A hour in the life of me

Evenings for most people is a time to unwind, to let go of the day and to knock back a cool alcoholic beverage. For me, evenings are the chaotic peak of my day, a time when I become the multi-tasking wizard of universe. I work evenings, usually just for an hour and half, but the preparation that goes into those two hours when I will be absent from the house would make anyone take to doing shots of vodka after 5 pm. I go to work right around the time my husband is coming home from work, sometime I barely have time to yell bye before throwing a baby in his arms and fleeing shouting instructions as I run downstairs. Other times, when he is late I meet him at the driveway so I don't have to wait for him to climb the two flights up to our apartment. Yesterday was a fine example. I get Giulio from school around 4, and unfortunately, due to the fact that most stores are closed in the hours that I am free, from 12.30-3, I am usually unable to fit in a run to the store before getting Giulio. I had Livia with me as well, which complicated things even further because in addition to the "lively" pre-schooler and the bag of groceries, I had a baby in the stroller. Giulio is always a bit wacky right after school and if I was a better mother I would have know better to try and attempt a trip to the store, what with two kids and the fact that I needed to be a work at 6. Unfortunately I needed groceries more. I flew through the store, throwing things into the giant blue IKEA bag slung over my shoulder, and heavier items under Livia's stroller. Why not use a cart and put the baby in the carrier? Because some weird form of logic on my part that said that it would take too much time to strap the baby to my chest and to use the cart to carry Giulio and groceries. Therefore I pushed the stroller with one hand, held Giulio with the other, while I was practically bent double under the weight of the bag. I had forgotten that we needed milk, juice, and wine. Back in the car, the clock read 4.30. Ok, I thought, got a little more than an hour to feed Livia (i.e. nurse her and feed her baby food), get dinner ready for Lorenzo and me, and get myself out the door. I had hoped to see our little blue FIAT parked in front of our building when we got home, a sign that Lorenzo was there, but no such luck. My 70 year old neighbor, Sig.ra Pala met me at the entrance to our yard and insisted on carrying my heavy groceries up the 3 flights of steps, leaving me only the baby to carry. As well as Giulio to coax up the the stairs. He was in dog mode again, knowing that there was no way I could carry him as well as Livia up, and so decided to do a little Edith Piaf fainting number by lying on the landing and refusing to move.
Once we all got inside, things moved into high gear. I nursed Livia, got Giulio settled with his cars, and then starting cooking Livia's baby vegetables and chopping up veggies for the "adults" dinner. Giulio won't eat anything that comes out of the ground, except maybe potatoes, and only if they are in an altered, fried form. I take a deep breath and start of feel a bit nervous, it is now 5.15. I'm chopping away like a mad woman, throwing vegetables into the sizzling pan and clamping the lid on over it while Livia starts to voclly demand her dinner. I have finally sat down and started to spoon feed the meat-veg puree into her mouth when I hear Giulio call from the bathroom. Oh no. Please don't tell me he chose this moment to go to the bathroom. Giulio has gone from being a constipated toddler to a regular preschooler, but this can lead to moments where the bathroom doesn't seem like was used by a small child going to the bathroom but has instead been visited by monkeys who enjoy finger painting. I walk in, so far so good, everything seems clean, and Giulio is just asking to be wiped. OK. It's when I have almost finished wiping him that I see that somehow a large piece of poop has fallen on the floor, onto the rug, and Giulio managed to stand on it. With both feet. There is poop all over the white bathmat, on the floor, and on his white socks. I start yelling, like Giulio is strapped with explosives that might go off at any moment. "Don't move! Don't move! Stay there!" I scream, yanking his socks off and throwing them into the washer. Livia wails away in the next room. "I'm coming!" I call, throwing the white poopey bathmats into the washer, dumping some detergent on top and cranking the water temperature up. I wash my hands and the return to the scene in the kitchen, the frying pan sizzling away, Livia sobbing in her high chair, her dinner now a cold congealed lump in the bowl. "Sorry, sorry baby." I say sitting down again to feed her. Shit, does the clock really say 5:35? Where is Lorenzo? Stupid question, it means he's coming, just not yet. I walk to the window to see if I see his car, maybe about to turn into our street. No sign of the car, but I do see a woman I know who lives across the street from me pedal past on her bicycle. I open the window. "Giusy!" I call, "Dimmi cara." Tell me she calls back. "can you come up here for a minute and just sit with the kids for 10 minutes until Lorenzo gets home?" This seems so absurd, yelling out to someone passing by my building to come and babysit, but I am desperate. I have to leave in like 2 minutes, and I know Giusy pretty well. She's never been to my house before, but hey, no time like the present. Three minutes later she is sitting in the arm chair holding Livia while Giulio plays in (clean) underwear at her feet with his cars, I'm grabbing my bag and shouting directions as I run downstairs. "Justsitrighttherelorenzowillbehomeinfiveminutes.byegiulio!" Lorenzo calls me when I am in the car to tell me that he is almost home. Well, better late than never.
Later at school where I teach english, one of my students comments that my photocopies (done at 5:59, one minute before the class starts) are crooked. I fix him a steely gaze. "Listen, you have no idea......"