I'm not usually much of a complainer, but today? Today totally demands its own post, for posterity's sake, and as public evidence as to why I am entitled to a) complain, and b) a week at the spa. Hubby, make note. (Ben left Sunday afternoon for a five-day float trip down the Rogue River. A dream trip, all expenses paid, with a few of his best friends).
So let's get started, shall we? It all started innocent enough, 24 hours ago.
One of our traditions when Ben is out of town is sleepovers. The kids get to sleep at least one night in the "big bed" with me, and I will often let them sleep together as well. So last night at 8:00, I sent them off to their sleepover in Maddie's room. They both wore nightgowns. Cute.
This morning started at 5:00am, when my nightgown-clad cuties joined me in the big bed, it wasn't as cute. I made certain they knew that it was NOT time to get up, but time to continue sleeping, which, miraculously, they did. It was nice and cozy until Maddie calls out in the middle of some crazy pregnancy dream I was having, "Sam's peeing on me!" We all jumped out of bed at 6:12am to a huge, wet, warm puddle stretching over my sheets and onto my memory foam mattress topper.
After drinking a large cup of coffee, reading some amazing passages in Daniel, and taking my prednisone, in a fit of organizational OCD, I spent about 1 1/2 hours sorting, organizing, and cleaning up the kids' books and bookshelves. Today was the book fair at school so I wanted to make room for the new books and get rid of some old, torn, marked-up, (boring) ones.
We decided to walk to school. I needed the exercise, I was desperate to get outside, and I figured it would be a good way to start the day and burn off some energy. We were a few minutes late. Oops. Sam and I took the scenic route home and happened upon some turkeys. Gobble gobble.
We came home and I checked a few more things off my "prednisone" list. (Yes, I created a list of things I hope to accomplish while on my energy-producing, crazy-making prescription). I picked out an outfit that a) fit, and b) looked pretty cute! While I got ready, Sam played hide and seek in my bedspread, which was rolled up on the carpet after the early morning pee incident. Then the little man and I went out to sushi: California rolls and tempura shrimp surrounded by crab salad, covered in unagi sauce. Yum.
We picked up Maddie, hit the book fair (kids spent their book allowance in a record 4 1/2 minutes), then took Sam to speech. Came home, put the kids in their rooms for "quiet time." Maddie came out after seven minutes, saying she was bored, and I told her to look at her new books and play quietly while Mama had a little break. Admittedly, I heard some significant noises coming from her room, but I ignored them in order to finish my prednisone project of organizing the paperwork, and also to eat some chocolate while catching up on my favorite blogs.
She came downstairs about 45 minutes later, asked if she could draw quietly at the table, and I acquiesced. Then I asked about the noises upstairs. "Oh yeah," she remarked, "I was going through my books." "Did you pick them up?" "No!" "Well, go back upstairs. No starting a new activity unless the first is cleaned up." (That's our family rule when it comes to big mess activities). Sighing, stomping, attitude followed. "Maddie, go upstairs, clean up the books, but please do it quietly because Sam is still sleeping."
Two minutes later, they both come back downstairs and Maddie is in tears because she's afraid she woke up Sam with her stomping, attitude, etc. but then Sam says he never took a nap because he was looking at his new book fair books. Cue Mama's sighs, stomps, and attitude (well, at least two of those). I told Maddie she wasn't in trouble, but she needed to pick up the books if she wanted to do something fun before our chiropractor appointment (an hour and a half away, little did I know....)
Every. single. book. removed from the bookshelf. Piled up around the room. "I was playing librarian." "Awesome, well be a good librarian and organize all the books by size, type and Dewey Decimal System." Cue more tears. Then a tantrum. Then screaming, crying, etc. 45 minutes later, ninety percent of the books were still on the floor.
After the fourth or fifth calm explanation of the family expectations for big messes, I abandoned my paperwork organization/librarian oversight to grab something from my bedroom. Then I saw it: my bedspread, with THREE crayola markers (some not washable) wrapped up inside. Enormous turquoise, green, and fluorescent yellow marker splotches bleeding through my off-white bedding. I admit it, there were some tears at this point. (Earlier in the day, when I was getting ready, I saw Sam bring three markers upstairs and told him to take them down immediately and re-cap them. "Markers stay downstairs at the table, buddy.")
At this point, Maddie had been "cleaning up" for 45 or 50 minutes. With big tears and desperation in my voice, I let her know that it was SERIOUSLY. TIME. TO FINISH. I put Sam in timeout in his room. I took a deep breath, carried my quilt downstairs, emptied a half bottle of oxiclean on the 4-5 inkblots, then returned to deal with the upstairs situation.
"Sam, we talked about this on Sunday. Then again on Monday. When you are careless with Mama's things that are valuable to her, it is both disrespectful and disobedient. You know that it is NOT okay to have markers upstairs. It is absolutely, definitely NOT OKAY to have markers on my bed. Remember what we talked about? If you destroy things that are important to Mama, then you will lose something that is valuable and important to you. Mr. Policeman and his motorcycle are going bye-bye."
Tears. Screaming. Apologizing. Bargaining. Hugs. More tears. Threats. "Sowwy, Mama." Hugs.
Before the chiropractor, we hit the grocery store for another bottle of oxiclean as well as some febreeze for the memory foam mattress situation. Came home, heated up dinner (Indian food from TJs--sooooo good, plus pears and steamed broccolini), added more oxiclean and hairspray to the stains, febreezed my bed.
With no naps plus an emotionally exhausting afternoon, the kids were super punchy at dinnertime. Sam was all over the place, in and out of his chair, up and down. I asked him to finish his dinner, including at least one piece of broccolini, before leaving the table. He shoved a floret in his mouth, carried his plate to the kitchen, and said he needed to go potty. Which was odd, since he had just gone. But, whatever. I thought perhaps it was a poop situation. A few minutes later, he comes out.
For the next ten minutes, I follow Sam around downstairs, reminding him that he actually needs to chew and swallow the broccolini in his mouth for it to count. Eventually he heads upstairs to get his jammies. Five minutes later, I find a wad of chewed-up broccolini in my laundry basket in the hall outside the bathroom.
By this time I am wiped. I put on Veggie Tales for 45 minutes. We read one book at bedtime. The kids were tucked into their separate beds; no sleepovers after today. Kisses, hugs, and threats (stay in bed!) were given. All I could think about was chocolate, blogging about my day, and enjoying the silence. No joke, I went into the downstairs bathroom, and this is what I found:
Hand towel in the toilet. Kleenex box emptied.
Quite an end to quite a day. Here's hoping the next 24 hours are less "eventful." ;)