Here, dear readers — My day in real time.

Sort of.

5, 6, 7 & 8 a.m.: Sleeping. Ahhhhhhhhhhh. Large Wacky Cat 2, the stripedy one, pins me in on one side; muscular husband pins me in on the other. Why does the Cat want to sleep with us? It’s so flippin’ hot. Unable to move. Sex? No. Have to sleep. Can’t open eyes. Consider a new lifestyle that involves not staying up so late at night. Hmmm. What time did we go to bed? Vaguely remember 11 o’clock news. Keep eyes closed. Sleep.

8:30 a.m.: Sleep in way too long. It seems like afternoon already, although it’s only… eight thirty!!! Damn. Spouse is late for work. We drink coffee.

8:45 a.m.: Water front yard. Fireworks debris still scattered around. Tiny bits of gunpowder, fluff and paper. Don’t care. Spouse eats breakfast, showers and dresses, all that, tries to wake up kids, does not succeed, leaves for work.

9 a.m.: I watch The View on tape (yick. Rosie, how could you disappear on me? They are BORING ON THE VIEW. Boring. Do not bore me, it irritates me) then Martha. Yick. Howie Mandel? Yick. Gary Marshall, scrapbooking? (Edited to say: Actually, Gary Marshall was funny, talking about how he made up the role of Laverne on “Happy Days” — then spun it off — cuz his mom called, “Get your sister a job. She’s seeing bad men!”) (And the lady who was on before Gary, one of Martha’s staff and Scrapbooker of the Universe, was pretty good. She kept saying, “Please don’t say I’m insane, but I know I am.”)

But I need something sexier than this to work out to, or at least a decent movie. I remember that my husband and the kids bought me a new stereo for my birthday. CDs! I can work out to music! But my work-out is almost over, so I call it good. Stairstepper, yoga, stretches, done.

10 a.m.: Kids wake up. They, too, think Martha is boring. Food? I haven’t had breakfast. They haven’t had breakfast.

10:30 a.m.: Kids refuse to get dressed. They find wasp that we couldn’t catch last night in living room. It’s baaaaaack. Wacky Boy runs for a rolled-up magazine; Wacky Girl is my back-up. I beat wasp to death with magazine and dispose of remains.

10:35 a.m.: Wacky Girl refuses to feed the cats, as the Tupperware bin their food is in is almost empty. It must be half-full, apparently, or no dice. Also refuses to give them their arthritis medicine. This is just mean. Will she do the same with me, someday?

10:45 a.m.: Wacky Boy finds a spider in the kitchen. “Go get another magazine!” I tell him. “No,” Wacky Girl says. “Spiders deserve to live.” They forget about breakfast and begin discussing relocation plan for the spider.

10:46 a.m.: The house is heating up — it’s supposed to be 90 again today. (88 yesterday? Those of you in the South can start laughing now. “That’s nothing!”) I close up the house, turn on the fans. Kids still discussing the spider’s new life — will he enjoy the raspberries more, or the honeysuckle?

10:47 a.m.: I hang up curtains in the kitchen. I have no idea when or why the curtains came down. Did we paint? I think not. The kitchen hasn’t been painted in four years or thereabouts. It’s been really hot in the kitchen, in the afternoons, with no window coverings. (We have no air conditioning. Thus our OMSI , Portland Children’s Museum and Portland Art Museum memberships — all three have air.) Dammit, the curtains are a bitch to hang. They keep slipping off. Plus there’s the valance thingy. My mom sewed these for me, they’re pretty. Meanwhile, I cannot remember the last time we had curtains in the kitchen. Wacky Boy: “Never. We have never had curtains there.”

10:50 a.m.: Raspberries it is. I use a ripped-up piece of newspaper to transport spider. Come inside to check e-mails, post on Thee Blog, and…

10:51 a.m.: Dammit. I forgot to water garden.

11 a.m.: Done posting for now. Breakfast?

11:01-11:53 a.m.: A nice leisurely breakfast, which consists of my bringing water to the table; water spilled, tablecloth drenched, newspapers salvaged; whip tablecloth off table like a magician; more water, water drunk, water refilled; orange juice, orange juice drunk, orange juice refilled; milk, milk drunk, milk refilled. Meanwhile, I’m yearning for more coffee, but don’t have two extra hands.

