lovemakesroom

I don’t even know what time the day started. All I know is it was offensively early and I had absolutely zero fight left in me because apparently my immune system has decided we’re doing another round of sickness. The kids right now are basically adorable little petri dishes with shoes on, and whatever they have, they’re lovingly sharing with the entire household.

FS3 ended up snuggled in bed with us for a little while because honestly? Survival mode. Eventually we peeled ourselves out of bed, got him fed, changed, dressed, and packed up for daycare. Then came the next battle: waking FD6.

That child sleeps like she pays taxes.

I enlisted FS3 to help wake her up, which somehow created more chaos instead of less. She declined breakfast, which is bold considering she survives primarily on air, attitude, and fruit snacks. I told her to get dressed and we’d do hair after. Lately she’s been asking for bubble braids, which sounds cute until you realize I’ve been a short-hair girl my entire life and now I’m over here learning hairstyles from YouTube tutorials like I’m cramming for a cosmetology final. Because her request was a braid and then bubbles, and then another braid and then bubbles on the same strand of hair.

I tried. I really did.

But somewhere between sectioning hair and being handed unnecessary attitude at 7 AM, I hit my limit. I informed her that if she couldn’t be respectful, she was getting what she got. So instead of Pinterest Mom bubble braids, she got pigtails and a life lesson.

Character building.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, Wiley and I had another one of those parenting disagreements that couples swear they’ll never have before kids. Turns out when you suddenly go from no children to managing tiny emotionally unstable humans, you occasionally disagree on strategy. Shocking. We talked it through because that’s marriage, honestly. Sometimes romance looks like communication and compromise, and sometimes it looks like passive aggressively loading the dishwasher while discussing consequences for whining.

Eventually Wiley took FD6 to school while I took FS3 to daycare. Then I dropped my car off at the dealership because apparently vehicles can also sense when you’re already struggling and decide it’s their time to shine.

The gearbox is leaking oil. The actuator went out — which, for those of us who don’t speak mechanic, is the little door lock thingy. So I walked down to Starbucks, ordered caffeine strong enough to resurrect the dead, and spent a couple hours working remotely trying to cosplay as someone who has her life together.

I answered emails. I organized things. I looked productive and emotionally stable.

Then I walked back to the dealership.

And this is where the story takes a turn.

Now listen. I’m a dark romance reader. The girls who get it, get it. The girls who don’t are probably happier and mentally healthier than the rest of us.

So I’m sitting there minding my business when the owner’s son comes around all polite and smiley.

“Let me bring your car around front for you.”

Absolutely. Thank you, kind sir.

This sweet innocent child pulls my vehicle up front, gets out smiling, tells me to have a wonderful day… and the SECOND I open my car door, I realize my Bluetooth had automatically connected.

And my dirty audiobook was playing.

Not softly.

Not subtly.

FULL. VOLUME.

Friends.

That poor boy heard things today that no human being should hear before noon.

I don’t know exactly what part he caught, and frankly I blacked out from shame before I could process it, but based on the audio level? I can only assume this child now needs therapy, prayer, and possibly witness protection.

I will never financially or emotionally recover from this.

I can no longer return to that dealership. I’ll be buying my next vehicle in another county under an assumed identity.

After narrowly surviving my public humiliation, I drove to Quincy, grabbed McDonald’s because at that point nutrition was no longer the priority, and headed to work. Somehow I actually had a productive afternoon. I got my unread work emails down to 17 which honestly deserves employee recognition and possibly a parade.

But this head cold was taking me out slowly, so eventually I picked up FD6 from school, dropped her at daycare for a little longer, and came home for a nap before my body staged a full system shutdown.

Round two of the evening chaos started shortly after.

I microwaved mac and cheese, sliced up kielbasa like the exhausted culinary queen I am, picked up the kids, got everyone fed, and had them clear the table afterward because we are raising future adults, not feral raccoons.

Then came baths, homework checks, lotion, ointment, vitamins, pajamas, bedtime negotiations, and approximately 47 reminders to stay on task.

I pulled FS3 from the tub, lotioned him up, got his nighttime things done, tucked him into bed, and soaked in those sweet sleepy little moments that somehow make the entire exhausting day worth it.

FD6 was supposed to be doing homework, which of course required supervision because six-year-olds have the time management skills of tiny drunk CEOs. We finished homework, got pajamas on, did vitamins, and she crashed too.

Finally the house got quiet.

I tidied up for a little while, climbed into bed, opened up the court report because foster parent life doesn’t exactly clock out at bedtime, and eventually put myself to sleep knowing full well the next chapter of chaos would begin in just a few short hours.

And apparently… the next post starts at 12:44 AM.