A SAHM Moment: The Rest of the Story

So you want to know what I did?

As soon as I pulled into the garage, I grabbed Connor and Teyla out of the minivan. Ignoring the phone, I deposited the children in the kitchen and plied them with milk and Goldfish, so I could race upstairs to my computer and e-mail the directions Corey needed.

That done, I raced back downstairs to begin unloading the groceries. No sooner had I gotten to the garage than Corey called; I had sent the directions to the wrong e-mail account. I raced back upstairs (three flights, mind you) to forward the directions to the correct address.

I raced back downstairs and threw another handful of Goldfish on Teyla's highchair tray, which did not calm her fussy crescendo. That's when I remembered the stinky diaper. Grabbing the baby out of the highchair and doing the Mommy Flip, Pull and Look (don't give me that, you know exactly what I'm talking about), I saw a tiny tush that was the medical definition of inflamed.

I raced back upstairs and changed the diaper. (I'll skip the play by play here, but you should feel sorry for Teyla. She was writhing.)

"Mom? I'm done with my churro," called Connor.

I re-entered the kitchen. Why yes. Yes, he was done with his churro, if by done he meant mean he blew it up like a small bazooka scattering cinnamon sugar to the four corners of the linoleum. (Mental note: No more churros indoors. Like Popsicles, they are now an outside-only food.)

I scarfed down half of my tuna sandwich while I cleaned up the churro remains.

I was just starting to relax, when I jumped. THE GROCERIES!

I raced down to the garage, pulled out the bags, raced back upstairs and threw the veggies in the freezer. The flowers took a bit longer to handle, mostly because I've learned through experience to give the tulips a fresh cut UNDER WATER so no air bubbles get trapped in the stem, which can make the tulips droop.

With all my tasks completed, I put on a "Curious Buddies" DVD for Teyla, poured myself a glass of Trader Joe's pomegranate green tea and sat down to finish my sandwich.

But it was odd. I felt uncomfortable, like I had forgotten something.

It took me an hour to realize: I never did go to the bathroom.

Years of working in a newsroom, under deadline, has given me a bladder of steel. I had to learn to sit in the control booth for hours, if necessary, without pulling a potty break card. Breaking news -- wildfires, terrorists attacks, high-speed chases on the 5 -- waits for no pee-pee.

Who knew that would be a skill I would use as a stay-at-home mom?

Now if I could just find a child who appreciates it when I answer questions by saying, "More on that at 11."