because they’ve forced me to change, grow, and learn. I’m grateful for pain because it makes wellness and comfort more notable.

I am grateful to have a home. I am grateful to have a husband and children. I am grateful for their health. I am grateful for my infertility battle as it made me a more appreciative parent than I may have otherwise been and it enhanced my life perspective. I am grateful that battle is in the past.

I am grateful for my educational background. I am grateful for the ability to send my children to school. I am grateful for our means. I am grateful for our monetary struggles, as they keep us humble. I am grateful for our challenges — past and present — as they have and will continue to shape us into a stronger family unit and help us appreciate the good.

I am grateful for it all.

What are you grateful for?

To-do List vs. Reality

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What my brain thinks I can do within a 26-hour window of time is significantly more, I’ve learned, than what I am actually capable of doing. Especially with a highly mobile, descruction-loving, boob-barnacle 15-month-old in tow.

Once a month my 5-year-old and 3.5-year-old head to my parents’ for an overnight. My parents love it. The kids love it. The Hubs and I love it. The 15-month-old thinks it’s time to binge-breastfeed.

The week prior to the sleepover I mentally construct and weed through my to-do list. (Most of this happens when I’m nursing at 3am.) I have learned that I can only count on accomplishing 1 big to-do list task or 1 medium to-do list task and a smattering of small tasks. This means strategy is required in selecting the exact tasks to place on the sleepover docket.

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My original, wishful, unrestricted sleepover to-do list for this month looked like this:

Big Tasks: 1) Sort through coat closet and reorganize it with a double hanging rod, 2) Donate the growing heap of stuff on the dining room table, 3) Clean the deck, 4) Organize the garage, 5) Clean the inside of the minivan, 6) Clean my closet, 7) Organize the kids’ outgrown clothes

Small Tasks: 1) Go to a store to purchase 4 birthday gifts for upcoming parties, 2) Go to Ulta to purchase Halloween make-up, 3) Go to Target, 4) Purchase my Halloween costume-making stuff, 5) Fold and put away laundry, 6) Set out the week’s outfits for the kids, 7) Do a workout DVD, 8) Buy new curtains

Social Plans: 1) Dinner out with The Hubs, 2) Walk with mom friends

Hahahaha! No.

This is what I actually accomplished after the 15-month-old decided the first 5 hours were dedicated breastfeeding time and refused to nap.

Big Tasks: 1) Sorted through coat closet (sans reorganization with a double hanging rod), 2) Cleaned the deck (only because The Hubs kindly took over this task entirely… thank you!!), 3) Grabbed a handful of trash and an assortment of odds-and-ends from the minivan after searching for a Post-it note in the center console

Small Tasks: 1) Used Amazon to purchase 4 partial birthday gifts for upcoming parties, 2) Went to Ulta and purchased Halloween make-up, 3) Folded (but did not put away) laundry, 6) Set out the week’s outfits for the kids

Social Plans: 1) Dinner out with The Hubs

Oh, reality, you’re a bitch.

So, next time you see my crumb-dusted minivan with everything from swim floaties to winter mittens scrambled inside, my baskets overfilled with teetering towers of folded laundry, my dining room table donation heap, and my worn and stained curtains (with one set on the floor because the 3.5-year-old tried to twirl in them Cirque du Soleil style), know that at least my coat closet is half-cleaned, dammit!

A Mother’s Fear: When Your Child Counters Social Norms

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I’m scared. And I’m mad about it.

My middle son is 3.5-years old. He loves Barbies and helicopters, chicken nuggets and bananas, princesses and unicorns, cuddles and story time, barreling down hills on his tricycle and playing trucks in the dirt, styling doll hair and layering on piles of dress-ups. He is himself. He is unique. He is fun and quirky and empathetic and can very often be a gigantic pain in the ass, as any preschool-aged middle child should be.

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As my son navigates this world I am increasingly fearful. Not of academic prowess and parent-teacher conferences, but of the outside world squashing him. Of him being judged, bullied, belittled, and being made to feel lesser or wrong for his preferences… whatever they may be.

