Proof that Work-at-Home Mothers Really Do Work

If you're anything like my ex-husband, you may think that "work at home" = reclining on the sofa watching talk shows all day and eating bon bons (taking the occasional break to gaze upon the peaceful countenances of the self-occupied children, and maybe toss an article off here and there if I feel like it). So here to set the record straight is a basic rundown of a day in the life of a single, homeschooling, writing mom of five.

8:00: Pour first cuppa joe, bask in the silence, and enjoy the giddiness of just knowing that this will be the morning I get a whole piece written before anyone wakes up.

8:05: Jump up, slopping coffee on laptop, when three-year-old comes blasting out of the bedroom with sippy cup held high, screaming "JUICE! JUICE!"

8:20: Change diaper, wash hands, dry hands on the two square inches of dishtowel that a kid managed to avoid rubbing peanut butter on, then wave right hand wildly around in the air trying to get it dry enough to work the touchpad with.

8:30: Type in the title of an article idea, which somehow managed to stick in my overtaxed memory from the time I thought of it at 3:00am until now. Begin research.

9:00: Contemplate the paragraph I've accomplished, poise fingers over keyboard in preparation for the next wave of inspiration. Hear other kids stirring, followed by the inevitable "Mom! I'm hungry!" Throw breakfast at them then jump in shower while they're distracted by food.

9:30: Field the instant messages that have been popping up on the screen, in between giving instructions for school assignments. Steal 30 seconds to relieve myself. Get more coffee, risking the distinct possibility that it may cause me to have to find another opportunity to visit the bathroom (justify by rationalizing that at least it keeps me awake to take care of the kids).

10:00: Write another sentence, then break up a sibling fight and dig out the Q-tips the three year old put down the bathroom sink. Sneak in a quick reply to an email list post.

10:30: Holler up the stairs that it's time for the teenager to drag herself out of her dungeon and face the bright light of day. When she finally appears, answer that of course her hair looks great, no her zits aren't that bad, and yes the black nail polish is beyond cool. Return to computer and write a few more lines.

11:00: Play the video game I promised to play with the eight year old upon finishing his schoolwork, while giving a long diatribe to teenager outlining her chores and schoolwork list for the day, only to discover that her ipod was playing the whole time when she stares at me blankly and asks, "Were you talking to me? I didn't hear a word you said."

12:00: Feed the natives, and do a tornado pickup through the house that has been destroyed while I was wasting time trying to earn money to buy more toys like the ones strewn across every inch of the carpet.

1:00: Nag teen about chores, refill toddler's sippy cup, fold a load of laundry, and explain to five year old - yet again - that it is not acceptable to wear the same dirty, stretched out and ragged t-shirt that she wore yesterday, and that the smooth cotton leggings I gave her do not "feel weird", and her favorite pair of pajama pants isn't clean so she'll have to suck it up. Return to computer.

1:30 (repeat throughout day): Answer phone. Go into another room or lock myself in van, depending upon who's on the other end.

2:00: Begin the 20 minute process of urging everyone to get shoes and coats on for errands. Buckle kids in van, go back in house at least twice for things I've forgotten.

4:00: Get everyone in the house and settled; get more coffee soas not to give into the urge to lock myself in my room for a nap during the pre-dinner witching hours. Back to the grind, with occasional breaks to play with kids, break up arguments, wipe butts, and clean up the third bottle of body wash of the week that the toddler has decided to dump out (thankfully this time into the sink and not on the cat's back).

5:00: Start dinner, with kids "helping" (this usually consists of trying to prevent the three year old from opening the hot oven, and explaining repeatedly to the five and seven year olds that the ingredients won't turn out quite right splattered on the counter instead of staying in the mixing bowl).

6:00: Feed munchkins, do another tornado pickup. Realize it's nearly as frigid inside as out and remember that toddler has fascination with switch on the furnace.

7:00: Bathe whomever was into the messiest stuff that day, do double-duty and pick up bathroom at the same time, discovering that my toothbrush has been used to clean the sink (have no proof of culprit but I've got my suspicions and he's under four feet tall).

8:00: Read to littles, get toddler into bed (carrying him back multiple times, depending upon how tired he is and how monstrous he's feeling), get butt kicked at video games again.

9:00: Herd kids into bathroom to brush teeth and go potty. Tuck into bed, wait for seven year old to concoct excuse to come back downstairs, get drinks of water, chase her back upstairs, collapse for five minutes before attempting to put house back together yet again.

10:00: Watch movie with teenager (if she hasn't decided that day that I'm ruining her life or I "just don't understand" her), catch up on email, tie up loose ends on writing work, recharge mental battery by chatting on instant messenger with actual adults.

12:00: Pass out and prepare to rinse and repeat.