TRINITY HANRAHAN
Who needs a filter?
A day in the life of Trinity Hanrahan. Trinity’s life… A life that is Trinity’s.
You’d think as an author, I’d have this exciting, great life. I know authors, photographers, and a few cover models. I’ve met fans. I mean, it’s fabulous, right?
Think again.
I hate to break it to you, but my life is probably the least exciting you’ll ever run across. I spend most of my day trying to make sure that my four-year-old doesn’t lick the refrigerator and that my fifteen-year-old remembers her shoes on the way out to the bus for school. Throw in two other kids between those ones, a full-time ‘real life’ job, a husband, a cat and a dog…yeah, I have a less than exciting life.
My mornings always begin at around 5:00AM. (This includes weekends) It’s at this time that my oldest decides that she needs to be up wandering the house, despite having gone to bed at after midnight. It seems the memo that teenagers are supposed to sleep until the afternoon, be quiet and listen to emo rage music has missed her. Instead, she’s up at the butt crack of dawn, slinging crap around my kitchen and listening to dragon opera music on YouTube.
All at 5:00AM.
By 5:30AM, one by one, the other three trickle their way up and out of bed. Keep in mind; no one actually needs to be up at this gawdawful hour. I’m thoroughly convinced that they know it drives me insane and they decide to go ahead and be part of the oldest’s madness. It’s at this point that the real fun begins and usually sounds something like this:
Oldest Daughter: “Hey! I was watching that!”
Next Daughter (fourteen-year old): “Watching what? It’s YouTube music! Give me that, I want to watch Pretty Little Liars.”
Son (nine-year-old): “I don’t want to watch some girly crap. I wanna play MineCraft!”
Youngest Daughter (four-year-old): “I’m hungry!”
All four: “something I’m not sure is English, quite possibly some sort of demonic tongue-speak, being shouted at the top of their lungs”
I then drag myself out of bed, slip on the twenty-five stuffed animals that migrated into our room at some point during all of this, and stagger into the hallway. I usually take a moment to stand there and ponder how wise the animal kingdom is…and wonder why we as humans can’t eat our young like other species do.
Because at that moment, it sounds like a great option.
After I stumble into the living room and get everyone going where they need to be, I tend to collapse on the couch for a good forty minutes or so. The noise levels are generally down to a dull roar and I can now think beyond how not to muzzle my children and drop them off at the nearest firehouse. Once the oldest two are out of the house for the bus, it’s now time to wrangle the younger two into their clothes. Which consists of my son informing me he can’
t find his shoes/backpack/pants/head/something. When I tell him to look for whatever is missing, it is usually something like this:
While he is ‘looking’ for whatever he’s lost, I’m trying to wrestle my youngest daughter into her clothes for the day to go to the sitter. This is usually where I have my first meltdown for the day. The conversation involved with this process sounds something like this:
Youngest: “But I want the Anna and Elsa shirt!”
Me: “Sweetheart, it’s dirty. I didn’t do laundry last night.”
Youngest: “Can’t you do it now? I want that shirt!”
Me: “No. How about the Hello Kitty shirt?”
Youngest: “But the Hello Kitty shirt itches me. I want the Anna and Elsa shirt.”
Me: “Let’s act like that shirt doesn’t exist. What shirt do you want?”
Youngest: “The Elsa and Anna shirt.”
Me: *sigh* “Changing the names around isn’t going to change the answer, kid.”
It is now around 8:00AM. I’m exhausted and would really like a drink that has high alcohol content. But, that’s frowned upon since it’s not noon yet. I then gather up the two demons, errr, children, left and start to the front door to leave. I then hear something like this most of the time:
Son: “Mommy! Aren’t you going to work? You’re still in your night clothes!”
Crap.
I now race around the house and throw on whatever looks like it hasn’t been nested in by a small family of raccoons in a record breaking fifteen minutes. I’m out the door, brushing my hair and slinging my work bag over my shoulder, wondering out loud why I’m not independently wealthy yet so I can stay home. We then haul butt to the school and I boot the boy out at the curb, usually remembering to tell him that I love him before I peel away. It’s then a thirty-minute drive to the daycare and then to work. This will almost always take me forty-five minutes because I get stuck behind the person that decides the speed limit is just too scary.
