I think I'm clinically insane. I must be. That's the only thing I can think of. When they were in school I couldn't wait for them to get home and now that they're out of school I'm thinking of ways to plot my demise just so I can get a few seconds of silence. Gawd, is this normal? Or am I a nutter?
Here's what happened the first day out of school:
I wake up. What the?? What's going on here--ugggh, God, for real?? Had to be right now, huh??? Thank you mother nature. Off to the bathroom. Four of these, a tampon and a pad later and I try to go back to sleep.
|The drug of choice.|
Husband's alarm goes off. I am up. He is not.
I am landed on by Alex. Ummph. "I want to watch TV. It's summer vacation and I don't need to get up and put clothes on, brush my teeth, eat breakfast, get my Zyrtec, get my backpack and lunch together and put shoes on and then go to school." He continues, "I can get up and watch TV now I don't have to go to school."
I realize my husband at some point did get up and is out the door. I am alone.
Everyone is up and downstairs watching the start of an all day event called: Those Evil Bastards Phineas and Ferb Stole My TV and Won't Give It Back.
I try to hide in the office only to be found by Gracie with a load in her pants and a roll of toilet paper wound all around the house, detailing her walking tour of the main level while taking a crap.
I unwittingly come out of the office only to find the older two making what appears to be a miniature atom bomb on the kitchen counter all the while watching the afore mentioned little bastards who stole my TV who no doubt gave my spawn the idea to make a miniature A-bomb in the first place.
|Atom bomb mess.|
I go upstairs and straighten the kids rooms.
I try to sneak in a few (read twelve) Girl Scout cookies while I give Gracie a snack of Nilla wafers. She spies my snack and pitches a fit. Grabs both sides of her high chair, starts shaking it and screeching. I had a fleeting thought that she reminded me of a monkey at the zoo trying to bust out of it's cage. I have a little giggle. She sees me getting a private laugh and her screaming, shaking and rattling take a drastic uptick. Shit. I cave and give her a cookie. Too late. She's gone over the edge and now wants NOTHING.
I try to calm her to no avail. She Is One Pissed Off Maggot.
And I'm hot, I'm sweaty and I still have cramps. Fucking period.
I march her up to her bedroom and put her in her bed. Slam the door and proceed to vacuum the house to block out her Screaming Fit of Rage all the while muttering a steady flow of obscenities under my breath, getting madder and madder at myself for my poor display of parenthood.
Now I'm hotter, sweatier and even pissier that I lost it over a Girl Scout Cookie. A bloody Girl Scout cookie. And it wasn't even a Thin Mint, it was a Samoa. A God dammed Samoa...
Done vacuuming and winging. I've calmed down. Gracie's out like a light and the kids are still making their atom bomb.
Start and finish cleaning puke after having forgotten about it and stepped in it.
Realize the ice maker is jammed with ice and is not working. Walk away and make a mental note to tell hubs when he gets home. Stick a dish towel in dispenser for safe keeping.
I hear a funny noise and disregard it.
Make lunch knowing its going to be the same thing for the next several months:
- Easy Mac for Alex---cheese on the side in a separate bowl.
- Velveta Shells for Lizzy---Velveta NOT Easy Mac.
- Leftovers and scraps for myself.
- And Girl Scout cookies for Gracie.
Come to the realization the oldest two are missing and so is their atom bomb.
I go investigate. Found the funny noise--bath tub filling.
Turns out it wasn't an atom bomb after all, it was a floating-water-machine-experiment-thing-with-guns-and-bombs that is now being "tested" in a green pool of bath water. Thanks Crayola Bath Time Colors. I owe you one.
I go back downstairs and think of ways to kill myself and time it juuuust right so the kids won't be left unattended for too long.
Realize I may botch it and would be left cleaning up that mess as well.
Also realize I forgot about lunch when the kids went missing A WHOLE FIVE minutes ago and now they most likely won't eat it as "it's been sitting too long."
Call kids down to eat and indeed the food has been sitting too long and they're refusing to eat.
Hunger strike begins.
Kids go back upstairs to play in green water and race lambs.
I eat crappy sat-too-long shells and cheese. It indeed tastes like shit. Their huger strike is warranted but not excusable. I will never fess up to this particular fact.
I had to stop here. Really, need I continue??
Suffice it to say I'm over summer vacation and it's not even started.
Note: the rest of the day played out just as I thought it would--they got pissed at each other because they were hungry and hypoglycemic (imagine that) and came downstairs crying. I made another lunch for them and they were happy till something spilled. I went to get Gracie from her nap and I found her with her diaper off, having peed the bed, now pulling apart the diaper. In the same bed I changed earlier. I got a call from the Allergist saying Alex had an appointment tomorrow that I didn't know about and on and on and on......my husband came home and to his shock and horror, I took a nice long drag off a bottle of wine before he even had his keys out of his hands, skipping a glass completely. He had a blank stare to which I responded while wiping my lips with the back of my hand, "What? What are you lookin at???"