Unless you are fortunate enough to be retired, rich enough to live a life of leisure, or work some odd swing shift hours where your days off come randomly over a two-week span, odds are good if you live in the civilized world, so to speak, come Friday you're tired.
Babies are tired of being dragged out of bed to daycare, kids are tired of getting up and going to school, moms and dads are tired of doing the required dragging to get kids to those places as well as working their jobs and keeping their household together.
My house, despite our general crazy stay-at-home centered lifestyle, is no exception and last week was fairly typical. Hubby has been working five 10-hour shifts, plus 8 on Saturday, so he's pretty wiped out early every day and more so on Saturday. The girls had logged their travel miles for the week to put in about 45 hours at my house, and E1 and I had made a round trip to Winston as well. We'd had an extra overnight adventure that felt more like a nightmare to some, and we'd dealt with snow and ice for days. I'd also had just enough dogs in the kennel to require regular care and made two trips to a friend's house to check on her dogs.
The day felt like Friday, and not in a good way, all day long.
It began with three little girls in a bad mood from getting up too early and tired from a week's worth of activities. It ended with a literal poop storm in the playroom when baby blew her diaper -- seriously, the girl poops like she's firing missiles and it goes up her back and, well, you get the picture.
Nothing, and I do mean nothing, suited the two big Es.
E2 arrived with her Kindle dead and nothing in the world she wanted to do as much as play her Kindle.
E1 was traumatized by the fact that she tracked in snow and then walked in it in her stocking feet.
Ma seriously began to consider that it was at least five o'clock somewhere. It was one of those days where I could genuinely understand the urge to take the edge off, somehow, and it wasn't even noon yet.
By 1 p.m., we'd had the never ending mealtime debate of what they will and will not eat and how much of what they agreed to eat must be consumed before it's considered a meal. They both wanted leftover Christmas candy to the tune of no, you haven't eaten your lunch, so that I finally dumped it all in the trash, along with the layer of M&Ms and yogurt covered raisins that covered the bottom of the candy jar. Nope, we're going sugar free, girls.
Baby wrapped up her meal of food throwing by finally agreeing to eat a bit of baby food if I would hold her on my left hip, which resulted in the hair on the left side of my head being smeared with baby snot and pureed banana, apple, pear.
Two wind down episodes of children's programming and they were all off to Lala Land, while I was off to clean the kennel and tend to the guests, my own dogs, and my chickens who had finally decided the snow was not something to fear even if it did make their feet disappear when they stepped in it.
Thanks to naps for them, we all survived the afternoon and even dinner, which everyone ate thanks to hubby's trip to the Walmart deli.
After dinner we settled on craft time in the playroom. We made toilet paper roll groundhogs in honor of Groundhog Day and talked about the myth surrounding the funny rodent and his shadow. (Sorry, my pictures are from another craft day of pipe cleaner spiders, but the craft itself isn't important anyway.) About halfway through the process, which does not involve E3 who was playing with blocks, E1 proclaims she smells poop.
I've learned not to question her nose, and sure enough when baby waddled on over to us, I caught a whiff as well. I grabbed the requisite wipes and Desitin (she's got some serious diaper rash going on) and eased her back onto the floor for a change. Poop went everywhere and as I swabbed her down I noticed the trail of crap across the playroom vinyl floor. There was poop on the tool bench, the train, the floor, and one super soft kitty pillow whose fate was suddenly up in the air.
Baby required a complete wardrobe change and I thought about calling in a haz-mat crew to deal with the sanitation. Seriously, we could have all used hosing down after that ordeal.
Of course, E1 and E2 waited patiently with their half-finished groundhogs while I cleaned up after baby -- NOT! All the time I'm cleaning they're commenting on the yuckiness of the mess and how long it is taking me to clean up and when will we finish.
When we did finish the lovely, Pinterest inspired creatures, they decided they weren't exciting enough and tattooed them with stamp markers and made them hats. E1 said hers was a fireman. I kind of liked him with his tattooed belly and big hat.
Then it was 8 p.m. and Mom was in the driveway and the week rapidly deflated like a tired balloon at the end of a big party.
I decided to savor the moment by preserving it (tada) and now it's well past five o'clock and I'm going to take the edge off. Happy weekend everyone.
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