It has been awhile since the hubs has traveled. And while I sometimes welcome the break, a chance for me to stay up as late as I like, reading or binge watching shows he has no patience to suffer through, this pleasure, it’s short-lived. The running around and the constant parental requirements are now compounded. Murphy’s law coupled with a star player who might as well be in the penalty box, makes for extra long days, more coffee than is recommended and escaping to the treadmill for sanity.
This time we are on a twenty-four day countdown to return. Now, I realize this not epic. It is nothing like the three months a couple of years ago that was supposed to be fifteen months. Thank you, God for answered prayers, even if they come in the form of a torn Achilles, sorry, hubster. It is a quick blink in comparison to the twelve month countdown, which required a trip to build a bear to make special snuggleies with a one of a kind message from Daddy when you squeezed a paw and Hallmark books with his recorded voice that the kids could open and hear him read to them at their leisure, so they wouldn’t forget. The twelve month paper chain that wrapped several times around the kitchen, each link with a note, helping us get through the days. It is a joke compared to being pregnant, taking care of the three minis you already have and then welcoming that fourth little bundle into the world without the support of your person.
I realize it has been worse and I know it can always be worse. I know I should not complain. But, I can’t help it. It is different now. It is more difficult. It is more exhausting. Or maybe it just seems so because those other moments are memories and I have to live out these twenty-four days, until they become past tense.
So, dear reader, I have to let this stream of honesty flow.
My children are involved in activities. Usually we do a little bit of juggling to make it work. However, the universe must know that the hubs has departed far enough away to not be able to pick up things and/or children and so has given me the blessed new challenge of being three places at one time.
T-Ball, Gymnastics and Dress Rehearsal for Addy’s upcoming play, all at the same time, literally.
Wake up feeling ready to conquer the day. Make all my children an amazing breakfast and get a shower before 9 am. Realize my phone and microwave time do not match, damn you, day light savings. Then, like a bunch of bats outta hell, we scramble to make it to church. The afternoon is filled with not one, not two, but three trips back and forth to another dress rehearsal. While I repeat over and over, “I love that my child loves the theatre life, I love that my child loves the theatre life,” as I watch my gas gauge dwindle with each passing hour.
We spend the evening at my Aunt’s house for dinner, which was amazing because it was delicious, but also because I didn’t have to make dinner and she sent me home with leftovers. This may sound like things are on the up and up, do not be fooled. My aunt suggests a game of Uno. Maybe its impart to the wine she has been sipping, but she seems to have forgotten the unattractive competitive nature of my children when it comes to games. This results in a tiresome, never-ending, rollercoaster of emotional turmoil. In true form the most unsportsmanlike child, the one who has complained the entire game any time she had to “draw two,” was “skipped,” or someone changed the color by placing a like number on the pile, won.
I am now the one sipping on the wine, as the lights in my son’s room have ceased working.
May I just add that there is also a full moon…no surprise there.
My eldest daughter’s phone alarm is blaring Taylor Swifts, “Shake it off” at 5am… clearly the time change has messed with this in some way as I am sure she wanted to set it for 6am, and not get up, as per usual. The tune wakes me from a dead sleep on the other end of the house, yet, despite its insane volume, she does not stir.
Mad rush to make the bus, even thought we have all been awake for several hours at this point, no one can locate their gloves or hat. No worries, it’s the coldest it has ever been as we are on the eve of a “crippling” snowstorm. Obviously.
Well played, universe. Shake it off, I must.
Massive amounts of snow. Long, step driveway. Long walkway to the front door, complete with several sets of stairs. The one downside of our new abode.
I wait all day to shovel. It weights a ton and I am freezing and sweating all at once. At least it is quite outside.
Once I get down the stair I want to shout, Hallelujah!! Praise Jesus, my neighbor has snow blown the driveway.
This sheer elation is followed only seconds later by fear that I may meet Jesus, as a car comes flying down the hill, swerves and comes within inches of hitting me, as I stand at the end of the driveway giving thanks for good smaritian-ism.
No school again. Two children are crying and two are cheering over the news of this snow day. One misses their friends and the other is missing their first theatrical performance, cancelled due to snow. The cheering is like a hot iron poking the fire in the belly of a dragon. I.E.: This is not going well.
No school again. The natives are getting restless.
While eating lunch we hear a strange “pop” noise. Low and behold a fire has started in the oven. I remember not to throw water, as it could make the fire worse if there is grease involved. Of course, I remember this after I have tried water and it doesn’t work.
Baking soda also does not help. Nor does the fire extinguisher. I run to the basement to turn off the breakers in hopes to stop the fire. Eventually it works. Which is more than I can say for the oven.