I fear this push to change will not just be delivered by his peers or by strangers, but by extended family and people he considers friends. I fear him being embarrassed by who he is, feeling inferior or wrong because he may not fit some abstract mold that makes others feel comfortable in their social constructs. I fear he’ll hide himself or worse yet, hate himself.

Do I think his preschooler toy choices are indicative of his gender or sexuality? No. Do I think the outside world does? Yep. Do I care if my son is  gay, straight, asexual, pansexual, trans, bi, or whatever else? No but yes. I don’t care because he is my son and I love him unconditionally. Who he loves or how he self-identifies does not impact my love for him. There is nothing I could — or would — do to influence or change his identity. It is a part of him and I love him. It is entirely independent of me. It is entirely intrinsic to him.

Nevertheless, I do care about however he self-identifies because this world is full of both beautifully amazing people and loathsome bigots, as well as those who think they’re holy or helpful but are really just insecure. So, as much as I strive to surround myself and my children with good, accepting, loving people I know the judgmental lot is present. That scares me.

Criticism from even the inner circle creeps through when your son dons a tutu. “That’s too much,” “You shouldn’t allow that,” “He should play with this instead,” “I got him the superheroes because he’s a boy and her the princesses because she’s a girl,” “That’s not for boys.” Little digs that others may not even register burrow deep. One statement or insinuation alone may seem imperceptible but when lumped with the collection, it’s impossible to ignore.

The misunderstanding, the judgment, the desire to change, fix, undo is palpable. This is my son though. He is perfectly imperfect just as he is.

Whether my son loses all interest in princesses by age 5 or decides he wants to be a professional Lady Gaga impersonator, it should be HIS choice. It should be up to him to continue or dismiss his interests. It should never be up to Aunt So-and-So or Bobby from down the street. They can live their own lives as they choose. My son’s life is for HIM to live; he only gets one.

I worry often and greatly about pressure from myopic, insecure, misguided outsiders. I worry they will crush his spirit, make him change himself to fit their expectations — to make them feel better or more comfortable — instead of thriving in his uniqueness. I worry I am not encouraging him to adjust just enough to squeak beneath their radar. I worry that I am implying he should adjust at all.

But, as a mother of a growing son, what can I do? I cannot always shield and protect him. I can bolster him and help him feel secure enough to hopefully withstand some of the battering winds. I can teach him to be resilient and independent. I can encourage his self-esteem and moral fortitude. Eventually, though, he will have to stand alone and decide. Without me.

Whatever he enjoys, however he identifies, I hope he does so for himself. I hope he never thinks I would want him to be any other way than exactly the way he is. I hope he shuts out the naysayers and amplifies his supporters. This is his life. He should live it.

Packing Away the Pack-and-Play

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Slow down, time!! Yesterday I packed away the pack-and-play for perhaps the last time. I washed all of the car seat / stroller toys and burp cloths for perhaps the last time. I stowed away the big highchair for perhaps the last time.

Not cool.

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15-month-old #3

I’m thrilled to greet this fun new stage of brimming independence in our 15-month-old. He’s walking and communicating, climbing and playing, asserting himself and overflowing with personality, mimicking and learning. It is a truly precious stage.

I wouldn’t wish it away. I certainly wouldn’t wish ourselves back to newborn days, but packing away the baby items is a reminder of the fleeting nature of childhood… of parenthood.

These are the golden days of my maternal career. The days crawl by in a haze of snacks, drop-offs, pick-ups, tantrums, story times, cuddles, potty trips, giggles, and timeouts. The years whizz by in a flurry of memories, mental snapshots, growth spurts, new skills, developmental bursts, and increasing independence.

I don’t want to reverse time. I just want to slow it down. Where’s my pause button?

The Non-Clique Mom

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I suck at cliques. I know why people like them, how they develop, and the benefits of being a part of one. I wish I could, but I can’t do it.

As a kid, I was shy. I would have a few very close friends but I often felt lonely because of my tiny selection of friends. So, I became adept at amusing myself when they were unavailable.

In middle school, I actively left a clique when I was instructed to shun someone who had done no wrong to me. Even then I considered such a demand inconceivable.

