Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Some days, it's just like that.

I feel like I should have gotten a letter this morning from my children.
Dear Mommy, we hope you weren't planning on getting any work done today.  Or getting much else accomplished.  Because we're going to tromp all over your plans for the day, threaten your sanity, and push you perilously close to having your nasty headache come back.  We just thought we should warn you.
Failing that, perhaps a warning light or something would've been nice.

I got neither.

Large Fry was in my room before 7:30, wanting to watch tv.  Hubby had apparently fallen asleep on the couch in the den, and never woke up enough to get up to bed.  I told her no.

She came back an hour later, wanting the same thing.  Okay, fine.  Her sisters would be up soon.  Might as well.

The fact that the twins didn't get up until after 9 should have clued me in to what the day was going to be like.

Actually, they may have awakened before then.  They didn't come into my room until then.  And usually, the sound of Disney Junior on the tv is a lot like moths to flame.  Or Pavlov's dogs to a ringing bell.  I'm not sure.

Despite Medium's desire for a jammie day, I told them all to get dressed.  Large Fry got herself some waffles for breakfast, and enough milk in her own cup that there was barely enough for the twins' oatmeal.  Which, of course, meant we were out, because I didn't realize how low our milk supply was.

Seriously, I need a cow in the backyard.

By 11:30, Small Fry was reduced to tears any time anyone looked at her the wrong way.  Being told repeatedly to take her thumb out of her mouth didn't help.  She then complained she was tired.  No excuse for sucking her thumb, I reminded her.  She said she wanted to go to bed.  Then she wanted a snack.  No, because it was almost lunchtime.

That triggered a crying jag for the next ten minutes.  (And here I thought I was the one who was having issues with wonky hormones.)  Not being able to have Daddy at her beck and call made matters worse.  I held her for several minutes, and then went downstairs to move the Pillow Pets to the dryer for some air fluff time (80 minutes of that, and they're mostly dry).

Small had nearly had a conniption earlier because I'd insisted on washing the twins' Pillow Pets.

I quickly determined that a nap was in order after lunch.  I'm still fighting end-of-migraine exhaustion.  Large Fry could read quietly in her room.  Problem solved.


I managed to load, run, empty, and reload the dishwasher before lunch, and meant to run it again for a bunch of pots, pans, and mixing bowls after lunch.  (Forgot.)

By the time I herded everyone upstairs, it was quarter to 3.  (Large had dawdled over lunch again.)  There was much "I'm nawt going to sleep 'cause I'm nawt tieyewrd!"  It was 3 by the time I had finished hugging, smooching, singing, turning on the radio, trading I-love-you hand-kisses with Medium, and kicking out all nasty beings.  I made my own constitutional trip to the potty, then crashed in bed...only to hear footsteps in the hall about ten minutes later as Mika curled up on my outstretched arm.

Thinking it was Hubby, home from work, I listened carefully and watched the hall...nothing.  Light shifted on the hall wall, but I figured it was just Large Fry playing with her door.

Five minutes later, Large walked into my room.  "Mommy, can I sleep with you?"

The answer at any naptime when I'm going to be resting too is always a resounding NO.  Because whichever Fry it is won't sleep, which means I won't sleep, thus defeating the purpose.

"No," I told her.  "I told you that you didn't have to sleep.  You can go read books."

It was now quarter to 4.  I dozed briefly, since Mika turned some more circles and settled again on my hand.  (I don't see how that's comfortable, especially for such a skinny cat.  But it's his thing.)

At 4, Small Fry appeared at my door.  "Mommy, can I go potty?"

Exasperated, since she was the one who clearly needed the nap the most, I asked, "Why didn't you go potty before?"

Small shrugged her little shoulders.

"Go potty, and go back to bed," I gritted out between clenched teeth.  (Yes, I know that doesn't help my headache.)

"Lawrge was in ouwr wroom an' singing to us an' keeping Medium an' me awake," Small tattled.

I thundered out Large's name.

She appeared in the doorway.

"Did you go in their room and sing to them?"  If there's ONE thing that Large Fry knows for certain, it's that she's not supposed to go in and wake up her sisters during naptime.  Or go in their room at all then.  There have been some pretty serious discussions about that.

Large's eyes bugged out.  "No!" she exclaimed, insulted.  "I didn't go into their room!"

I glared at Small Fry, who was still in the doorway, behind Large, who promptly decided that this was a good time to make her escape to the potty.  I turned my attention back to Large, having homed in on the key words.  "Did you sing to them from anywhere near their room?"

Large nodded.

"Come here."

Large slunk over to the bed, where I was now sitting up, knowing we were about to have a come-to-Jesus moment.

I did not disappoint her.

She got sent back to her room.

I sent a text to Hubby, asking when he would be home.  Because of his three-day beach retreat with the youth later this week, I already knew that he'd shuffled praise team practice to tonight.  The thought made me want to cry.

I dozed fitfully, waiting to get a text response.

4:30...and the twins appeared in my doorway.  "Mommy, can we get up now?"


"No!  You haven't slept at all!  Go back to bed!"

Then I called Hubby.  Who had apparently left his phone on silent and hadn't gotten my text, but by the time I tearfully recounted the last two hours of my afternoon, left work and came home.

I'm making him get dinner tonight.

I don't want to cook.

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