What's a Mom to Do?

Ahhh, Thursdays. The day of the week that haunts me. Preparation is futile, I seem to always sink on Thursdays. Today was no exception. Although the day started out with something amazing and out of the ordinary, a shower, moments of calm were no where to be found. Ok, so the shower was nice. I don't get those in the morning very often, and my husband even made breakfast which helped me get all three of the kids out of the house and to school early. Yahooo! Don't remember the last time I got to school when I wanted to. But that was the beginning of the end. After getting all three kids out of the car, and the stroller mostly loaded up for a morning of activities, I go to bible study at the church where my son's school meets, I realized I was missing one very vital piece of the puzzle- the diaper bag. Quickly I threw the kids back in the car, listened to the annoying kids music over my daughter's screaming and raced back home, knowing that I wouldn't be able to join my son for the parent participation focus of the morning. Oh, well. Deep breaths and I moved on.
The rest of my morning went as Thursday mornings go, and I left the school, cramming four cranky, hot and hungry people into my swaggered wagon past the usual lunch and nap time. As I rushed home, my mind went over the usual options... feed the baby first or the kids first? What to eat? Do I have any milk left? Who should I get out of the car first? (yes, it can require strategic planning depending on who is screaming, who has to pee and who is just annoying me the most.). As I struggle getting three writhing body's into the house without letting the 90 degree weather in, I unloaded a morning's worth of crap in my entry way. And there the crap stayed. Somehow I made a meal while holding a crying baby, fed four people and survived lunch without crying. The kitchen and dining room did not survive.
As if just getting four people fed wasn't enough, I then had to get two of them to bed. One of which is a little Houdini. We have to sew here Pj's shut just to keep her from pooping and smearing it all over the walls. Today, I thought I would see if we could get away with not sewing her. Nope! Thankfully, right after I got the baby to sleep, I caught my daughter just as she was taking off her diaper to investigate her paint prospects. Ahhh, crisis averted.
Now, on to my to do list... water garden, do dishes, sew patch on to canvas... oh wait, that is a lot more than I had bargained for.... I now have a blister on my finger from cramming a large needle through stubborn fabric. Thankfully, I know where that needle is, unlike the one I lost in my daughter's room when I sewed her pj's up... not sure what to do with that one.
By this time, my son has asked me for a snack about 75 times, has yelled, sang and stomped next to his sleeping sister's room and strewn toys across the house. My nerves are becoming more and more frazzled. The girls both wake up crying. My two-year old proceeds to cry like I am jamming bamboo down her fingernails for the next 20 minutes. As I continue to guide the stubborn needle in and out of the even more stiff fabric, I assess whether or not the popsicle in my daughter's hand is dripping on the furniture, hoping her brother will just leave her alone so I don't have to hear her squeal like a pig being slaughtered again.
Deep breath, and now to make dinner. Thankfully I have a gift for making something out of nothing, and somehow pull together a delicious stir fry from my empty pantry. Just as my wonderful composition was coming together, my little world came to a grinding halt. There on the wall of my son's room was his artistic rendition of the stairway to heaven. I'd like to say my heart sank in my chest, but truthfully, by that time my heart was numb from a day of being barraged by the constant pokes and pricks of three kids. The numbness quickly wore off as my son proceeded to show me the rest of his artistic escapade. To the sound of my wonderful dinner burning, I watched as my son showed me his swirls, lines and sketches in bold black crayon on the walls, growth chart, bed, dresser, door, and toy chest. Deep breath, count to 10.  There was my four year old with a half smile on his face, pride oozing out as he showed me all that he had done.What is a mom to do?
The answer, thanks to a little help from my dad, my son is now sleeping on the floor. All that is left in his room is his dresser and the crib for his sister. And now here I sit. A table covered in spaghetti sauce from last night, beans from lunch and noodles from dinner. Three counters full of dishes, books, toys from my son's room and trash from the day. A floor covered in clothes, blankets, stuffed animals, more books, diaper bags, car seat, and whatever else I had to drag out of my son's room. A coffee table full of books, old diapers, broken diapers, toys and my sewing project. Here I sit, one frazzled, tired but alive mama. What's a mom to do?