I don’t know why mothers who don’t work outside the home — because we all know mothers work in the house, out of the house, around the house, on the house, under the house, you get the idea — are referred to as stay at home mom’s or SAHM’s for short.

I’m hardly ever home. EVER. And when I am, it’s because I just got in from being out. We’re up and out most days by 8:30am. Although it is like herding cats, I get everyone fed, dressed, and into the car having also done a load or five of laundry, emptied the dishwasher, changed the sheets on the bed, pre-made lunch so that it’s ready when we get back in, and checked my email.

We hit the streets up to the YMCA where I get two uninterrupted hours to work out while Fric and Frac get spoiled rotten at the ChildWatch. Back to the car by 10:30 and out to hit triumvirate of SAHM shopping. You know them as Target, Wal-Mart and “the mall”. Sometimes we have returns, sometimes we have legitimate shopping, but mostly, we’re just roaming like nomads. Seriously, when you see the nanny and child of a friend at Target because “We haven’t got anything else to do”, you know that we’re all moths to Targets red bullseye flame.

Maybe it’s Wednesday and time for a playdate at someone’s house. Good times. . .

Home for lunch by 1pm and then two (or five) books before nap. Two hours of blissful silence.