Food? Who has time for food with all these beverages? I jest. Wacky Girl had a bowl of granola; I gave both kids diced, peeled, incredibly fresh, ripe, organic peaches; peaches refused. They both had bowls of vanilla yogurt. (They don’t like cow’s milk, so I try to give them extra yogurt and cheese. My daughter drinks rice milk, but isn’t crazy about it.)

I am over the food thing. What I’ve been saying for awhile is… Food offered. Food often refused, but food offered. I am no short-order cook. My son didn’t want Fruit Loops, Special K or granola, so no cereal. (I didn’t bother to ask. He’s a cereal snob — Gorilla Munch or nothing.) (Also, they refuse to pour milk over their cereal and just eat it dry. They’re like toddlers this way. They both request teething biscuits from time to time, as well, but I think I’ve broken them of this one.) Instead, I offered him a whole wheat bagel with cream cheese and jam, but it took me forever to get it to the table, what with the beverages whizzing around all over the place and the clean-up, and the sighting of another spider. (Which turned out to be a fake-out, “Made you look!” spider, not a real spider, with relocation needs.)

(I am liking Amy Sedaris’ picture over there, on my sidebar with the ads. It’s like she’s helping me write.)

(That would be a good thing, because this post is about as fascinating as watching paint dry.)

(No use crying over a meandering post, or spilled water.)

My daughter had peanut butter toast on homemade wholewheat bread.

Me? I want more coffee but am too lazy to make any. So… Special K with diced peaches, orange juice, and a nice buzz from the allergy tab I took earlier. (Allegra, how I love you. My acupuncturist gave me some great herbs, but taking herbs involves 1) heating the water for a minute in the microwave 2) remembering to take the water out of the microwave 3) remembering how many scoops of each herbal concoction — I have two 4) stirring 5) drinking. So many steps! Allegra — 1) take pill out of daily pill counter because yes, I’m like an old lady and have to keep track 2) swallow it with water 3) buzz-buzz.

Water garden now? Yes.

Noon: Attempt to water garden. Am thwarted by laundry on line. Two loads. I’d forgotten about it. (I usually hang the laundry out at night, then bring it in around 10 or 11 a.m. the next morning, after I’ve shaken off the spiders and earwgs.) If I water, I will get laundry wet. Am sloppy waterer. We have all these hanging baskets, by the clotheslines. Also, am planning to water with water from kiddie wading pool, so it will be sandy, dirty water. OK. Rethink.

I’ve waited for too long, and it’s now the worst time of day to water tender young squash and bean sproutlings. Too hot. Might scorch plants. Skip it? Try to remember to water tonight? Yes. I soaked everything pretty well yesterday, so the ground isn’t parched and dried out. Sorry, plants, you have to wait. (The corn is tall now! Not “high as an elephant’s eye/by the Fourth of July,” like in Iowa, but still — four feet or so?)

Saw in the paper that the Portland Historic Races are at Portland International Raceway this weekend. We love a good race in this family. Some of us more than others. And we love them almost as much as a hockey game. Bonus: It’s free for 12 and younger. Bonus: PIR is right down the street. (We can hear the vroom-vroom in our neighborhood. Some of the neighbors aren’t keen on this, but I like it.) Should I call my husband and make weekend plans with him? (I call him sometimes ten times a day — obnoxious. He’s a good sport about it, but better to save up the calls. Or maybe he’ll read my blog and figure it out.)

12:30: Finish bringing in dry laundry. I even folded it as I yanked it off the line. (I hang out every-frickin’-thing in the summer — our electric bill gets cut by a third.) Request that my kids put away their laundry. They do. (This is new, believe me. I don’t know who these big kids are who showed up at my home a few weeks ago, but I’m thrilled.) Request that my daughter practice piano — her lessons start next week. She’s made up a couple of new songs — they’re haunting and sound like triads, although I don’t think she knows how to play her triads yet?

