Whoa, where am I?

It is 7:30 am and no one in my house is awake - not my husband, Charlie or Gregory - no one. For a moment I think I have woken up in some perfect alternate universe. But after a few moments, I realize Joaquin Phoenix isn't in my kitchen wearing a loin cloth, cooking me bacon and eggs, and Gregory's baby shit stained pants are still on the laundry room floor. By the way, normally after a blow out, I just throw the pants or underwear out, it's too gross to deal with. But these are adorable madras pants that along with his big floppy hat and dark socks, make him look like a little old man from a retirement community.

Charlie is awake now and I'm trying to get him his breakfast before I give the baby his bottle. I ask him what he wants. After about 2 minutes of him making a 'hmmmmm' sound, he says, "I don't know?" Charlie, do you want cereal, yogurt or a waffle? I found giving limited choices helps in most situations. Do you want to go to bed or get locked in the closet? "Umm, I'll go to bed." Excellent choice.

After some hemming and hawing, I ask again, do you want cereal, yogurt or a waffle? "I want something out of the refrigerator." The calm serene feeling of 30 minutes prior is gone. What Charlie? Yogurt, cheese, apple sauce? What? Baby is full blown crying now. Another 2 minute 'hmmm' begins, "I think yogurt." Great. I get him yogurt and start giving Gregory his bottle. As soon as I sit my butt in the chair, Charlie says, "I don't want this yogurt. I want banana yogurt." Sorry, we don't have banana yogurt, only vanilla. "But I want banana." Charlie, we only have vanilla. You asked for yogurt, so that's what you're going to eat. "No! I don't want yogurt." This is not a restaurant, you will eat what you asked for. "No yogurt. NOOOOO."

I am beyond frustrated and cannot believe it is only 8:05 am. Poor Gregory has indigestion from my yelling and yanking the bottle away from him so many times. Well, if you want something else, you are going to have to wait until I'm done feeding your brother. That'll teach him. "I don't want yogurt. I don't want the yogurt." What is it that you want, Charlie? "I want a bar." I get him a fruit leather bar. "NOOO, not a fruit bar, I want a bar bar." A what? "I WANT A BAR BAR. A BAR BAR." What's a bar bar? "The one in the blue box." Turns out a bar bar is a blueberry cereal bar from Trader Joe's. I get him his fucking 'bar bar' and finish feeding the baby. It is only 8:44 am, God help me.

Charlie has gone into his room to most likely poop. This is the only time where he wants to be alone. I go in to check on him and make sure everything is okay (meaning he's not smearing it on the walls). I knock on his door, you okay in here? "Go away." You done pooping? "NO, go away."
Clearly my kid is not potty trained at 3. I'm okay with this. He can continue pooping in his diaper till he's 10 if it gives me that 10-15 minute post breakfast drama break.
See, I found something positive to write.