Then, as a teen, I branched out. I became a part of a clique. That was comfy in the new high school setting but, soon, I began reaching beyond the clique’s boundaries. I had a pal or two from various social circles. The diversity was lovely but I felt like a man without a country. I had no tribe to which I belonged.

Still, being free from the melodrama, the pledges of fielty, and the petty skirmishes of cliques was nice. I also felt morally at ease because I was not participating in (intentional or unintentional) exclusion by way of participating in clique culture.

As a college student, I was so focused on my studies that I didn’t put much effort into making friends. As in grade school, I had a few close friends, but certainly no herd. However, I was so busy that I didn’t put much thought into it.

As a mom of a baby and two preschoolers, I developed a variety of beautiful friendships with moms whose paths never intertwined. The friendships were selected and nurtured without societal pressures. The relationships developed naturally and grew organically. What wonderful mom friends these ladies are! True treasures.

Now, as a mom of an elementary schooler, I am entering familiar territory: the maternal version of high school. The parents are all friendly but you can see the cliques as they form on the sidewalk at pick-up. Circles of similarly attired women chatting, leaving untethered stragglers between the gabbing bundles.

Often, I inadvertently find myself amidst a herd. I enjoy the company, appreciate the individuals, and relish the community, but I feel the tug of my conscience (and by “tug” I mean choke-hold yank.) By standing within the herd I am silently signaling to others that they exist outside of the circle. That they do not belong. My conscience is such a party-pooper.

I note the free-floating mom at the periphery. I step away from the clique and engage the free agent. I want her to feel included, welcome, safe, and appreciated. If I could bring every shy, intimidated, and/or unfamiliar mom into the safe fold of a clique I would. Unfortunately, that’s not how cliques work.

I’ve found out the hard way that bringing in too many “strays” is unwelcome behavior. It’s not quite as bad as not agreeing to shun someone who has wronged a clique member (you, yourself, were not offended but one of your comrades was), but it’s still up there. I am guilty of both misdeeds and always will be. It’s who I am. Those are my morals. Take me  or leave me. And so I don’t do cliques, as lonely and irksome, yet conscience-pleasing as it may be. I can only exist as a honorary member… as someone with one foot inside the clique boundaries and one foot on the outside.

“Good for you!” “Do you!” “Way to be inclusive!” Some of you may be thinking. Yes, thank you. That’s lovely. “Make things simpler for yourself!” “Just abide by the rules!” “Be a part of the clique!” Some of you may be thinking. And you’re right. But I really don’t have a choice in the matter. This is simply the way I’m wired.

As much as I own who I am, my personal moral constructs, and my perspective, part of me wishes I could be the person who easily and comfortably acquiesces into a clique. The protection, the comraderie, the cohesiveness all seem so comfortable and safe. To walk into a room and immediately know: “I belong there,” seems so much simpler than reading a crowd. I see why people enjoy cliques, I see the benefits of cliques, I see why some thrive in and seek out cliques. I get it! It’s just not me, whether I like it or not.

Look for me floating about periphery bobbing from mom-huddle to outlier and back again like a pinball. A mom without a clique.

5 Dippable Dairy-free School Lunches

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School lunches… like we need another hurdle in our day! You want to provide nutritious, filling food that your child will actually eat, BUT it has to be packable.

What’s a way to encourage most kids to eat veggies? Making them dippable! Here are 5 dairy-free dippable, packable school lunch ideas approved by my kindergartener.

1) Eggplant dippers

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Cucumber slices, bell pepper strips, grape tomatoes, and whole wheat pita are perfect for dunking in this eggplant dip. Pile half of an apple — sliced — into a snack size container for an energy boost later in the day.

Eggplant dip: 1 chopped eggplant and 6 peeled whole cloves of garlic drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with salt and pepper, then roasted at 425F until softened. Add the roasted veggies, 1/4 cup of tahini, and 1/4 of olove oil to your food processor and blend. Scrape food processor sides with a spoon. Add a handful of raw grape tomatoes, 2 spoonfuls of olive spread, a hefty handful of fresh basil, and blend. Scrape down the food processor sides and taste. Add salt, pepper, and garlic powder if desired. Blend and serve.

