Monday, May 28, 2007

My nice, relaxing weekend has left me exhausted

We started off this holiday weekend with no plans (a rarity around here). Additionally, having a friend over for dinner Friday night forced us to clean the house early, so we were heading into the long weekend with a very clean house (even more of a rarity).

These factors left me hoping for a nice, relaxing weekend of playing with my kids, lounging around my yard and catching up on some reading.

And while I did all of that, tonight I am utterly, completely, can-barely-hold-my-eyelids-up exhausted. Why? Well, let’s review this from a scientific standpoint and we’ll see where things went awry. Let’s examine one 24-hour period in my life this weekend:


4:38 a.m.—Cat wakes me up. Cannot go back to sleep. An hour or so later, Peanut arrives in room. “Ah ah!” she exclaims happily. Lift her into bed and pray for sleep. It does not come.

6:14 a.m.—Loaf wakes up. Roll out of bed. Eat, get dressed, wash up, etc.

7:45 a.m.—Read several stories to kids.

8:30 a.m.—Lather up with sunscreen and head outside. Walk down to pond. See three frogs. “Fish” with sticks. Head back to house. Play in sandbox. Make several sandcastles. Get up and pull a few weeds. Play a few rounds of “Ring-around-the-Rosie.” Color and read a couple more stories.

11:15 a.m.—Decide since it’s hot and Memorial Day, it’s time to “open the pool.” ← Ha! This consists of taking a blow-up wading pool out of Loaf’s closet, hooking it up to an air pump until it’s inflated, then sticking a hose in it for 10-15 min until it’s full. Viola! Instant pool. Can’t beat that.

11:45 a.m.—Begin search for girls’ bathing suits.

12:35 p.m.—Finally find suits. Get kids dressed, put on sunscreen and head out to pool. The water in the pool is equivalent to that in the North Atlantic in January. Your skin goes instantly numb upon contact. Nevertheless, both kids jump right in. Excellent. Snap a couple of pictures.

12:45 p.m.—Sit down to read magazine.

1 p.m.—“Mommy, I’m hungry.” Doh. Lunch. Forgot that! Head inside to make lunch (tuna on wheat). Eat outside. Bring dishes inside.

1:45 p.m.—Peanut changes out of bathing suit. Leaves wet suit on floor of room. Lecture child.

2 p.m.— Mark leaves for 20th (TWENTY!) high school reunion. Kisses goodbye all around.

2:05 p.m.—Loaf poops. Peel wet bathing suit and swim diaper off her and clean her up. Put dry clothes back on her. Head back outside. Children head for sandbox. Sit down to read magazine again. Read about half a page while stopping approximately every 25 seconds to answer a question, look at the pile of sand one of my kids wants to proudly show me, or

2:15 p.m.—Peanut decides to go back in pool. Help her put wet bathing suit back on. While I’m helping her, Loaf climbs in fully dressed. Bring her in the house and change her. Head back out. Sit down to read magazine again. Manage to actually read most of an article in between talking to kids.

3 p.m.—Kids are thirsty. Get up and fetch beverage. Peanut follows me in. Puts on a new dry outfit.

3:15 p.m.—Reapply sunscreen. Put Loaf into another outfit (since the last one got wet). Walk back down to pond. “Fish” some more. See two more frogs. Pick flowers (clover and buttercups) as we walk back to the house. Peanut pronounces she is hungry. ← She is going through a wicked growth spurt and is a bottomless pit these days. Head inside to fix snack.

4 p.m.—Sit in grass and eat snack (sliced fruit). Realize kids’ cups are empty. Get up and head back in to refill them. Peanut decides to go back in the pool. Help her with her suit. Monkey-see-monkey do (aka Loaf) also wants back in. Change her again. Sit at edge of pool and play with kids. Get splashed. Water is still frigid.

4:45 p.m.—Kids get out of pool. While they played, I wandered around watering the flower beds and pulling random weeds. Peanut claims to be hungry. Again. And of course, she must now change her clothes.

5:15 p.m.—Begin prepping dinner. Since kids did not nap (and quite frankly, I am spent) decide they will eat and go to bed early. The thought of laying comatose on the couch within hours sends rivers of joy through my beleagured brain.

5:45 p.m.—Dinner. Leftover pizza and salad. Dessert=half a chocolate chip cookie each.
Next, bath. Let kids splash in tub extra long tonight while I sit on floor with magnifying mirror in one hand and tweezers in the other and tweeze eyebrows (always multi-tasking).

6:30 p.m.—Kids are out of tubs, in PJs and their teeth are brushed. Peanut asks me to paint her nails, so I paint both her and Loaf’s fingers and toes. They are thrilled. Big hugs for Mommy!

6:45 p.m.—Time for them to watch their show. Figure they’ll be in bed by 7:45 p.m. Woo hoo! Do dishes and clean up kitchen while they watch one episode of Curious George, followed by the second half of Sesame Street (gotta see Elmo!).

7:45 p.m.—Bedtime! Read them both one story. Put Loaf in her crib with a few books. Figure she will be out cold in minutes since she did not nap today. Tuck Peanut in. Walk down hall. Sit on couch with book. Read a few pages.

8:15 p.m.—Hear Loaf tossing books out of her crib. One by one, they hit the floor with a loud BOOM. Ignore this.

8:20 p.m.—Loaf is crying. Really crying. Full out, pitching-a-fit crying. How can she still be awake? March down hall. Loaf is standing at the rail of her crib. In addition to tossing the books, she’s thrown out her Lamb and all her blankets. Put them back in and attempt to lay her back down. More crying. Bring her milk. She sips it, but then resumes crying.

8:30 p.m.—Decide to let her cry it out a bit. She HAS to be exhausted. Sit in living room listening to crying, which is only growing more intense.

8:35 p.m.—March back up hall. Pick up Loaf. Lay her in my bed. Lay next to her. Wait. Ten minutes pass and she is finally asleep. Slowly roll out of bed and tip-toe to bathroom. Wash face and brush teeth.

8:45 p.m.—Crawl back into bed with book.

9 p.m.—Eyes. Getting. Very. Heavy. . . . .

9:41 p.m.—Stir. Bring Loaf to crib. Zombie walk back to bed. Turn off light. Zzzzz.


1:19 p.m.—Loaf wakes up. Walk into her room. She wants milk. I oblige. She sips it. I return milk to fridge. Fall back into bed. Sleep.

4:14 a.m.—Cat wakes me up. Make mental note not to get anymore cats. Doze. Sort of.

5:23 a.m. Peanut bounds into bedroom. “Ah ah!” she exclaims happily. Is it really morning??

So let’s see. In that 24-hour period it appears I spent approximately:
• 3.5 hours preparing food/drink items
• 30 minutes eating food items
• 6 hours playing outside
• 41 minutes “fishing” and poking frogs in the ass with sticks to make them jump
• 4 hours changing kids clothing and applying sunscreen.
• 24 minutes reading my own magazines/books
• 3 hours reading children’s books
• 39 minutes sitting
• 90 minutes answering questions and “oohing and ahhing” over random piles of sand
• 49 minutes making sandcastles
• Three and a half hours of uninterrupted sleep
• 2 hours laying in bed awake
• 5 minutes plucking eyebrows
• 15 minutes doing dishes
• 49 minutes making sandcastles
• 40 minutes searching for bathing suits
• 12 minutes "relaxing"

So there you go. That was my relaxing weekend. I can’t wait to get to work tomorrow so I can sit on my butt for a while and get a little rest.

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