12:40: Hallelujah! No wet laundry to hang out, other than the wet tablecloth. But dishes need to be done, and we have to run by the grocery store. Also, Wacky Girl has a swimming lesson later this afternoon. Dang. OK, I’ll have more coffee at the store. And I’ll buy deli sandwiches for lunch. And I’ll bring in the yard debris can; the guys just came by. And the mail. New Netflix? (Entourage, Season Three — go get it and watch it. Ari, you’re a mess.)

12:49: Post. Get an e-mail from “Heidi.” She’s a nice girl, and bored today. She’d like to e with me. Am I interested? No. Hers is the thirtieth junk mail I’ve deleted today.

12:55: Compliment my daughter on her piano playing, compliment my son on the spider web and spider he just drew, let my daughter read my blog over my shoulder. “I said you play the piano great! That your new songs are good!” Wacky Girl: “Huh.” Leaves room. More later…

1:15ish? p.m.: Emptied kiddie pool, watered trees and ferns, filled up kiddie pool, soaked feet, said “Ahhhhhhhhh!” jumped up, launched fleet of rubber duckies and rose petals.

1:30ish? p.m.: Locked up house, left with kids for store. Grocery shopped. Was not that fun. Hot, sweaty, melty.

2:53 p.m.: Eating fast lunch, off to swim class and…

5 p.m.: Quitting time! Ha ha ha! That is a funny joke, Internet. But I am having a lovely glass of white wine and the kids are out playing in the nicely-decorated kiddie pool. I can see them from our office/family room/den. Even if I could not see them it wouldn’t matter — I can hear them. And they never stop talking. Ever. (They get that from their dada.) My office has a couch in it. (I could be a psychotherapist here. Whaddya think?) I will hit the couch in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 second! and watch my soap.

Things I have not done today, in order of importance:
* Talked with Zip, the Pink-Haired Housewife or the Wacky Nekkid Neighbor (although I did see her walking down the street — fully clothed — and we waved)
* Showered. Although, if you’ve made it this far, you’ll realize I worked out and am stinky and disgusting. (Should that be first on list?)
* Dishes (although I did load, run, unload and reload the dishwasher. So that’s something.)
* Remembered to feed the children in a timely fashion (no one has an appetite — too hot. Thermometer on my porch says 88 degrees. Planet Nomad: “Ha! Ha! Shut up, spoiled woman. You have no sandstorms there.”)
* Called my husband. I see he read my blog, though, so no need!
* Watched General Hospital. Noah Drake (Rick Springfield) is a mess! No, wait — it’s not Noah, it’s his alter-ego, “Mr. Love.” Like Buddy Love, the Eddie Murphy character? I’m confused now. His son isn’t as cute and charming as the casting crew thinks! Jason found his and Elizabeth’s baby! Thank God! Baby-napping = bad. No — Lucky still doesn’t know he’s not the father! And Luke? Off in Amsterdam (Tony Geary, the actor, not the character — he spends half his year in Europe. Damn. He has a better gig than I do…) with no idea that his wife, Tracey Quartermaine, is still having delusions (or is she?) that she’s seeing her dead brother, Alan. (I’ll post sometime about my lifelong-love of GH. Thirty-one years and counting — I started watching it when I was 12.) Must watch soap. Must stop this long insane rant that no one is reading… Except Worker Mommy, who I can’t link because her url isn’t linking. Babe — what’s your url? and Hockey God. (Edited to say: No he’s not — he just read the part about the races and skipped the rest. He just called. “You’re blogging in real time? Huh. Guess I didn’t catch you were doing that.” Oh, brother!)

5:31 p.m.: Did I mention that I got my daughter to her swimming lesson on time? Yes, indeed. And my daughter is no Otter — she’s been promoted to Seal.

5:32 p.m.: Hockey God is coming home with Indian take-out!!!! Alleluia. (He goes to a deli by his work — $4 a plate. Deal of the century.)

5:33 p.m.: I didn’t yell at anyone today. Not even the kids. Also, just heard from “Deandre.” She, like “Heidi,” is a nice, bored girl. She wants to send me pictures! Do I want? No, I do not want. Delete “Deandre.”

Are you wondering about the cats? They’ve been sleeping all entire day. Did not even get up to eat. Wacky Cat 2 just now woke up and bolted outside to go kill a bird or bathe himself or something critical. The cats and Tony Geary have it way better than I do. For sure.

All for now, more later. Mebbe.