Work is actually the quietest part of my day and lasts eight hours. I work as a system administrator in the IT field. Irony?–I went to school for a degree in applied mathematics to be a math teacher. I don’t even know, so don’t 
ask.
After my stimulating day at work, I leave, pick up the youngest spawn and head home. I now am fighting evening rush hour traffic. Which isn’t bad, but I suffer horrible bouts of road rage. If you are going to share the road with me, drive the speed limit, pay attention to the stop lights and freaking 
go!
Once I’m home, the real fun begins. I will literally no sooner walk in and I have six (yes, six, because even the animals chime in) individual bombarding me at once. You’d think it’d be nice, being so loved…Yeah, it’s not. Because it usually consists of this:
Oldest: “Mom, I need ‘insert latest school assignment crap here’ by tomorrow!”
Next daughter: “Mom! You won’t believe what happened at school. So, I was walking down the hall and…*proceed to tune everything out, because honestly?–I don’t care that this girl talked to that boy even though he broke her heart two days ago and that she’s now wearing the same shirt that this other girl did*
Son: “Mommy, can I go on the TV and play MineCraft?”
Husband: “Hey honey! Listen, now that you’re home, I was wondering if you could ‘insert whatever could have been done on the way home, but now requires that I leave the house to go and do’?”
Dog: *jumps up and down excitedly and slobbers all over my shoes*
Cat: *watches dog disdainfully and then strolls over, meows and rubs against me, leaving tons of cat hair in the passing*
Youngest: “Mommy, I’m hungry!”
All: “not sure, but I’m fairly positive that it’s all designed to make me lose my crap since I just walked in the door and is all being spoken at once, on top of each other”
Me: “Good Lord! I literally just walked through the door people! Can I at least put my bag down?”
All: “But–“
After about another thirty minutes where I learn that counting does nothing to control my patience, I’m able to sit down. By now I have asked my kids to do their chores, set out the stuff to make dinner 
and had another meltdown at least once. I’ve also used the infamous, “I’m not going to ask again” saying several times.
By 7:30PM dinner is done, the homework is hopefully done and it’s time to start calling it a night for the kids. This is when the real fun begins. And when I really start to see the benefits of good psychiatric medications.
By now, we’ve reached around 9:30PM. Kids are sort of in bed, the house is kind of quiet. Time to write!
No.
Nope. Now the husband wants to spend time with 
me. This translates to watching Netflix and trying to stay awake.
By 11:00PM, I’ve given up and have passed out on the couch. My husband however, is still happily watching Longmire and complaining about Walt not getting enough screen time.
Dude. It’s called Longmire. He’s Walt Longmire. I think he gets plenty of screen time.
And then it all starts all over again the next day. Only then, I might be able to squeeze in some
writing time between 9:30 and 11:00.
That’s a day in Trinity’s life. Exciting stuff, huh?
Social Media Links:
FACEBOOK (Page): http://facebook.com/trinityhanrahan
FACEBOOK (Profile): http://facebook.com/authortrinityhanrahan
TWITTER: http://twitter.com/t_hanrahan01
INSTAGRAM: http://instagram.com/trinity.hanrahan
GOODREADS: http://goodreads.com/trinityhanrahan
AMAZON (Page): http://amazon.com/author/trinityhanrahan
WEBSITE: http://trinityhanrahan.com
Author Bio:
Trinity lives with her husband and five children in Virginia. She grew up overseas in Turkey and Japan, where her love of reading developed due to a lack of English-speaking television. As her need for written works grew, so did her desire to create worlds for others to enjoy. By the time she was in middle school she had started writing short stories. She endeavors to break the mold where modern stereo-types are concerned and create engaging characters.
When she’s not writing or working, Trinity still enjoys settling down to read a book or doing graphic art in her spare time.
