As with anything else, there are good weeks, and there are bad weeks. Strike that. (I am really working on staying positive, therefore am attempting to ban such classifications as “bad.”) Some weeks are just easier than others.
Prior to this past weekend, I was almost getting cocky. Things were going great! Yeah, Felix has been a pain in the ass at night now for weeks, and since the kids share a room, crying it out doesn’t feel like an option. But otherwise, I was riding high. Bedtims had been going well. Food was under control, and we were largely eating quality food – lots of fresh fruit and veg. We had been doing neat things together. Stella hadn’t had a full-blown episode in….a while – at school and home. I don’t know. She was just being awesome. Will and I both seemed like we had a handle on this stuff.
And then the weekend.
It started eeeeeeeearly Saturday morning. For whatever reason, the little people just got up at the ass crack of dawn. I guess they were getting a jump on the super fun time change that was looming. There was also a visit from Crispi and Grampaw looming. They were driving over to spend one night in town so they could get a good dose of kiddo. Unfortunately they arrived about 15-20 minutes after I got the little people down for a nap. This was also when Will was coming back from Wal-Mart with our biweekly shopping. Think about 40 bags of stuff, 2 grandparents, and 2 groggy and grumpy little people. Never mind. It all got sorted. We had lunch. We went to the park.
That’s when we broke Grampaw. See exhibit A.
Now the plan was that Crispi and Grampaw were going to keep the little people so that Will and I could have a date. On. A. Saturday. Night. Like, it’s been years, I think, since we’ve seen a Saturday night out. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe floating couches, live music from Radiohead, and gourmet pizza delivered on the horns of a gleaming white unicorn. Hell, I don’t know. What I do know is that Saturday nights SUCK. That’s when the masses go out. I knew that, but I didn’t know that, you know? I think we spent most of our date in the car trying to find somewhere to eat where we could actually park the car in the same zip code as the restaurant and get in without waiting over an hour. We finally did eat: pizza, delivered by a stressed out waiter. We got home about 8:30. We were both in bed asleep in under an hour. Pitiful.
We’ve decided we like Saturday/Sunday afternoon dates better. No crowds, and frankly we are both more awake.
Damn. When can I sign up for AARP? Early bird discounts, anyone?
The past few days have been trying to readjust to life after the visit and time change. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t bitch about the time change but OH MY GAWD this sucks. I remember why it didn’t bother me last year: I was on maternity leave still and had nowhere to go. Now, I can’t get the little people to go to sleep. I couldn’t exercise last night which I had been so so good about now for weeks (and proud of myself, damn it) because they wouldn’t go/stay the fuck to sleep. I collapsed at 8:30 with nothing done/prepped for this morning – no clothes out, no lunches packed, and feeling like a slug for not riding the exercise bike.
This, too, shall pass. I hope it passes. I want to get back to where we were Friday, when I felt I had stuff under control. But if I could go back in time, I’d find out who came up with this infernal time change idea, cram my daughter’s filthy mermaid dress in his mouth (‘cause you know it was a man) and cheerfully stake him through the f’ing heart.
Have a good day.