No work, no sitter, and Grandma is on break. It’s just me, the kids, some coffee and a whole lot of “Jesus take the wheel” moments.
Weekends are like every other day during the week, because they don’t believe in sleeping in. I guess they never got that memo (note to self: write one up). It means waking up at dawn to find yourself sleeping on pee because one of them leaked during the night and the claims made by the diaper company are all lies. It means having all types of body parts in your face during the night so you never know in what position you will wake up in. It means you are not allowed to enjoy the TV you paid for because, well, it belongs to them now. So you listen to their demands for their entertainment of choice and if you don’t put on Trolls for the tenth time today, there will be hell to pay. It means having to fight with your potty training son to go to the bathroom on an hourly basis. And chances are you will be picking up poop or wiping pee off the floor sometime during the day. It also means running to the kitchen pantry every 15 minutes because they are still hungry and if you say no to another cookie you will likely have a screaming toddler throwing themselves on the floor. Chances are, your neighbors think you are crazy because they can hear you yelling at the top of your lungs. You try the timeout thing, like 10 times, but give up because it’s just too darn tiring. And you pray for a nap, a long, long nap but your kids are too amped on the cookies you gave them because you got tired of seeing them lying on the floor. It also means having to yell at Alexa from across the room so she can play the songs from “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse” and then having to yell “repeat” because 3 times just isn’t enough. Alexa hates me. Sorry, Alexa, but you work on weekends too. It also means that when it’s time to play outside, your son thinks it is totally cool to run to each pile of dog poop and poke at it with his finger, because he has to personally show me each pile that needs to be picked up. And I am almost certain that the neighbors are laughing from their windows as they see me run like a mad woman to prevent him from touching another pile. The twelve hours that my husband is at work, I miss him like I have never missed him before. And when he walks in the door, I swear I can hear the angels singing. Frankly, I don’t know who is happier….me or the kids. And when my husband asks me how my day was, I pour myself another glass of wine.
When they are not home, I am a lost soul. I find myself searching for things to do and the house is just too quiet. It doesn’t quite feel like a home anymore. Suddenly the bed is too big and there is absolutely nothing to watch on TV. I find myself checking on Alexa to make sure she’s still alive because she’s been so darn quiet, I swear she sounds really excited when she hears my voice. I find myself in the kitchen several times just to open the pantry and close it again having grabbed nothing. It’s a habit, I guess. And I think I will let the dog poop accumulate until they get home. And when my husband comes home, it is just he and I. And we won’t say it to each other but we are lost and we miss the chaos. We miss the tornado that they can become. The house is too neat. We miss the disorder.
The truth is…..I love them…to the very center of my soul. They make our house a home. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. They are the most precious gift that God could have given us and for that, we are eternally grateful.
BLESSED IS THE MAN WHOSE QUIVER IS FULL OF THEM (Psalm 127:5)