I'm a member of a group by the name, "What did you do all day?" on a web site called myworkbutterfly.com. It's been occupying some of my aimless Internet ramblings because as my faithful follower (my singular follower) will note I'm attempting to give up Facebook.
But it made me think about what I do all day and why it's so hard to remember when someone asks.
Today for instance, when I scrounge around the mush of my brain, I can remember convincing Julia to let me paint all of her fingernails and toenails in the same color. She wanted to do it herself, but she has been banned from nail polish after splattering the apartment carpet bright red on her last attempt. We had a long discussion about her responsibility with fingernail painting. She finally agreed that submitting to me painting her tiny nails might help reinforce her punishment. Twenty purple digits later, an hour of the day was gone.
She rode her bike two laps around "the loop" of our apartment complex. I ran ahead of her saying "You'll never catch me!" in an attempt to get her to go faster.
I watched Atlantis: The Lost Empire while answering questions as to the motivation and mood of each character. Of special importance was the cast being stand-offish toward Milo in the beginning before finally inviting him to eat with them and letting him join the crew.
I prepared two meals and a snack.
I monitored painting with water colors. I participated in Julia's narration of each water color blob being morphed between princess with legs and mermaid with tail, over and over.
I typed little signs with the names of common household objects and scotch taped them around the apartment. I'm staring at a little rectangle of paper that says "computer" and another labelled "printer". These are typed in lower-case letters, a real victory for the day because it has spurned her interest in learning them.
I cleaned both bathrooms while my "helper" squirted water everywhere with a little bottle. She wiped up after most of it. We were both called Cinderella and had to keep taking orders from our wicked step-mother.
Inspired by two Cinderella's cleaning, we were off to the living room where I was forced to wear a huge blanket, a feather boa and a fuzzy pink scarf to an imaginary ball on the patio. My blue flip flops were glass slippers. The other Cinderella had a much more attractive purple princess dress. The step-sisters soon ripped our clothes off, so I could lose the blanket. My lost slipper was retrieved and I thought I married the prince until I was informed that the wicked step-sisters in fact married the prince. I was bummed.
I got out a bunch of old, uni-color, yucky Play Doh and suggested we make boats in a bowl of water. It turned out to be more fun making fish that splashed in the bowl, eventually ending the fun by splashing my entire shirt and one arm. We drug our bistro table to the apartment car wash and sprayed the slimy mess off.
And in my final act before sitting in this very chair tonight, I held, sternly talked to, and cuddled a heartbroken little girl after her balloon animal dog/giraffe popped. Outside of Buca di Beppo, I felt total calm while she screamed and cried and yelled, "I want to go home, Mommy." Then I endured fifty kisses and endless snuggles of a tired little girl that suddenly wanted nothing to do with the adult dinner she was being forced to attend.
When I think back, that's all I did today.