My daughter, who has some weird viral infection that has manifested as a wonderful, bubbly rash all over her face, was running through the house naked on Friday, singing, carrying things around in a Christmas gift bag, depositing random toys in various furniture crevices and corners.
She didn’t seem sick, but doctor’s orders were to keep her home. I, of course, was at home, because my husband had a meeting, and since he is now looking for a new job full time, well, taking her to the meeting may not have been such a great idea. Got any job leads? Oh, and meet my crusty-faced two year old who has a thick-green goopy, runny nose. Want to hold her? My that is a nice Armani suit you have on… *splork*
I was curled up on the big comfy chair, watching her, half-absorbed in refreshing Facebook six million times (someone talk to me and entertain me and let me procrastinate on housework PLEASE!), playing a game of Carcassonne with a friend who lives an ocean away, and trying in vain to VPN into work to grab some files, so I could, you know, work. *shakes fist at VPN connection wonkiness*
I should have been sweeping, or vaccuuming, or doing laundry, or cleaning up while waiting for work network issues to get sorted out, but I was Just. Too. Tired. That has been a running theme in our house for the past week. Both Mommy and Daddy are frickin’ exhausted. Stress, my monthly cycle being a %#$@&, and two kids suddenly not wanting to sleep meant that the snapping and grouching and being pissed off at one another was at a record high.
Good thing he’s hot, and useful with tools, and doesn’t mind changing the odd diaper. Even when I’m so mad I want to crank him with a frypan, I resist, knowing I’d miss him too much if I did. *insert funny face here* Besides, marriage isn’t supposed to be easy, right? Right?
Today, the house has toys spread from one end of the living room to the end bedroom, and I keep stepping on them. You think LEGO hurts? Try wood castle blocks. They are ankle turners! Under the table is a minefield of Cheerios, dried noodles, broken crayons, and socks. My feet keep touching something – as I type this – That is mildly squishy. I don’t want to look. I really don’t. (Ok, I looked, it was a grape, nothing gross.).
I don’t even want to tell you about the kitchen.
I know all this talk of our
pigstymessy house makes you want to come over for tea, doesn’t it? Come on over! We’re here all day today! Or come over, grab me, and spirit me away somewhere that has no children, mess, or men-who-are-starting-to-get-another-Man-Cold.
Please? I will pay with cookies, or cake, or something equally yummy and wonderful… I’ll use chia in it so it isn’t completely guilty. That works, doesn’t it?
I’ll get to cleaning eventually, but right now, the coffee sitting at my left hand is way too good to pass up, and I actually get to drink it warm for a change. GO ME! The rarity of a warm cup of coffee being consumed, when not at work, is blissful and exciting! *slurp* What is even better, it has Baileys in it! I love Sunday coffee.
The children, in the basement, are playing with the massive floor piano that Grandma and Grandpa bought them for Christmas. Random jalopy-like sounds are tinkling up the stairwell, and every so often, my husband bellows for my son to stop jumping on it. I can hear the TV above that, on some sports channel.
I am hiding upstairs, in the mess, with my coffee. And I couldn’t be happier.