Oh but just you try and put me down, Mom, I dare you. You can inch at that rocker at the speed of sloth, but I smell your intent and I. won't. haveit. My sister needs a meal or a diaper change? You have to pee? You have 17 missed calls? Try me.
Sunday I was just, ah, I was so tired. Weekends are so important to my psyche because I have Sean's set of helping hands and because I require that we get out of the apartment. I need that change of scenery, I just do. But Sunday, I gave up on any sort of outing. After multiple meltdowns from both of my children, I decided to have one of my own. Or I guess my body and hormones decided. I sat on our unmade bed amidst dirty laundry and stale air and Weston and I just cried. A pathetic sight we made. When Sean finally coaxed Jordan into her bed and I had speed bounced/rocked/whateverittook Wes to sleep, I completely knocked out.
An hour and a half later, Sean crept in carrying a plastic bag. He had sneaked out to the store to buy "things he thought would make me happy." Apparently, those are Budweiser Lime-a-Ritas and Haagen Dazs milk chocolate ice cream bars. I slid out of the room without waking the spit-up breathing dragon and Sean and I had an in-home date of faux margaritas and two episodes of Ray Donovan before the taskmasters woke up.
Here's what I learned: my body completely responds to my state of mind. I started feeling sore and post-surgery-y again over the weekend because I was all stressed and frazzled. But I was so concerned about "wasting" the weekend by staying in; that time is too precious to me. However, sometimes "wasting" time is exactly what I need. I needed that sleep, I needed that [those] Lime-a-Rita[s] (they're actually pretty dang good), and I needed to waste that time with my husband in our shady living room watching some gritty Showtime.
I'm new to this, the two kids and the staying home and the trying to figure out what to do with my day. I mean, aside from making sure two little tummies and one not-so-very-little tummy are nourished, dressing three people, trying trying trying to pick up this place (failure thy name is Jessie Pope), and preventing tantrums if at all possible. And DANG, those things do take up a whole day, don't they? Yes, they can, but it's nice when I can get out to talk to people who know how to talk, too. That doesn't happen everyday though. So I'm adjusting. Jordan is actually a pretty hilarious conversationalist anyway - and she called me by my first name yesterday ("Hi Dassie") so I guess that means we're friends.
I have joined your legions, stay-at-homers (at least as of now), and I'm happy to be here. And while I know I have many more meltdowns in my artillery but I'm doing my best to wear my big girl pants and lead by example here. Survival tips, friends?