Saturday morning comes, and the anticipation is gone- all those big dreams you had Friday afternoon of cleaning house, catching up on all your shows on NetFlix, or just having a relaxing couple of days with the family are quickly smashed to smithereens when the bedroom door opens and out the slit of one eye you see your toddler holding her blanket, sucking her fingers, with a big smile on her face; and you peer at the clock to it saying 6:30 AM.
For Christ’s sake, kid, it is Saturday!
Yesterday morning, it was like trying to exorcise a demon when I tried to get her out of bed. Now, she can’t wait to get dressed, eat breakfast, watch “Sophia”, walk the dog, build a snowman, go to gramma’s, eat a snack, have some milk, wake up her sister, play with the puppy, change her clothes; and so, like the great mom I am, I pull her into bed with her father and I, turn on “Sophia”, roll over, and go back to sleep. For at least another hour.
Her dad and I hope to God her sister sleeps in, because if she comes down the stairs, we are all screwed. If my children could go an entire day without fighting, it would be a miracle. I say a silent prayer that Macy stays in bed for a little while longer, because I just can't handle being a referee quite yet. Because they can't not fight yet, either.
Why is that adults always have to get sick on the weekends, and children can be bouncing off the walls like a junkie until Sunday night then wake up Monday morning with a fever? I confess that I am a terrible sick person; thankfully my husband helps take care of the monsters so I don’t have to miss too much of my real job. (When you ain’t got sick time, you suck it up and make everyone at work as miserable as you. Might as well reciprocate the favor, I say).
I suppose I wasted enough hours this weekend that I am going to really have to try to find some ambition this week after work and after the kids are in bed, and do all those yucky household-mommy type chores. Like laundry. And dishes. It appears that the five-dollar bill I left on the dryer last weekend doesn’t seem to be attracting the laundry fairy to my humble abode, and the shit doesn’t wash and fold itself. Which is just about as lame as the fact that tomorrow is Monday, and I have to pretend to be nice to people and wear real pants. If I have any that are clean enough to wear…
Hope you all have a super- wonderful Monday.
Don’t forget, yoga pants aren’t real pants… unless... well, nope, not ever. ~Richelle