typical

When your child does not have special needs, the term that floats around is typical.  I have a hard time thinking of us as not typical.  Today, for example, was just a typical day in the life of a stay at home mom:

Everyone was dressed, fed, teeth brushed and decked out in winter wear ready for a much needed trip to the grocery store.  I strapped my buddy in and went to turn the car on ... it wouldn't start.  After a quick call to my car guy (aka. Grampa) we headed inside to call roadside assistance. 

Once the car was working it was lunch and naptime.  I spent naptime on computer duty.  See my buddy likes to throw things at the computer when he isn't able to climb up onto the desk to pound on it with his fists.  So the desktop bid its final goodbye.  Luckily we have the laptop from law school.  Unfortunately, it's up to me to transfer data - the most important being iTunes.

There are nights my buddy won't eat anything unless distracted by his favorite tunes.  There went my alone time with monkey bear... straight to the computer.

Soon enough it was time for the grocery store.  I started the car before I put anyone's coat on and we were on our way.  While walking through the parking lot, monkey bear fell and scraped her knee.  Inside the grocery store, I strapped my buddy into the cart and examined the knee.  We were in need of a bandaid.  Monkey bear rode in the cart and we headed straight for the first aid.  Once a Kailan bandaid was applied, I thought we were in the clear... oh so wrong.  Monkey bear declared she could not walk.

The only carriage known to man that my buddy cannot wiggle his way out of is the front of a grocery cart.  The strap is high enough when added to the restricted mobility of the leg holes.  So in order for monkey bear and her hurt knee to sit, I had to push them in one cart while dragging another cart behind me for the groceries.  Have I mentioned it was a BIG shopping trip?

Halfway through the store after her mood had been brightened with ham and cheese and the promise of whatever kind of ice cream she wanted, monkey bear decided she could walk after all.  I did the ol' carriage switcharoo and we cruised through the rest of the store with a much lightened load.

Once home, I unloaded the groceries while my buddy put a hat on the cat.  That's when I noticed the poop smell wasn't coming from the litter box, but from the furry bottom of our furry friend.  Once that mess was cleaned, the TV went on so Mommy could make dinner.  My buddy has just discovered the TV.  He is in love with 'Baby Signing Time' and requests it with fevered grunts and many signs.  Fear ye who puts on a different show.

Home-made pizza.  Sounds like a nice easy dinner.  One pizza with butternut squash sauce, pepperoni and olives, another with half broccoli and a hint of cheese and half pepperoni and lots of cheese.  Oh and a whole separate meal for monkey bear who only eats pizza the following day cold.  Then there was the poopey diaper in the middle of all that along with every toy known to man spread out on the living room floor.

All I've got to say is thank goodness I'm a stickler for bedtime and they are out by 7:30pm because I don't think I'd make it much longer. 

I guess my point is that while my buddy makes life a little harder, it really isn't so different from anyone else.