2) Asian Sunbutter Sauce Dippers

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Veggie dipping gets international, peanut-free flare with this take on crudite. Add sliced radishes, sugar snap peas, baby corn, dairy-free sesame crackers, and a few sheets of dry roasted seaweed (like this) to a container with a side of Asian Sunbutter sauce for dipping. Toss some washed red grapes in a snack container for later.

Asian Sunbutter sauce: Place 2 Tbl Sunbutter, 2 Tbl mirin, 1 Tbl reduced sodium Teriyaki sauce, 1 tsp sesame oil in a ramekin. Microwave for 20 seconds to soften the Sunbutter. Mix well then transfer to a small container.

3) Black Bean Dippers

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Hearty and healthy, black bean dip is a multi-use dish. Stuff, spread, or scoop… it’s a great back-pocket protein-rich, tummy-filling recipe to have on hand. For this lunch, add a few spoonfuls of the homemade bean puree to a small container. Serve bell pepper strips, celery sticks, and plantain chips for dipping. Add fruit salad to a small container for a sweet snack.

Black Bean Dip: grab a blender cup and pour in 1 can of drained and rinsed black beans, 2 spoonfuls of pico de gallo, the juice of 1 lime, 2 Tbl olive oil, 1 Tbl cumin, 1 Tbl chili powder, 1/2 Tbl garlic powder, as well as salt and pepper to taste. Blend. Scoop, dip, serve, or refrigerate for later use.

4) Marinara Dippers

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Scoop your favorite dairy-free marinara into a small container. Toss a couple of raw broccoli florets, some dairy-free bread sticks, and a few dairy-free meatballs in a container for dipping. (If your containers slosh, tuck the breadsticks into a plastic baggie.) Place some grapes in a snack size container for later noshing.

5) Creamy Teriyaki Dippers 

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To make Teriyaki less spill-prone, let’s thicken the sauce. In a blender, whir together 1 Tbl of reduced sodium Teriyaki sauce with 2 Tbl of Tofutti Better Than Ricotta. Pour the sauce into a small container. Add radishes, sugar snap peas, baby corn, dry roasted seaweed, and a few sesame crackers for dipping. Tangerine segments and grapes make a refreshing snack. (If your sauce tends to spill over in the container in transit, pop the crackers and seaweed in a plastic baggie.)

 

Day in the Life of a SAHM

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We’re just three weeks into the school year and I’m doggie-paddling. Anyone else feel like they’re this close to drowning? Anyone?

It may not sound like much but managing a half-day preschool calendar and a full-day kindergarten calendar along with a 1-year-old’s routine, household duties, and a breast pumping schedule for milk donation has me harried. I am still new to this regiment and — full disclosure — it’s tearing me limb from limb. And we don’t even have homework or extracurricular activities yet, people!

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This is a glimpse at my average weekday schedule:

5:00/5:30am: 1-year-old wakes to nurse.

5:45am: Put 1-year-old back to bed or bring him downstairs with me (depending on how early he feels like waking.)

6:00am: Eat an apple and drink green tea while I pump. Catch up on news, check social media, and edit the blog while I moo.

6:40am: Done pumping. Clean pump parts, put lunchboxes I filled yesterday into backpacks, set out shoes (and jackets, if needed), and put out breakfasts I made the day before. Pour myself a second cup of tea and head upstairs to get ready. Husband (aka: The Hubs) lumbers downstairs around now, unless the 1-year-old awoke him a bit earlier, and brews coffee while starting his work-from-home workday.

6:55am: 1-year-old is in the tub beside my vanity playing while I get ready. I switch between doing my hair and make-up and ensuring he doesn’t try to eat the bathtub drain.

7:15am: 1-year-old is done with the tub. Time to get him dried and dressed.

7:20am: Wake up kindergartener. Race back to my bathroom to finish up the last bits of my morning routine before she calls me to do her hair.

7:25am: Kindergartener is dressed. I play hairstylist.

7:27am: 1-year-old is causing mayhem so I ask The Hubs to fetch him.

7:30am: Kindergartener heads downstairs to eat breakfast. Preschooler is awake and headbutting his bedroom door.

7:35: Preschooler is pottied, dressed, brushed, and coifed. He heads downstairs for breakfast.

