Wednesday, August 20, 2014

A day in the life.

Tuesday 19 August 2014

Alarm chirps off at 6:20am. I promise Peter I will only press snooze once (but actually end up pushing it three times), I squirm blindly through our sheets to find him, and wrap my arms and legs around him like I'm a koala and he is my hobbit shaped eucalyptus tree. Yum. I smother his forehead in dry kisses before promptly falling asleep again, most likely drooling across his face as I do so.

When I finally do tear myself out of bed, it is 6:40 and Peter is in the living room. I find a bowl of cereal on the kitchen counter next to my daily pills which are lined up like ducks in a row. I munch my breakfast, swallow my pills, and chew my gummy vitamins. I am an ADULT.

Beyond the feeding, watering, and bladder emptying necessities, my morning routine in its entirety is wash face, brush teeth, get dressed, and walk out the door. Today I select a yellow skirt and white blouse which Peter says make me look professional and "purdy." He lays on his stomach, chin in his hands and legs kicking the air each morning as I dress, and I feel comforted that I have someone available to help select an item if ever a need arises. We talk in baby voices complimenting each other and making puns about my bra, ("hehehehe Boobstrap Bill") because we are socially talented and mature individuals.

For my 50 minute commute to work I listen to a book on audio that I borrowed from the library. I do not threaten any of the slow drivers I slug behind even though they are all RUINING MY LIFE by their inability to read the speed limit. I do not pick up any hitchhikers. I arrive to work on time and unmurdered.

My client Stevie (a name I lovingly give him because he is blind and loves his toy piano) is being a champ today, and happily works through both OT and PT services. Six trips to the bathroom, one uneaten lunch, two shi-shi accidents, and three tantrums later it is now the final hour of school and we are to join the rest of the students in Art. This is always the most strange and difficult tasks to attempt to engage a blind 4 year old in. At the request of my classroom teacher I have wrestled Stevie into holding crayons, markers, and pencils and dragging them across pieces of paper so that he can colour with the other kids. If you ever feel that you are performing useless or futile tasks at your place of employment, just remember that 5 times a week I attempt to get a blind boy to colour in the lines.

Today for Art we are given play-doh to squeeze while the other kids colour, and while I am grateful for the activity which can actually be enjoyed by someone devoid of visual capability, Stevie does everything he can to lay down on the desk and sleep. Tough patootie, doody pants. We JUST had nap time, you know? That hour and a half period where you wriggled like a recently shed gecko's tail and tried to bite me when I held your hands to sign and say STOP? Now you will squeeze the doh and like it.
He doesn't like it.
The little boy who I watch M/W/F after school just got the Play-doh Cupcake Factory set and it is the most glorious and beloved of any Play-doh set I have ever encountered. I want my own. It's been officially added to my Rich List. This doh that I force into Stevie's unwilling fingers is not cupcake doh, but it is scented, and I resist the urge to taste it, an urge that I think it best I keep to myself, yet ironically I confess later to the internet regardless.

When I get home I crawl into bed and let Peter do the grocery shopping on his own because I'm selfish. I am grateful I have him now, because in the years after my voluntary exodus from my parents' I have had many panic attacks within the aisles of Foodland, because I evidently do not know what I have spent the last 18 years of my life eating.

Peter wakes me eagerly at 4:30 because it is time for us to watch Bachelor in Paradise. Together we sprawl across our bed eating white bread and Nutella whilst we enjoy and judge the life decisions of a group of adults acting like 13 year olds. It is brilliant, and we ritualistically criticize and pause and rewind so we can fully maximize our viewing experience. The contestants of lurrrve spew meaningless words like "connection" "right reasons" and give us such beautiful quotes as "You are literally killing me right now" and "you know that feeling you get when you get that feeling?" Majesty. I cannot believe Peter and I have a functional marriage even when we DIDN'T meet on national television.

Feeling greatly nourished by our feasting and laughing we venture on campus to attend a workshop of the Jesters Comedy Troupe, a club I cofounded with my friend Dax and forced Peter to be a part of because we were engaged and I needed a treasurer. Even though I have barely anything holding me to this group - hardly anyone knows us really, and usually the workshops function as giant inside jokes  which are loudly yelled while Peter and I sit and awkwardly watch, I am determined to not be wrenched from my baby (which I conceived with a man other than my husband. DRAMA!) thus I am here. Playing Fruit Ninja with my husband, but totally here in every other way. As I've been asked to perform this coming Friday (yay!) I go with the cast for an additional hour and play so hard I'm dripping in sweat, which, I assure you, is even sexier than it sounds.

The rest of the night doesn't exist to Peter or me, because we are now elderly married and asleep by 10:30 every night. YOLO. Our night ends almost exactly the same as it began; I snuggle into my husband, slobber on his face for a moment or two, until I feel his forehead is appropriately dampened by my saliva, and then we each turn away from the other and search for sleep to come take us.

No comments:

Post a Comment