and I haven't done anything that I had intended to do earlier. Well, except feed the kids, that is. And even that was cooked by Alpha. I'm a dead loss today.
I was halfway to the supermarket, or rather I had just about managed to get the kids ready to go to the supermarket (which takes longer than it does to travel to the supermarket and do the bloody shop), when I suddenly sat down on the sofa and thought "What the hell am I doing? It's pouring with rain outside and actually, I do not have the will or the energy to go into battle with a million other harrassed mothers with their bellowing children, during which the Small(er) One can be relied on to have at least one gargantuan tantrum and Firstborn will burst into bitter tears and vocal remonstrations when denied the family pack of mini-sized Smarties which she considers to be her right, in order to stock the freezer with yet more fish fingers."
Bear in mind that by this point I had spent the better part of thirty minutes engaged in the following: wrestling the kids apart from their sudden war over who owned which Barbie, forcing them to do an 'insurance' wee, finding their socks and persuading them to put their feet into them (harder than it sounds), shoehorning their feet into 3/4 of their shoes, scooping up the Small(er) One who was determined NOT to put her second shoe on from her hiding place under the dining room table, telling Firstborn off for taking her jeans off and putting them on her head, trying to find my handbag which had been hidden by Firstborn in her toybox (she has kleptomaniac tendencies), chasing the Small(er) One all over the apartment in an effort to get her coat on (I lost) and then trying to find a clean pair of socks for myself.... all to a soundtrack of shouting and screaming.
So instead, the kids and I snuggled on the sofa under a big blanket and watched movies while wolfing down generous helpings of popcorn for the entire afternoon. All was peaceful and lovely until the Small(er) One, entranced by the antics in 'Over The Hedge', forgot to go to the loo and did a wee on the sofa.
Alpha is currently braving the supermarket in an effort to preserve my sanity. He's worth his weight in gold, that man.
It's strange. I'm a bundle of energy during the week - a possessed being racing from home to school or nursery with one of my two bundles of joy in tow, then rushing in to work, then careering from one meeting to another, trying to squeeze in a million emails and briefings and writing/approving the odd press release/ strategy document/ pitch/ spreadsheet in between. And then I race from work to nursery to pick up the Small(er) One or, dependent on the rota that day, home to relieve Alpha of bath or story time. Then it's dinner (Alpha cooks, glory be) and either more work, ironing, tidying, or a spot of telly.
Phew.
And yet, at the weekend, when I really want to be spending time with the family and doing house stuff, I can barely put one foot in front of the other. If I could spend from Friday night to Monday morning in bed, that would be just about enough to recover from the working week.
Am I abnormally lazy or is this normal for a slightly haggard, slightly stressed, slightly obsessive working mother of two?
I was halfway to the supermarket, or rather I had just about managed to get the kids ready to go to the supermarket (which takes longer than it does to travel to the supermarket and do the bloody shop), when I suddenly sat down on the sofa and thought "What the hell am I doing? It's pouring with rain outside and actually, I do not have the will or the energy to go into battle with a million other harrassed mothers with their bellowing children, during which the Small(er) One can be relied on to have at least one gargantuan tantrum and Firstborn will burst into bitter tears and vocal remonstrations when denied the family pack of mini-sized Smarties which she considers to be her right, in order to stock the freezer with yet more fish fingers."
Bear in mind that by this point I had spent the better part of thirty minutes engaged in the following: wrestling the kids apart from their sudden war over who owned which Barbie, forcing them to do an 'insurance' wee, finding their socks and persuading them to put their feet into them (harder than it sounds), shoehorning their feet into 3/4 of their shoes, scooping up the Small(er) One who was determined NOT to put her second shoe on from her hiding place under the dining room table, telling Firstborn off for taking her jeans off and putting them on her head, trying to find my handbag which had been hidden by Firstborn in her toybox (she has kleptomaniac tendencies), chasing the Small(er) One all over the apartment in an effort to get her coat on (I lost) and then trying to find a clean pair of socks for myself.... all to a soundtrack of shouting and screaming.
So instead, the kids and I snuggled on the sofa under a big blanket and watched movies while wolfing down generous helpings of popcorn for the entire afternoon. All was peaceful and lovely until the Small(er) One, entranced by the antics in 'Over The Hedge', forgot to go to the loo and did a wee on the sofa.
Alpha is currently braving the supermarket in an effort to preserve my sanity. He's worth his weight in gold, that man.
It's strange. I'm a bundle of energy during the week - a possessed being racing from home to school or nursery with one of my two bundles of joy in tow, then rushing in to work, then careering from one meeting to another, trying to squeeze in a million emails and briefings and writing/approving the odd press release/ strategy document/ pitch/ spreadsheet in between. And then I race from work to nursery to pick up the Small(er) One or, dependent on the rota that day, home to relieve Alpha of bath or story time. Then it's dinner (Alpha cooks, glory be) and either more work, ironing, tidying, or a spot of telly.
Phew.
And yet, at the weekend, when I really want to be spending time with the family and doing house stuff, I can barely put one foot in front of the other. If I could spend from Friday night to Monday morning in bed, that would be just about enough to recover from the working week.
Am I abnormally lazy or is this normal for a slightly haggard, slightly stressed, slightly obsessive working mother of two?
Comments
can you get him to have a word with Alpha please? Sleep and pancakes is the sort of combination that gets a husband some attractive benefits...