7:40am: I go downstairs dragging a hamper of dirty laundry.

7:43am: Start the laundry. Start to tidy the kitchen. Someone needs help with something (baby gate, breakfast, wardrobe malfunction.) Take my vitamins. Blend my smoothie that was prepped the day before and transfer it into my straw cup. Breastfeed 1-year-old while giving the kindergartener a 2-minute warning before it’s time to leave. The Hubs goes upstairs to get dressed.

7:45am: The Hubs is dressed. Kisses, love, wishes for a good day, and reminders to be a friendly friend. The Hubs and kindergartener leave for morning drop-off.

7:50am: Breastfeeding 1-year-old because he got distracted with big sister’s exit. Preschooler demands a snack though he’s holding his half-eaten breakfast while wearing a princess costume.

8:00am: Tidy kitchen. Clean smoothie mixing vessel. Rinse pump parts and clean up breakfast aftermath. Prepare prechooler’s snack after collecting his empty breakfast plate.

8:02am: 1-year-old wants a snack too. Prepare his snack.

8:05am: Now I’m peckish. I pour a small bowl of hippie cereal (seeds, buckwheat groats, dried berries, coconut flakes, and cashewmilk) and sit down with the mug of cold tea I forgot to bring upstairs with me.

8:10am: I’m sitting and eating cereal. Catching up on social media and/or local news. Playroom scuffle breaks out. Scoop the last bites of hippie cereal down my gullet on the way to referee the brawl.

8:15am: Playroom peace attained. I check the oven clock. How the HELL is it only 8:15?!? I check my phone. Yep… 8:15. Shit. I clean up my cereal and unload the dishwasher.

8:30am: In the playroom reading with the minions.

8:35am: Clean-up time (code for: tot coup d’etat)

8:39am: Playroom moderately tidied. 1-minute warning to departure for preschool drop-off. I head to the kitchen to fill my water bottle and notice my smoothie sweating on the counter. Oh right, I made a smoothie! (Like I do every. Single. Day.) I put the smoothie next to my water bottle and keys to bring with me. Then change 1-year-old’s diaper.

8:40am: Drama ensues because leaving the house must always involve chaos and yelling. Always.

8:43am: Boys are in the car, shoes on (so help me!), and buckled into their car seats. I flop into the driver’s seat trying to remember what it was like when all I had to do to leave the house was put on my shoes, grab my keys, and leave. The mental file is too outdated… file not found.

8:50am: We arrive at the school early because I’m a type-A pain-in-the-ass who fears arriving late. We wait for 3 minutes in the car before starting the unbuckling routine. Meanwhile, I drink my now-melted smoothie.

8:58am: Preschooler is kissed, wished a good day, and signed in. I chat with some familiar faces then head to the car, 1-year-old riding on my hip.

9:01am: Get in the car and head either to Target or the grocery store since no other fruitful destinations are open at this time. On storytime days, Target is our destination.

9:20am: Arrive at Target. Pop 1-year-old in the Ergo 360 and off we go.

9:25am: 1-year-old is peckish. He nurses in the Ergo while I grab paper goods and eye all the women’s fashion section from afar. Target is now my fashion magazine. Oh, wide-leg jeans are back in!

9:38am: Checked out, paid, buckled in, still parked, I grab my phone and add something to the grocery list that I just remembered we need. (Thank you, Wegmans app!)

9:55am: We arrive at storytime before the library even opens (see 8:50am time slot for reasoning.) 1-year-old is chilling in his car seat so I turn up the music and check email and Instagram while we sit. I remember I need to schedule a pediatrician well-check… mental reminder. Then I realize I should probably drink more water, so I chug.

10:05am: Heading into storytime, the cereal and smoothie and water have caught up to me. Pee break in a public restroom while holding my 1-year-old: amateur contortion.

10:10am: 1-year-old is enjoying free reign of the children’s section. He keeps a close eye on the doors to the storytime room.

10:30am: The doors open. 1-year-old charges in. Storytime!

11:05am: Heading home for lunch.

11:15am: Wash hands then microwave last night’s leftovers for lunch while the 1-year-old shrieks out of sheer starvation, unless The Hubs (who generally works from home) had a slower morning and was able to heat up lunch.

