Used to be, I would ask for no credit for being America’s most fabulous parent. Truly, not a plaque, not a blue ribbon, not a seaweed wrap in honor of my glorious motherhood. It is, as I now understand it, a duty and an honor, really, to bear and raise children, even though the nurturing of said wunderkind requires physical stamina, army-style strategics and mental fortitude I have never known, not even in marriage. So, no hip-hips for me, thank you kindly. I’m simply doing my job.

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But lately, heck, I want a banner the breadth of Montana. Certainly Daphne, 8, and Cooper, 7, as the Earth’s most prodigious offspring, present few serious challenges. Even so, their care and feeding (not to mention chauffeuring) often seems too much for one set of hands to manage. It is fascinating, though, from an anthropological standpoint, what a human being can muster when she, well, must. Here’s a little peek…

6:32 a.m. The day begins early in the single-parent household. Conditioned since my children’s infancies to rouse with the slightest shift in air current over my head, I am lucky to wake when the clock beeps. Often, parenting commences pre-dawn, when someone has a sore throat, knocks a cup off a nightstand or insists a herd of one-eyed bison is circling the perimeter of her room. "Mommy!" the kids inevitably call. And Mommy it always is. There is no "taking turns" since Twyla, the bichon-poodle, extraordinary as she is, hasn't the dexterity to dispense Motrin.

6:45 a.m. Actually put feet onto floor.

6:46 a.m. Turn off security alarm.

6:47 a.m. Let out aforementioned Wonder Dog.

6:48 a.m. Fill cups with milk, bowls with cereal. Insert requested waffle or bread into toaster oven.

6:52 a.m. Prepare snacks and water bottles. Refill purifying pitcher and note dwindling supply of plastic products on ongoing shopping list.

6:55 a.m. Strip blankets off sleeping children. Tell them that if they want to make the Olympic soccer team or go to medical school, they need to get up now. And that they are privileged to have slept eleven hours in a bed with ruffles and gingham. Some kids have dirt floors or are in hospitals and can't go to school.

6:56 a.m. Retrieve burning waffle or toast from oven. Scrape off singed portion with knife. Hide evidence.

6:57 a.m. Confirm that offspring are carrying out morning routine, putting on clothes laid out the night before. Toss encouraging self-esteem-building remark their way.

7:05 a.m. Welcome daughters into kitchen. Replace butter with cream cheese, sour dough with wheat. Recall spelling words from memory and quiz each child while emptying dishwasher. Pour kibble into doggie bowl and detergent into washing machine where delicates have been waiting patiently for 71 hours.

7:10 a.m. Consult Webster's for objective definition of "amphibian," as one child maintains that such animals can use both left and right paws equally well.

7:16 a.m. Am informed that I cannot walk to school in my pajamas.

7:17 a.m. Dress in brother's old T-shirt and shorts left on chair two days earlier.

7:25 a.m. Call children's attention to clock. Give quick lesson in international time zones. Thank them for clearing table. Leave milk for Twyla to lick off floor.

7:30 a.m. Supervise teeth-brushing and face-washing. Fashion four pigtails (hair-parting is hard to do). Apply sunscreen, if necessary, smoothing out all of the "white."

7:34 a.m. Hurdle couch to answer phone. Advise ex-husband that perhaps there is better time to review softball game schedule.

7:41 a.m. Redo one pigtail, due to crookedness.

7:43 a.m. Discuss the merits of Show-and-Tell. Determine whether necessary to scour Mom’s closet for appropriate item and review with girls, yet again, the benefits of planning ahead. Return souvenir from own childhood trip to Brussels to top shelf, above strappy pink sandals. Ponder when to wear them next, and with which pants, the cropped or the belled.

7:51 a.m. Gather up knapsacks and proceed out front door. Turn around, unlock and re-enter house. Wait as shivering children get sweaters.

7:53 a.m. Leave again. Walk to school. Shiver, as there is no sweater for Mommy.

7:58 a.m. Kiss girls good-bye. Assure them they are not tardy and will not have to go to the office for late slips. Tell girls to be smart, safe. Turn on a dime and race home, for the clock’s a-ticking.

8:01 a.m. Reheat cup of tea. Eat something. Make three beds. Clean up kitchen. Water grass. Tie key to sneakers. Go running. Figure out plot for novel, which I will write 12 years from now.

9:02 a.m. Sit down at desk. Ignore bills. Write page of novel. Feel content that I am ahead of schedule. Start assignment that was due previous week.

11:29 a.m. Fend off electric company man who wants to turn off power for no reason.

11:46 a.m. Remember to pay mortgage. Oh, that.

11:53 a.m. Continue work on assignment. Get stuck. Start over. Answer call from editor looking for assignment. Find inspiration.

1:30 p.m. Complete assignment.

1:31 p.m. Learn that younger child has stomachache and is in nurse’s office with temperature of 99.9, which, according to school policy does not warrant early release. Guilt-ridden by own annoyance at sudden loss of two critical hours, but struck by coincidental karma that had me finish my story just one minute prior. Tell Nurse Susie I will be there in flash.

1:36 p.m. Tie Twyla to handrail and trot inside, where offspring is lying on cot, moping, but seemingly cool. “There’s something going around,” Nurse Susie says. “Ah, yes.”

1:38 p.m. Untangle Twyla from iron railing and stroll home with dog and child. Discuss germ theory en route.

1:45 p.m. Administer fever reducer for elusive fever. And ice cream, too.

1:59 p.m. Start making dinner. Hang delicates to dry. Oops, forgot. Conduct phone interview for future article while playing Clue with child.

2:50 p.m. Drive back to school (what with the illness) to retrieve second child.

3:02 p.m. Permit ice cream. Oversee homework. Chop tomatoes for new pineapple salsa recipe mother sent from New York.

3:45 p.m. Look at schoolwork brought home. Put spelling tests on fridge. Applaud for academic prowess.

4:15 p.m. Shuttle to ballet class for not-sick child.

4:21 p.m. Trim carrots. Decrease cable service to one channel, maybe on Wednesday nights. Can they do that?

5:15 p.m. Pick up child from ballet class. Tell story from own childhood about foot-strengthening exercises required in preparation for pointe shoes. Then tell the one about when I was a lamb.

5:28 p.m. Serve dinner. Explain that pineapples do go with tomatoes.

6:15 p.m. Select clothes for tomorrow, pack knapsacks, set out breakfast dishes. Remember art project.

6:30 p.m. Baths, teeth, jammies.

6:45 p.m. Books.

7:14 p.m. Hugs.

7:15 p.m. Bed.

7:30 p.m. Shower (mine).

7:38 p.m. Jammies (mine).

8:00 p.m. Magazine (mine).

8:30 p.m. Hugs (mine, on a good day).

8:45 p.m. Panic. Bake sale brownies. Oh, no.

9:30 p.m. Eat one. OK, two. Not bad for a mix.

9:36 p.m. Apply French anti-aging cream. Set house alarm. Set clock.

9:40 p.m. Choose to sleep on diagonal tonight. Be thankful ex at least selected the PillowTop.

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