Mommy Power Hour

Anyone who went to college knows what a real "power hour" is, but I've found myself using this term to refer to the frenzied hour I spend trying to "catch up" on the rare occasions when I get home before my husband and baby bug.

For example, this past week I got out of work at 3:45pm. I have a 30 minute commute home, made a quick stop at Roma's for lunch supplies, and was in the door at 4:30pm - exactly 1 hour before daddy and bug were due to arrive home. That's right - it was mommy power hour time!

In a flash, I was out of my gross hospital scrubs and into my Disney "Kitchen Princess" apron. Within minutes, there was a salted pot of water on the stove heating up and a load of bug's laundry was sudsing up in the washer. As the water slowly reached boiling point, I attacked the veggie crisper digging out two bunchs of broccoli, a half dozen mushrooms, and a lone red pepper. Minutes later the pasta was happily bubbling away and, with the addition of a medium white onion and many cloves of minced garlic, my veggies were roughly chopped and ready to be doused in olive oil, salt, and pepper before making their way into the oven to roast.

With thirty minutes already gone, I forged ahead with the roux for my "grown up" mac and cheese (nutmeg and a dash of cayenne pepper added to the flour) by melting the butter while I furiously grated two blocks of cheddar cheese. As if I had planned it (trust me, it was sheer coincidence, I'm not that good), the timer on the oven and the washer went off simultaneously giving me a pan of beautifully roasted veggies and a load of perfectly laundered onesies and socks in a moment of domesticated bliss. Out came the veggies - in went the mac and cheese.

The poise of the situation was lost as I then loudly barreled down the basement steps to move bug's clothes to the dryer and scattered cat food across the floor as I attempted to fill the dish far too quickly. Alas, I had no time to cry over split milk (or bits of cat food) - my hour was drawing to a close! In a last ditch effort to finish on a high point, I scrambled from room to room picking up toys, straightening books, depositing dirty clothes in the proper bins, and wiping down sticky surfaces.

And then, it was 5:30. I heard the sounds of crunching gravel as daddy and bug pulled into the driveway. Hurriedly, I ran a brush through my hair and gulped a glass of water just as the front door opened and my husband's voice rang out, "Guess who's home?"

Now that's what I call a power hour!