The poet Alex Dimitrov does these day in the life posts on his Substack. The only teensy-tiny difference between his and mine is that he is a working writer in New York City and his life is spontaneous and involves parties and literary events and rendezvous around the city. Mine does not. But here it is. A little day in the life, a diary of sorts! Enjoy!
Love ya!
6:30 am: Riley is at the top of the stairs yelling “Mommy! Where are you?!” I’ve just rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. “I’m here, Riley. I’m in my room.” Her little bedhead peeks through the door. “Good morning!” I say. She crawls into bed with us, which is cute but also involves getting kicked in the face a few times. She pulls on the little strands of hair around my face and strokes a pimple on my chin. “It’s going to heal, mommy.”
7:00 am: Harper is up. I roll out from under Riley, who is starfished on top of me. I flick on the light in Harpers room and say, “Good Morning, Harper!” She says “sleehhpeeng” a word she just learned. “Are you still, sleeping?” I ask. “No, mahmee” I scoop her out of the crib and she wriggles right out of my arms to go find her Daddy.
7:30 am: It's time to get dressed which means a lot of chasing Harper and negotiating with Riley about which princess dress she wants to wear to school today She will only wear dresses that go to the ground. If they hover just above her ankle she says “I think I’m growing out of this dress, mommy.” Both the girls strip down naked and start running laps around me. “Grandma tushy! GRANDMA TUSHY!” they chant ceremonially. This is their new favorite game and I have no clue where it came from. I get the appeal though. Looks fun and it’s really cute until..uhm.. it’s not. I manage to slip a dress over Harpers head while she’s trailing behind her sister. Riley wants to match Harper and luckily I have the same dress in her size. Riley refuses undies and shoes. I decide to try again after breakfast.
8:00 am: We head downstairs and I have a bunch of little projects waiting for me in the kitchen. Riley and Harper head to the playroom to build towers with their blocks. I cut up an apple and throw it in a pot with oats and mashed banana. “Sweet oats” we call them. I have a loaf of whole wheat sourdough that rose overnight and is ready to bake. Preheat, pop it in. Some beans are soaking and are ready for the instant pot. Everyone gathers at the kitchen island. The girls kind of eat, but mostly Harper stands up on the barstool, wobbling precariously. She points to things and says “THAHHT, THAHHHT.” She throws her fork. She wants the cottage cheese straight from the container. She wants my oatmeal instead of hers. I shovel in some quick bites and let her have the rest. My little firecracker!
9:00 am: The chaos of getting in the car. Riley had to finish building a tower. We get her undies and shoes on while she finishes building. She says she needs to bring her blocks in the car. Okay, no problem. Harper manages to unlock the back door and run down the driveway while Jared is pulling out. He leaps out the car and scoops her. The rest is a blur of carseat buckles, a meltdown over a collapsed tower, demands for a toy camel that I find in the crevice of the couch. Eventually, we are on the roaddd, babyyy.
9:45 am Drop off. Harper’s class only has three kids present today. A couple out sick, the rest on vacation. Her teacher Liz greets her. Harper leans into her arms and they hug. “Love you, Harper” I say. Riley and I walk down the hall to her classroom. “Uppy, uppy,” she says. She’s getting too big for me to carry everywhere, but I do it anyway. I pick her up and she nuzzles into the crook of my neck. Her drop offs are always hard. “One more hug, one more hug,” she insists over and over again. Today a group of girls come up to see her new dress. “Allison, we both have flower dresses!” Riley says. The easiest drop off we’ve had in months. “Love you, Riley!” She doesn’t look back.
10:00 am -12:00 pm: Coffee shop. Completed background check documents for a adjunct teaching job I’ve accepted. Had to provide proof of previous employment and explain gaps in my work history. Weirdly an emotional process? Looking through all my files for CREA made me feel proud. The blur of the last three years feels less amorphous when presented as a series of W9s for contracted work. Just a nostalgic drive down google drive lane, you know!?
12:30: Lunch. Food pic…incoming!
1:00 pm: Called potential therapist in the car. No answer. Bummer, it’s so hard to find a good fit. Feeling demoralized on this front.
1:30 pm: Drug test for the new job. This was a very bizarre experience I was not prepared for. There was a very you-are-potential-criminal vibe happening. They locked up my purse. I had four minutes to chug water and conjur…the sample. The atmosphere was very sci-fi. Florescent lights, a waiting room with plastic covered seat cushions that squeeked when I sat down.
2:30 pm: Sourdough timmmme! Got her out of the fridge let her rest for ten. Did some stretch & folding. Prepped the banneton basket and put the dough in to rise for two more hours! I can’t believe the sourdough jargon rolling right off my tongue. The actual work time was less than five minutes and then I got in a quick workout - 20 minutes!
