Welcome to the greatest show on Earth: The Unseen Olympics. No, you won’t find this event on TV or streamed online, but it’s happening in millions of homes every single day. Mothers from all over the world compete in this uncelebrated but universal event. There are no gold medals to be won, only the faint hope of five uninterrupted minutes to yourself and, if you’re lucky, a clean pair of socks.
As a mom of three—Jack, age 7; Lily, age 5; and Max, age 2—I’ve become a seasoned competitor in this chaotic daily grind. Some days, I feel like I’m nailing it, while other days, I’m limping to the finish line with a half-eaten granola bar as my only sustenance. Let me take you through my typical day in the life of this mom-athlete. Grab your popcorn—or maybe your coffee—and enjoy the ride.
Event #1: The Early Morning Dash
It doesn’t matter what time I go to bed; the day always starts with a whisper inches from my face. “Mommy, I’m hungry.” Sometimes, it’s Jack. Other times, it’s Max, who’s discovered that 5:30 a.m. is prime wake-up time. Groggy but functional, I stumble to the kitchen to start the breakfast relay.
While I’m flipping pancakes (Lily’s favorite) and pouring cereal (Max’s go-to), Jack reminds me that today is show-and-tell, and he needs to bring his special rock collection. Where is that collection? Who knows? But now I’m on a scavenger hunt before the coffee’s even brewed. By the time everyone’s fed, dressed, and ready to go, I feel like I’ve already run a marathon—and it’s only 8 a.m.
Event #2: The Toy Pickup Sprint
This event comes with an element of danger. You know that scene in action movies where the hero has to navigate a minefield? That’s my living room, but the mines are Legos. One wrong step, and you’re seeing stars and the air turns a bit blue.
Today’s sprint involves tidying up before a friend comes over for coffee. I’m scooping up dolls, puzzle pieces, and stray crayons, all while Max trails behind me, undoing my progress. It’s like trying to empty a sinking ship with a colander. By the time I’m done, I’m sweating, but the room is semi-presentable—at least until the next meltdown.
Event #3: The Grocery Gauntlet
This one’s a crowd favorite, mostly because it’s equal parts endurance and strategy. The grocery list is in hand, and Max is buckled into the cart. I’ve got exactly 45 minutes to shop before nap time implodes.
The challenge? Navigating crowded aisles while dodging tantrums in the candy section. Max spots a box of cookies and lets out a wail when I don’t put it in the cart. The bribe is a banana, which buys me ten minutes of silence. By the time we hit the checkout line, I’d forgotten half the list and added three impulse buys I’d regret later. It’s not perfect, but hey, we survived.
Event #4: The Bedtime Negotiation Marathon
This event separates the amateurs from the pros. It’s 8:00 p.m., and I’m wrangling all three kids into their pyjamas. Lily suddenly remembers a school project that’s due tomorrow, Jack wants to discuss the origins of the universe, and Max has decided he’s scared of shadows.
The goal is to get them all into bed without losing my mind. It’s a delicate dance of storytelling, lullabies, and bribery (yes, you can have an extra bedtime story if you stop jumping on the bed). Finally, they’re all tucked in, and I tiptoe out like I’m defusing a bomb. The silence is glorious—until I hear tiny footsteps. Round two begins.
Event #5: The Laundry Relay
This one’s a never-ending event. Just when I think I’ve conquered the laundry mountain, another pile appears out of nowhere. Is this magic? A cruel joke? Either way, I’m folding tiny socks and shirts long after the kids are asleep.
Tonight, I’m tackling the laundry with a glass of wine in hand, which makes it slightly less terrible. As I match up socks, I wonder: How is it possible to lose so many? Is there a secret portal in the washing machine? I’ll never know, but I’ll keep folding.
Event #6: The Midnight Marathon
The day’s final event sneaks up on me. Just as I’m drifting off to sleep, I hear it: “Mommy, I had a bad dream.” It’s Jack, and he’s clutching his stuffed dinosaur like it’s a lifeline.
I shuffle to his room, rub his back, and reassure him that there are no monsters under the bed. By the time I’m back in my own bed, it’s nearly 1 a.m., and I’m wide awake. My mind races through the next day’s to-do list, but eventually, exhaustion wins.