I hate Mondays. Passionately hate them.
For a lot of people, it means a return to a five-day work week after two days off.
For me, it means my children will be possessed by the devil for the entire day. Or at least until Dad gets home.
This Monday is no different. I suppose they at least have consistency going for them.
It started with Braeden getting out of bed, going downstairs and starting to cry because there wasn’t anyone down there. After the weekends, he somehow thinks it’s a given that Dad will be there to greet him (since Jeff gets up at the ass-crack of dawn so as not to interfere with his own 8pm bedtime.). The rest of the week, Braeden will just come straight into our bedroom, between 6 and 6:30, to get me up and inform me that he needs “nuke nacks” and “shlockit milk.”
Preston was dead to the world in bed next to me, so I stacked some pillows around him and went downstairs to get Braeden situated. One minute, that’s all I needed. I turned on the television to Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and grabbed a pack of fruit snacks out of the cupboard. Before I even had it opened, there was a loud thud, followed by screaming.
I ran up the stairs to find Preston laying on his back on the bedroom floor, face beet red with the effort of trying to make sound come out of his open mouth. Almost as soon as I scooped him up, his crying became less frantic, so I knew he had simply scared himself more so than hurt anything (he’s totally fine by the way. My kids are pretty resilient when it comes to falling off of stuff. Trust me, I know..).
So. Fabulous. I’d been awake for a total of five minutes and already, one kid was crying because he didn’t have his fruit snacks yet and the other was crying because he fell off the bed. This morning has obviously been made of Capital A, Awesome.
As the morning continues, there’s whining, screaming, throwing and backtalk. That’s just from the toddler (I usually give the older one time to completely wake up before beginning to fully contribute to the chaos, but I always know it’s coming, so I’m prepared.).
Within the next hour or so, the fighting between Donovan and Braeden ensues that makes me want to crawl into a sensory deprivation tank and spend the remainder of the day in there. In other words, the type of fighting where they torment one another into fits of rage that escalate into one laughing while the other one screams and/or cries.
All of that happens while the baby is screaming, unless, of course, I’m carrying him around with me, which, by the way, is getting quite old since he’s closing in on eleven months and should be over this whole “I need to nurse every hour” garbage. Yes, yes, I know.. I opted to breastfeed, will probably continue doing so for several months to come and love it 99% of the time, but honestly? The “me being a pacifier” stage was something that ended months prior to this point when I was nursing my 2 year old. Some idiotic part of me expected this time would be the same.
I should have known better since he has no interest in self-soothing himself back to sleep at night, either. I’m getting about as much sleep now as I was when he was a newborn. Obviously, this does not help the limitations on my level of patience during the day.
For the record, it’s taken me eight hours to write two posts that should have taken me a total of maybe an hour. It’s kinda ridiculous. I honestly have no idea how people with children can possibly work from home while their children are actually there.
Or how they get to shower or dress themselves daily.
And blogging? HA!!
And don’t tell me that everything gets done after the kids go to bed (also keep in mind that there’s no naptime here for me to work with) because that gives me a total of about 2-3 hours before I’m nursing the baby. Again.
No way could I get it all done in that amount of time.
It takes me that long just to detach myself from the ceiling.