No school again.
The oven fire added some new electrical challenges to the mix and we currently have no working televisions in the house. Which wouldn’t be such a big deal but we are on day four of snow day togetherness and I have had to spike my coffee.
I am stressing over fixing the oven. My mom reminds me we have a back up oven. It is high-tech convection style. To me it is the place food goes to die. We know the garlic bread is done in record time when smoke fills the kitchen.
I love my children. I also love when they go to school so I can enjoy a good solo hot vinyasa class. Or coffee that is hot and not because it has spent the day being reheated in the microwave. I send them out into the snow so I can daydream of places that I want to go and things I want to do and be and have and….
Screaming from the backyard is not quite the ambiance I was hoping for. Someone lost their boot. Someone else lost their glove while trying to help with the boot crisis. Now both are sure their appendages have gangrene.
The kids want to draw on the door that the hubs just painted with chalkboard paint. I tell them to go ahead and wipe off the Happy Birthday Messages from a month ago. They try. They complain it isn’t working. I try. They are right. Turns out those chalk markers that say they are washable, they are liars.
Decide to do an at home spa day for the girls, to help ease our cabin fever, complete with facials, mani/pedis and hair dye for two of the three.
Drop the bottle of blue hair dye on the tile floor in the kitchen. It rolls under the stove.
All of that snow, is now melting, gracing me with water in the basement. For a minute I think about just laying down in it. Which I realize now is gross, and just goes to show you how much of my mind is currently lost.
I am somehow now a t-ball coach. Somehow meaning I’m a sucker and apparently the only parent with up to date clearances. Let that sink in for a minute. Had to stop on the way to practice to buy a glove, that is how über-prepared I am. Be jealous.
Surprisingly, this was the best morning of the week. I now know that we all have bones in our bodies and that baseball mitts make hands sweaty and that 28 minutes is too long to go without a snack. 5 year olds are my new favorite.
Double header of James and the Giant Peach. I fail to pack adequate snacks, both for me and Addy. Another mom points this out, love how other mom’s feel the need to knock you when you are down.
Run out to get her something substantial only to realize the cafe I picked was close and delicious, but not quick. She scarfs down a chipolte turkey burger and sun chips like a wild cheetah. Or like just a cheetah. I am not sure they are anything but wild. I mean, I wouldn’t want a cheetah as a pet, unless it is my supermom sidekick and we work as a team to help control the other wild animals in the house.
Wow. That got a little away from me. I mean, totally normal internal dialogue, right?
Really thankful for Lipstick. And leggings. And hair wraps. And mascara. All things that make me look semi-human when I feel like the wet rag I used to clean up the stagnant, gross, basement water.
Yeah! All kids at school and well, off from babysitting my nieces, going to finally catch up on a million of the three million things that I have let slide by in the midst of life these last couple of weeks. And meet a friend for lunch!
Just kidding, nurse called.
I run on the treadmill for two hours. Basically completing a half-marathon. Except when I stop running because the guilty pleasure of binge watching Grace and Frankie season 3 is over, I am still in the same exact place.
I love my children’s school. I love the staff. But, if the nurse calls me one more time, I may lose my mind. I see the number pop-up on my phone and I react as if it is an explosive. I immediately want to throw it out the second story window and duck and cover. Shaking and rocking back and forth in the fetal position.
Terrible morning. I cry at the kitchen island. I cry in the car on the way to school, early I may add, so one of these cherubs that is currently causing the tears, is able to take guitar lessons before school. I cry to the receptionist at the kid’s school.
I should have just agreed when she asked if I didn’t feel well, was it my stomach?
Instead I opened my mouth and a stream of verbal vomit of mom madness came out.
She told me to go home and have a mimosa. I knew I liked her for a reason.
There are 14 loads of laundry mocking me. No one could find underwear this morning.
I do laundry.
That is my day.
I throw it all on my bed so I am forced to fold it before I can go to sleep.
At night I kick it over to the hubs side of the bed, he’s not here anyway.
I fold laundry.
86% of it contains some sort of zebra print.
Apparently the pump on the hot tub broke, which has the adverse effect of a mini flood in the backyard.
The hubs is on his way home! He brings wine and Thai food and doesn’t judge the state of the house, or the kids, or me for that matter.
I try to save the honey-do list for day 25, except he saw the mini flood. He also discovered the burnt up coil from the oven fire, which was on the front porch for some reason.
We get the kids to bed and he gives me the abridged version of his adventures. Informs me that he fell from 12 feet in the air, is a little sore but seems fine and didn’t shower for 22 days. I say, me too.