Weekends with Mr. Husband are heavenly. We're together all day (or most of it) and I usually take a hiatus from all non-urgent chores so we can enjoy time outside of the house.
Lately, though, I've felt like I've been going nonstop from dawn to dusk during the week. Get up! Feed the baby! Change both kids! Feed the toddler! Eat breakfast and gulp down coffee with Queen Baby in one arm! Change both kids again! Feed the baby! Put the baby down for a nap!...And then climb into the shower and try not to think about the damp clean diapers in the washing machine, the sink full of dirty dishes, the dishwasher full of clean dishes, the trash spilling out of every receptacle in the house, and the three thousand other household things that probably will remain undone until naptime.
A few weeks ago, I came to the realization that I can either leave the house with both kids, or keep up with housework each day. That hasn't stopped me from trying to cram both in, and then add a few longer-term projects. Last night's conversation with Mr. Husband included a tearful confession that I was just overwhelmed. The kids had been difficult every time I tried to take them out, I felt like I was doing chores nonstop, I couldn't get the practice time I felt I needed for my upcoming gig, and my body still felt wrecked three months after childbirth. I wanted today to be better, but any hope at catching up around the house was obliterated by our extremely empty refrigerator.
A pilgrimage to New England's amusement park usually entails a 20 minute drive to spend at least an hour battling through aisles crowded with both shoppers and unshelved stock with an arching and displeased infant strapped to my torso while Sir Toddler tries to mash the tortilla chips, squish the bread, and rip open bags of shredded cheese, wait in a long checkout line, stuff all the groceries around the double jogger that occupies most of our trunk, drive 20 minutes home, gate the now starving and tired toddler in the living room so he stays out of his sister's grill, leave the equally hungry and cranky infant in her car seat, and run in the house with 6 bags at a time from the parking lot through the backyard mined with dog messes from notourdog and back before the frozen veggies thaw and the dairy and meat spoil. The epilogue to all this is usually a quick lunch for all and naps so that I can have at least 15 minutes of staring at the wall.
Not so today. I found myself sitting in bed with a half-asleep Lady Infant alternating between napping and nursing in my lap listening to Sir Toddler whine-cry in his crib (as he had been doing so for the last hour) wanting nothing more than to whine-cry myself to sleep, because I had just remembered that Mr. Husband (with my goodwill) was going to come home from work, eat dinner, and head straight back out again.
This weekend it was finally warm enough to take the kids to the beautiful coastal town where Mr. Husband and I were married.
Lately, though, I've felt like I've been going nonstop from dawn to dusk during the week. Get up! Feed the baby! Change both kids! Feed the toddler! Eat breakfast and gulp down coffee with Queen Baby in one arm! Change both kids again! Feed the baby! Put the baby down for a nap!...And then climb into the shower and try not to think about the damp clean diapers in the washing machine, the sink full of dirty dishes, the dishwasher full of clean dishes, the trash spilling out of every receptacle in the house, and the three thousand other household things that probably will remain undone until naptime.
Some people prop their kitchen tables with pillar candles and runners. I prefer to use unfolded laundry.
A few weeks ago, I came to the realization that I can either leave the house with both kids, or keep up with housework each day. That hasn't stopped me from trying to cram both in, and then add a few longer-term projects. Last night's conversation with Mr. Husband included a tearful confession that I was just overwhelmed. The kids had been difficult every time I tried to take them out, I felt like I was doing chores nonstop, I couldn't get the practice time I felt I needed for my upcoming gig, and my body still felt wrecked three months after childbirth. I wanted today to be better, but any hope at catching up around the house was obliterated by our extremely empty refrigerator.
A pilgrimage to New England's amusement park usually entails a 20 minute drive to spend at least an hour battling through aisles crowded with both shoppers and unshelved stock with an arching and displeased infant strapped to my torso while Sir Toddler tries to mash the tortilla chips, squish the bread, and rip open bags of shredded cheese, wait in a long checkout line, stuff all the groceries around the double jogger that occupies most of our trunk, drive 20 minutes home, gate the now starving and tired toddler in the living room so he stays out of his sister's grill, leave the equally hungry and cranky infant in her car seat, and run in the house with 6 bags at a time from the parking lot through the backyard mined with dog messes from notourdog and back before the frozen veggies thaw and the dairy and meat spoil. The epilogue to all this is usually a quick lunch for all and naps so that I can have at least 15 minutes of staring at the wall.
Not so today. I found myself sitting in bed with a half-asleep Lady Infant alternating between napping and nursing in my lap listening to Sir Toddler whine-cry in his crib (as he had been doing so for the last hour) wanting nothing more than to whine-cry myself to sleep, because I had just remembered that Mr. Husband (with my goodwill) was going to come home from work, eat dinner, and head straight back out again.
Looking something like this, I imagine.
Then I got a call from my mother.
"Would Sir Toddler like to see Grandma?"
"Sure." He loves him some FaceTime.
"I can be there in about 30 minutes."
Today was the day of your flight? Add that to my long list of things I've forgotten lately.
And somehow we made it to bedtime after that, and the damp laundry made it to the dryer. And I found myself with the energy to practice some Titanic, which wasn't so hard after all, and even play a little Mendelssohn and Bach and Barber.
I may fall exhausted into bed every night, but it at least means that my day is full of things to do. Some of those things are very hard, but some of those things are very, very good.
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