Disclaimer: If you're judgemental, offended by cuss words or mommy rants, can't take some "real life irritation" or you live in rainbows and puffy heart land and ride your skittle shitting unicorn to the grocery store with your halo toting children, then I suggest you skip right on over this post. Or at least refrain from commenting any holier than thou words.
I fucking hate snow days. Ok. Not really but today I do. The roads are not bad. And combine that with a 4 day weekend last weekend (MLK day + snow day), I am sick of being stuck inside the house with 3 kids because it is colder than the arctic outside. Mama has shit to do and it doesn't get done when kids are home!!!
This morning... ugh. Kids bouncing off teh walls. It snowed but... by 10am it had warmed up and the snow was a nice thick blanket of slush and the sidewalks had puddles. Tell me again, why did we have a snow day??
Amelia did not nap this morning. Fine. Whatever. I got the kids lunch (pb&j + apple slices with cinnamon... in which they barely touched but then Porter came waltzing in the kitchen 10 minutes after tossing his lunch eating a whole apple. GRRRRR)
I require rest time. I don't give a shit if they're 2 years old or 7. They get rest time. I NEED REST TIME. I can only take so much whining, fighting, furniture jumping and pantry raiding. This rest time is more for me than them.
I put the baby down. Score. Read the boys a book. Tucked them in. Teeth brushed, everyone peed, radios on and everyone has a couple books to look at. I nicely tell them that they MUST be quiet, stay in bed and read and for the love of all things holy if they dare wake their sister up I'll kick their asses. Ok. I didn't say that but was totally thinking it.
3 times I head back up there to find out why the hell it sounds like they're doing acrobatic in their rooms. The first time I tuck them back in and close doors. 2nd time I tell them they're about halfway done. 3rd time I find curtains all open, doors open, kids not resting. I tell them they just earned their half hour back and are back to an hour.
A few minutes later... I hear footsteps. I yell up to them to get in bed. 10 minutes later I hear the baby crying. UGHHHHH. I go up and the boys are rifling through a stack of books I had on the dresser outside Amelia's room to pack away. "We're just getting books to read' say the passive aggressive little assholes. Right. Because you each have bookshelves in your room with no less than 200 books each. Don't give me that shit. I herd them into their rooms, growl some threats through my teeth and slam their doors. The baby is already up so why not add the little extra touch of drama.
I swear to goodness. Next time I'm going to tuck them in, grab a belt, give them a swift smack on their asses so they know I mean business, and then I won't have to waste an hour shuffling kids back to bed.
I need to get the hell away. I really, really do.