Work was extremely busy today. I had all intentions of waking up at five, doing yoga, and cleaning…I unintentionally slept in. So, I rushed around like a crazed woman trying to get the kids ready, pack lunches, and get myself ready–I went to work with my hair wet and in a very messy bun, but i got there in time and with coffee in hand. It was nonstop, but I had yoga to look forward to…until I realized it lasted until 7:15, which meant that I couldn’t go because Don had to leave by 7:30 to get to the hospital in time for his shift. I wanted to scream. I needed a release after how involved work was and how crazed our morning was. So, I took a breath and blasted Taylor Swift and Ed Sherran (don’t judge, we all have guilty pleasures) and sang at the top of my lungs–i’m sure folks passing me thought i was nuts. I made it home, though, and I didn’t explode.
Then there was this:
My kindergartner and I spent over an hour writing five sentences because it was “boring,” “sooooo boooorrrinnnnng,” and interfered with his electronics time. Every time i cheered him up he would find something else to grump about. We finished off his sentences with, “I like school, but I don’t like homework.” He giggled, took a bath, and ate dinner and went without electronics and didn’t even care…but HE wrote the sentences by himself and with very little help from me. Then, I hear my daughter screaming from her shower. I go in and check on her and she’s mumbling about shampoo in her eye, but will not let me help her rinse it out…I walk away. She screams mommy again, I go in again…this time Don follows. I’m laughing at the fact that she’s screaming over soap in her eyes but WILL NOT let us help her rinse it out and won’t rinse it out her self, and Don’s trying to help her. She says, almost completely inaudible, “noooooo I just can’t.” We walk away…laughing, she comes out the shower and low and behold…she’s survived and the tears have subsided. We think it’s safe to start our dinner.
Until this happened:
My three year old didn’t want to take a bath. Don made me dinner. He made seafood curry. While making said delicious food, I struggled to undress my three year old. It started out playful and turned into me chasing a three year old around our house, while pulling off clothes every time I got in arms reach. I got him down to his underwear before dinner was ready–a moms gotta eat and we ate while our three year old stomped his feet on the kitchen floor and screamed, “I don’t neeeedddd a baf, I just need my Chwishy (Christian) and My Little Pooonniies!” (Yes, my three year old son is a brony. It’s fabulous) Finally, after Don and I finished eating, (yes, he threw a fit for that long over a bath–no clean kids without a fight) my wonderful husband, with a slight raise in his voice, had the emotionally crazed three year old in the bathroom. Within seconds, I heard Oliver screaming like he was in tremendous pain, but alas, Don simply put him in the tub in his underwear. I giggled. I giggled until i snorted. My three year old was standing in the tub in dripping spidey undies. Don lifted him out of the tub and wrapped him in a towel, had me hold him up as he got his undies off, and when i put him down, he quickly grabbed his soaked undies and ran off screaming, “Your the worstest mommy and daddy eber!” Next thing I know, I’m getting wet undies thrown at me during a preschooler’s bath time rage. Then i threw the undies back, he then threw them at Don, Don threw them to me, I put them in the dirty laundry, Ollie dug them out of the dirty laundry and tossed them into the kitchen like he had made the grandest of points. Don looked at me and said, “I love you, i’m going to work,” gave me a kiss, and left. I got Ollie dressed. Life went on with wet spidey undies in the middle of the kitchen floor.