11:30am: Eat lunch and rehash the morning with The Hubs.

11:40am: Clean up lunch and set up tea kettle to brew.

11:45am: Head upstairs to change 1-year-old and nurse him for naptime.

12:05pm: If I’m lucky, the 1-year-old is finally asleep and I can head downstairs to pour a cup of tea and set up my breast pump. If he’s not asleep, I’m still in the glider being milked.

12:45pm: The Hubs kindly leaves to pick up the preschooler.

1:10pm: I’m cleaning pump parts and bagging milk when the preschooler arrives home. He potties, scrubs his hands, and goes down for a nap.

1:15pm: I pour my second cup of tea and sit down with great aspirations of ass-sitting. Instead, I make the grocery list and meal plan, check my calendar, scout weekend activities, call the pediatrician to make the well-check, and check email.

1:30pm: One of the boys awakes. They’re not supposed to be up until 2pm but, gosh darn it, one or both of them nearly always awakes now. I remember the load of laundry in the washer as I go to collect the early riser. I transfer it to the dryer before I go upstairs.

2:00pm: Naptime is over. A part inside me cries… another potentially restful naptime lost. Back to snack-making and kid-wrangling.

2:15pm: Feed the boys a snack, figure out a car ride snack for the kindergartener and the neighbor girl we drive home, and tidy the inexplicably messy kitchen.

2:30pm: Start getting everyone ready for kindergarten pick-up. Drama — as always — upon our departure.

2:45pm: We pull into the school parking lot. (School doesn’t let out for another 30 minutes but, I think you know by now that this is how I roll.)

2:50pm: The boys play out front with other younger siblings while I simultaneously chat with fellow parents and fish acorns and rocks from my 1-year-old’s mouth.

3:15pm: The kindergartener and neighbor girl head our way.

3:30pm: Everyone is noshing on granola bars and rehashing the day’s events as we exit the school parking lot.

3:40pm: Home. Shoes off. Hands scrubbed. A small snack is served at the heathens’ demand while I clean out the lunchbox and review evening expectations: any papers, homework, items of note? The kindergartener regales us with details of her day. We listen.

4:00pm: Kindergartener heads to her room for quiet time. Preschooler tries to join her but must stay downstairs instead. You want to watch “The Little Memaid” for the 456734th time? Will it make it so you won’t try to sneak upstairs to make fart noises outside of your sister’s bedroom door? Fine. I start dinner, lunch, and breakfast prep. Kids pepper me with: “Can I have a snack?”, “Can we go outside now?”, “Is it dinnertime yet?” The answer is “no.”

5:00pm: Dinner. Everyone is excited and claims they will eat every morsel.

5:20pm: Everyone except for the preschooler has finished dinner. The dinner drama ensues during dinner clean-up and morning prep. Start the dishwasher.

5:45pm: If the preschooler hasn’t finished now, it’s too late. Playroom time to let dinner settle. I breastfeed the 1-year-old while checking social media, email, check in with friends about this life event or that, and check the next day’s calendar.

6:00pm: Wrangle all of the kids outside to play.

6:40pm: Everyone comes inside. I throw the dry laundry into a laundry basket and put it in the family room (where it will sit mocking me for at least 2 days… or until I run out of laundry baskets and am forced to fold it along with three other laundry heaps.)

6:45pm: Playroom clean-up (always a pleasant experience… like a root canal without painkillers.) The Hubs showers and, once I can see the playroom floor, the kids and I do storytime.

7:00pm: The Hubs supervises the kindergartener’s shower and the preschooler’s bath. I get the 1-year-old in pajamas and nurse him before bed. I peruse Pinterest and plan playdates or outings with friends while breastfeeding my sleepy 1-year-old.

7:40pm: 1-year-old is in bed. I shower.

7:50pm: On the sofa with my giant bottle of fizzy water, my breast pump, and The Hubs to watch one of our shows (presently, “Narcos”) then chat about the day before heading up to bed.

9:30pm: I set my alarm for way-too-damn’-early o’clock but know I won’t even need the alarm because of my 1-year-old.

And I do it all again tomorrow.