3:00 pm: Jumped in the car around three to go get the girls. I love seeing them at pick up but the journey from their classrooms to the car in 104 degree heat is often meandering and tumultuous. Today nobody runs into the street or refuses to get in their carseat, a win! I always come with snacks in tow. Today it’s cashews with some chocolate chips. Trail mix we call it, a generous title. Riley says “I think I’m overheating, not a lot, just a little.” It’s been so hot we haven’t been able to spend the afternoons outside like we usually do. She must have picked up this language from my explanation: “It’s too hot outside. We need to stay inside so we don’t overheat.” I turn on the car to pump the AC while I get them in. Riley climbs in and Harper follows suit, wanting to climb in all by herself like her sister. She’s not quite able to do it independently yet, so I prop her up on the ledge of the car and give her a very subtle boost. I am drenched in sweat by the time they’re in. We listen to songs about airplanes on the way home.
3:45 pm: A neighborhood drive. Every time we approach our street Riley request to drive around the neighborhood a few times. It’s usually fine, but sometimes she wants to keep driving and driving. Today is one of those days. When I pull into the driveway, she burst into tears, “I WANT TO KEEP DRIVING!”
4:30 pm: We make truffles. Riley has been watching old episode of Giada at Home from the Food Network and has been asking to make them. I throw some random unmeasured ingredients in a blender: peanut butter, almond flour, oatmeal, maple syrup, cocao powder, a few chocolate chips. Once everything is blended, the girls help roll them into balls and we put them in the freezer for 10 minutes. The verdict: YUMMY!
5:30 pm: The girls are playing in the playroom. They have been playing more together. Harper is saying so many words and Riley understand her in the way a parent understands their toddler when nobody else does. I throw together a hodgepodge of random things and call it dinner. Jared is working late tonight and I’m not in the mood to cook.
6:00 pm: Dinner time. The girls kind of eat, but barely. Oh well.
6:30 pm: Put the babies in the bath. Harper is a splasher. She puts her little hands out signaling for soap. I squeeze a dollop in each hand in she washes her tummy and her cheeks. I get the rest of her cleaned up, no hair tonight, and then I lift her out and get her in her pajamas. There is chasing involved. While Riley plays in the bath I read Harper three books. She just entered the “one more” stage and I tell her “I’ll read you that one in the morning” as she pulls another out of her book basket. Soon, she is in the crib, falling asleep.
7:00 pm: Time to start the marathon that is Riley’s bedtime routine. I won’t walk you through it, but just know there are 104970 steps and 20427 attempted diversions. She has endless questions about the stories we read, which is great, yes…we love curiosity, and…I’m tired. As they say, no one has more on their to do list than a toddler at bedtime. She’s in her crib by 8. I count that as a success.
8:00 pm: Back in the kitchen for cleanup. Somedays I enjoy the quiet kitchen time. Other times, dishes are my nemesis. Today is the latter.
8:15 pm: Jared is home. We catch up in the kitchen. I tell him I have no writing ideas this week. I tell him that I think I will grow a following here but it may take 10 years and I’m okay with that. “I believe in consistency” I say. It’s not about the following so much, it’s just that all writers want their work to be read. I say I think I need to wake up before the girls and brain dump, morning pages style. Seeing what’s in my brain - on paper - may help me identify my own burgeoning ideas. It’s that Flannery O’Conner thing “I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say.”
9:00 pm: I make the mistake of starting the first episode of the new Sex & The City season. It’s pretty awful and now I’m up too late.
10:00 pm: Bedtime. Sometimes the most ordinary things feel like magic and sometimes they really don’t. Today was just another day, how most days are. Sometimes I find myself bored with the predictably. Always up at the same time, breakfast, lunch, naps, dinner, bath bedtime. My days revolve around my kid’s schedule. Even deviations are planned and prepared for. And it turns out life is richer within these limitations. The deepest, most rewarding commitments are sometimes boring, I think. Even in seasons of excitement or change, we always arrive back at the mundane. The greatest lesson for me, has been learning to find peace there.
With love,
Stephanie
P.S. If you like my writing please share, comment, and/or like the post. You are even encouraged to text it to a friend! I really love to write, and I really love for my writing to read. Thank you for being a reader! Truly.
This piece is brilliant, Stephanie! Your writing draws me into every scene and detail and conversation, feeling the heat and exhaustion and sweetness of it all right alongside you. As this popped into my inbox, I was literally doom scrolling news headlines about wildfire smoke and nuclear war and our crumbling democracy. Thank you for pulling me out of the apocalypse and bringing me back to earth, where life is still overall pretty normal.